Archive of Our Own ^beta

Somehow between the time Jimin leaves to get groceries and the time he gets back, his landlord’s moved all of his belongings outside his apartment.

“What are you doing?” Jimin cries, dropping his plastic bags full of bread and ramen and running over to catch the ceramic pot he had made in the fourth grade before his landlord can drop it on the ground.

“I’m evicting you,” the older man says casually, shutting the door to Jimin’s apartment as if he hadn’t just physically emptied it. “I’m tired of your damn cat shitting all over the place. You know pets aren’t allowed.”

Jimin can barely believe his ears. “But I don’t even own a cat?”

“Can it, kid,” his landlord grumbles, turning around and heading back to the rickety old elevator. “I already saw your cat walking out of this place. Go find another place to live, since I can’t have you living here anymore.”

And then the elevator door shuts behind him, and Jimin’s left standing in the middle of the hallway surrounded by all of his clothes and furniture. His bread’s still on the ground.

“Oh my god,” Jimin mumbles, feeling the shock set in as he scrambles to pick up his groceries before the five-minute (or second, whatever) ceases to be in effect. He juggles the bags in the crook of one arm as he sits down on one of his kitchen chairs and pulls out his cell phone.

“Come on Tae, pick up,” Jimin breathes, bouncing his knee impatiently as he waits for his friend to pick up. The call finally goes to voicemail, and Jimin groans out loud as he hears the familiar “Yo! Nae ireumeun Tae!” sound in his ear. He tries Jungkook’s number next, but he gets an automated message telling him that the number isn’t in service anymore, and belatedly remembers that Jungkook had lost his phone earlier in the week.

“Oh my god,” Jimin repeats, slumping back into the chair. He pulls out a slice of bread and bites into it—it’s probably the most gourmet food he’ll get now, considering he doesn’t have a kitchen anymore.

He’s never really put too much thought into how homelessness works before, but he figures that being evicted with no good reason probably makes him homeless. He’s going to have to get another job, probably, to buy into another lease, and that means he may not be able to go to school for a semester, but if he’s not going to go to school, then he may as well move back to Busan and live with his parents, but they’d be so mad at him for losing his apartment. Oh god, he’s screwed.

“What the fuck is going on?”

The voice, although echoing Jimin’s thoughts, is not Jimin’s.

Jimin turns to see a man he’s never seen before standing outside the elevator, staring at the mess of Jimin’s belongings that’s currently occupying the hallway. Jimin blushes, suddenly embarrassed, and rushes to shove a few chairs out of the way so the man can get through.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin mumbles, and it feels ridiculous to apologize when he feels like the universe should be apologizing to him. “Uh, I suddenly was removed from my apartment.”

The man quirks an eyebrow, and Jimin watches as he strides forward, delicately avoiding stepping on Jimin’s bunched-up pillows. Jimin doesn’t know his name, but he’s seen him enough to know that he lives a few doors down from Jimin—or at least where Jimin used to live. He’s short, around Jimin’s height, and has shaggy black hair that is nearly always covered up by a beanie. He’s good-looking, Jimin thinks, but never looks too friendly and so Jimin normally stays away.

“Evicted?” the man asks, his tone conversational as if he’s just asking Jimin about the weather outside. Jimin nods frantically, and the man pulls a face.

“The landlord can be a real hardass sometimes,” he murmurs, and Jimin’s a little shocked to hear anyone speak about their imposing landlord in that manner.

“But anyway,” the man continues, shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose this would be the time when you move back in with your parents, kid. Try for another lease in nine months, alright?”

“I can’t,” Jimin replies forlornly, kicking at his mattress pad in dejection. “My parents live all the way back in Busan, and classes start tomorrow so I can’t make a trip now. I was planning to stay at my friend’s place, but I can’t get a hold of him.”

The man doesn’t really look sympathetic, but Jimin’s grateful enough that he’s stayed this long to listen to Jimin’s complaints.

“I’m sure you’ll work something out,” the man says dismissively, turning to head down the hall to where Jimin guesses his own apartment is.

“Yeah,” Jimin agrees, although he’s not sure if he believes it. “If only some random cat hadn’t snuck into my apartment, then I wouldn’t have had to leave.”

Jimin busies himself with trying to stuff some of his spare belongings into his grocery bags, but a light cough startles him out of the action. The man—his neighbor, apparently—is looking at him with a strange expression, and Jimin watches as the man’s eyebrows furrow up.

“You can’t just sleep out in the hallway,” the man mutters, looking down at his feet. “If you need, you can stay with me for a few days, okay?”

And maybe Jimin should really think over this offer some more—after all, he’d been taught not to accept candy from strangers, let alone go and live with them—but he really needs a place to stash his things while he tries to get his living situation sorted out, and this guy seems nice enough.

“Really? Thanks!” Jimin grins, standing up and bounding forward. He holds his groceries against his chest and beams, already happier at the thought of having somewhere warm to sleep at night. “So, which apartment’s yours?”

-

It takes them half an hour to drag most of the kid’s stuff into Yoongi’s apartment, and even longer to haul the bigger pieces of furniture down to Yoongi’s spare storage room in the basement. The younger’s face gradually sinks in disappointment as he puts away half of his possessions, but there just isn’t enough space in Yoongi’s already-cramped apartment.

“I think that’s everything,” the kid pants, tired from walking back and forth. He’s clutching his blanket in his hands, and the way he holds it to his chest is sort of cute, Yoongi thinks. Not that he thinks the kid is cute or anything.

“Thank god,” Yoongi mutters, dusting off his hands. “Now come on, it’s late and I need my beauty sleep. I have work tomorrow, and you have school, and we both should get to bed soon.”

The kid nods, and that’s when Yoongi realizes he doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to call this young stranger that’s going to be living in his house.

“What’s your name, anyway?” Yoongi asks, stopping outside his door. “I should probably know your name if you’re going to be staying with me.”

“And I should probably know yours if I’m staying with you,” the kid replies, and Yoongi scowls because he doesn’t need that kind of snark this late at night. Luckily, the kid doesn’t seem to be the smartass type, because he smiles widely and introduces himself, “My name is Jimin. Park Jimin.”

“Alright, Jimin,” Yoongi mutters, pushing the door open and heading inside. “My name is Min Yoongi. What are you, a student?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says noncommittedly, setting his blanket down on the floor beside the sofa. Yoongi watches in mild confusion as Jimin presses a hand down on one of the cushions, testing the springiness.

“Should I sleep on the couch, then?” Jimin asks, turning to face Yoongi with wide eyes. It’s a little endearing, how naïve he is.

“What, you want to share my bed?” Yoongi snorts, watching as the younger’s face flushes rapidly. Yeah, definitely not cute, he tells himself.

“No, no, I didn’t mean that at all!” Jimin explains, waving his hands around. He sits on the couch stubbornly, clasping his hands over his lap. “The couch is fine with me, I don’t mind it at all. It’s really nice of you to let me stay here, Yoongi-ssi.”

Yoongi snorts. “I’m a lot older than you, kid.”

Jimin opens his mouth to say something else, but is interrupted by Bulangi springing out from behind the couch and landing on his lap. Yoongi snickers when Jimin practically stuffs his fist in his mouth to keep from screaming.

“Oh, there she is. I thought she was outside,” Yoongi mutters, watching as the cat scratches lightly at Jimin’s basketball shorts before curling into a ball.

Jimin’s hand comes to settle on her head automatically, and Yoongi wonders how in the world Bulangi had managed to calm down enough to let a complete stranger pet her.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a cat,” Jimin murmurs, scratching behind Bulangi’s ears affectionately. The grumpy old calico purrs, and Yoongi regards her with disbelief. Of course she’d like to cuddle up to everyone but Yoongi.

“That’s Bulangi,” Yoongi offers, watching as her crooked tail winds neatly around Jimin’s wrist.

“She’s really pretty,” Jimin mumbles happily, but as he stares at the cat longer the joy on his face slowly melts into disbelief, and then much to Yoongi’s chagrin, anger.

“Oh my god, it was your cat!” Jimin exclaims, standing up quickly. Bulangi falls to the floor and bounds away, obviously angry at being disturbed. “Your cat got me evicted!”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. He had figured that he could have told Jimin the truth later—that sometimes he lets Bulangi roam around when she gets restless—but apparently the damn cat had made other plans. “I really didn’t intend for her to cause trouble.”

Jimin shakes his head. “But, because of you, I don’t have a house anymore!”

“And I’m fixing that, aren’t I?” Yoongi shrugs. “I’m letting you live here, for free even. That’ll give you time to save up and find a better place, right?”

“Well,” Jimin pauses, looking uncertain. Yoongi can practically see him weighing the options in his mind, and he mentally breathes a sigh of relief when Jimin sinks back down onto the sofa, the fight slipping out of him. “Okay, I guess that’s true. I’m still mad, though.”

“Be mad,” Yoongi nods, the corner of his mouth twitching up because Jimin’s attempts at looking stern aren’t working at all. “In the meantime, I’ll make some dinner. Noodles fine?”

At Jimin’s shy nod, Yoongi heads into the kitchen, rustling around in the pantry for the instant noodles since it’s really been too long since he’s cooked anything. His normal diet consists of take out and ice cream bars, with the occasional bottle of soju. It’s a system that’s worked well enough for him, but he figures that growing kids probably need something more nutritious. And if he puts a carrot in the ramen, that should probably count.

It takes him a little longer than needed to make the ramen, but he knocks over half a shaker of salt into the pot and needs to scoop out half of the now-briny broth and replace it with fresh water, and by the time he’s done with that the noodles are starting to blacken and stick to the bottom of the pot. In the end, the ramen’s maybe a little overcooked and overseasoned, but with enough pepper paste it should be okay, Yoongi decides.

“Hey, Park Jimin,” he calls, setting a plate down on the rickety dinner table. “Come and get it.”

There’s no response—which, as Yoongi has learned, is unusual for the boy—and Yoongi turns to see Jimin already fast asleep on the couch, tucked up in a ball with his cheek pillowed on his hand. Bulangi’s sat by his feet.

“Wow,” Yoongi mutters, watching as Jimin frowns a bit in his sleep. “That was fast.”

And then, because Jimin’s had a hard day and Yoongi’s not a complete asshole, Yoongi grabs the blanket and kneels so he can spread it over Jimin’s sleeping form, since it can get drafty in the fall. Jimin sniffles a little, and for a horrifying moment Yoongi wonders if he’s crying, but then the kid just wipes at his face and settles back down.

Sighing, Yoongi gets up and turns the lights off. Bulangi’s eyes glow in the darkness, and Yoongi scowls at her before heading to his bedroom. He’ll have to clear up crunchy ramen in the morning.

-

Jimin wakes up to the unfamiliar feeling of something fuzzy brushing against his face.

He quickly realizes that it’s Yoongi’s cat trying to stuff her tail up his nose, and even though he’s groggy and still half-asleep, it makes him laugh. He looks around, confused for a moment until he remembers why exactly he’s lying on an unfamiliar couch in an apartment he barely recognizes.

“I hate this,” Jimin murmurs, flipping onto his stomach and burying his face into the musty old couch. The couch isn’t the most comfortable, but he’d feel bad if he complained to Yoongi.

Even though he knows that he shouldn’t feel bad, because Yoongi’s the reason he’s sleeping on a lumpy couch instead of his own bed anyway. But then again, Yoongi’s also the one who’s letting him live there for free, and if Jimin were to tattle to their landlord then both Yoongi and Bulangi would both be on the street. And Jimin really likes cats.

“You should have been quieter,” Jimin whispers, twisting his body until he can stare at Bulangi. “Then maybe the landlord wouldn’t have noticed you, hmm?”

He must have lost his mind sometime within the last twenty-four hours, Jimin thinks, since he’s now talking to a cat in the middle of the night. A quick glance at his phone tells him that that it’s just past 5 in the morning, which isn’t terribly early, and Jimin figures that he won’t be able to get back to sleep anytime soon.

His phone also lets him know that he has four texts from Taehyung waiting to be read, and Jimin scowls as he opens them.

From: Taetae<4
23:15: bro yd u call

From: Taetae<4
23:16: I was busy shit sorry

From: Taetae<4
01:06: are you mad at me

From: Taetae<4
01:06: don’t be mad at me come on you love me say you love me

Despite his frustration at his best friend, Jimin can’t help but smile. Sometimes, it’s really impossible to stay mad at Taehyung, that loveable idiot. Figuring that texting would take too long, Jimin just calls Taehyung.

“Why the fuck are you calling at five am?”

“Shut up,” Jimin whispers back, rolling onto his back when Bulangi hops up next to him. “Why couldn’t you have picked up yesterday? I needed you!”

“Did something happen?” The worry in Taehyung’s voice is almost touching, and it’s enough to make the last traces of anger leave his body.

It sounds dumb when Jimin explains his situation, but there’s really no intelligent way to describe how his neighbor’s cat had gotten him evicted, forcing him to live with said neighbor until further notice. God, his life is fucking bizarre, Jimin thinks, setting Bulangi to the side as he gets up and stretches out his legs.

“Min Yoongi?” Taehyung asks, sounding thoughtful. “Doesn’t that name sound familiar? Do we know him?”

“I don’t think so,” Jimin mutters, sparing a quick glance towards the dark hallway to make sure Yoongi isn’t up as he drops his pants, changing into a fresh pair of jeans. “I don’t recognize him, at least. I’ve only ever seen him around this building before.”

“Maybe I’m just getting names mixed up,” Taehyung says, and Jimin brushes off the uncertainty in his voice because Taehyung really isn’t the best at remembering people—he had thought Jungkook’s name was Jungwoo for the first two months that they had known each other, after all.

“Anyway, I’m heading out early,” Jimin mumbles, setting his phone down for a moment so he can pull on a clean sweater. He briefly contemplates eating breakfast, but snooping around in Yoongi’s pantry just doesn’t feel right, even though he technically lives here now and has a right to the kitchen.

“I’ll leave early too,” Taehyung says quickly, and Jimin fights back a laugh as he hears the crash of what’s probably Taehyung falling out of bed.

“Buy me melon pan, I’m starving,” Jimin says, grabbing his backpack from where he’d left it by the couch the night before. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the light from what he assumes is Yoongi’s bedroom flood the hallway, and he rushes to open the door and leave. For some reason, he doesn’t exactly feel like staying and talking to his host.

“Fine,” Taehyung grunts, and Jimin hangs up before sprinting to catch the bus. He’ll tell Taehyung everything once he gets to the campus.

-

Yoongi’s morning goes smoothly, much to his relief.

Jimin’s gone before Yoongi even gets out of bed, and Yoongi’s grateful because it saves him from trying to wrangle his way through awkward morning pleasantries. The plate of cold noodles is still sitting on the table, and Yoongi has to bat away a curious Bulangi so he can dump the congealed brick of ramen into the trash.

He wonders if Jimin had tried to make breakfast, and then immediately feels a little bad because he knows he doesn’t exactly have much to offer other than maybe a few packets of biscuits and a lone ice cream bar in the freezer.

He’ll have to run to the grocery store later, then, to pick up some actual food to feed the kid now living with him.

By the time Yoongi arrives at the campus clutching an extra-large cup of extra-caffeinated coffee, he’s nearly late for his first class. He takes a moment to adjust his slacks—he should have ironed them better, damn—before stepping into the classroom, heading straight for his desk.

“Alright, welcome to Music Production and Editing II. I’m Professor Min,” Yoongi drawls, dropping his papers onto his desk before carefully setting his laptop down. He looks up and scans the faces of his students. There aren’t so many of them, and he’s grateful for that because he would have hated if the first class he ever taught was an enormous lecture where none of the students would even remember him.

Luckily, there are only around thirty students here today, and Yoongi breathes out a small sigh of relief before he sees something that makes him freeze.

There, sitting in the second row and looking equally as shellshocked as Yoongi feels, is Park fucking Jimin.

“Oh my god,” Yoongi mumbles to himself, turning around to face the whiteboard so he can compose himself before turning back around. “So, I’m told the school gave you each a copy of Avid Pro Tools, right? Fire it up and let’s start editing.”

Somehow, Yoongi ignores looking at the left corner of the classroom for the entire one hour and fifteen minute period, and sinks down into his chair in relief when he finally dismisses the class.

Jimin tries sneaking out behind a taller student, but Yoongi fixes him with a glare until the younger one finally makes his way over to Yoongi’s desk. Yoongi waits until the last of the students filter out the door before standing up, already seething.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Yoongi hisses, keeping his voice low just in case there are students waiting to come inside for the next class. “Did you fucking follow me to work or something?”

Jimin looks offended, hoisting his bag higher up on his narrow shoulders. “Why would I do that? I go here. This is my first class of the day.”

Yoongi scoffs, but shuts up once Jimin pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of the pocket of his jeans and oh yeah, that’s a schedule, and yup, that’s Jimin’s name.

“You’re in my class and you didn’t tell me? Why wouldn’t you at least mention that you go here?” Yoongi mutters, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He thinks he’s getting a migraine.

“I told you I was a student,” Jimin shoots back, glaring. And even though Yoongi’s still angry, he can’t help but take a moment to think that Jimin’s glares are totally ineffective, seeing as Jimin looks more like a kicked puppy than anything else.

“Yeah, but I thought you meant a high school student,” Yoongi replies, furrowing his eyebrows.

Jimin looks affronted. “I’m a senior in college, though!” he splutters, eyes going wide in indignation. Yoongi stifles a grin, because Jimin’s rounded cheeks and puppy eyes only serve to make him look younger.

“You’re already a senior? There’s no way,” Yoongi scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “You look like you’re fifteen. Maybe thirteen, even.”

And it’s a lie, but there’s something fun about riling up Jimin, if only because Yoongi gets to see how red his cheeks get.

“I’m going to be twenty-one!” Jimin frowns, and Yoongi scowls right back because there’s no way that baby-faced Jimin is only two years younger than Yoongi himself. And as enjoyable as poking fun at Jimin is, Yoongi knows that the clock is ticking and he really doesn’t have much time before he needs to go teach his next class, so he gets straight to the point.

“Listen, Jimin, I’m sorry but I can’t just live with one of my students,” Yoongi says, watching as Jimin wrinkles his nose in confusion. A look of betrayal passes over Jimin’s face, and a strange wave of guilt swoops over Yoongi.

“You can’t kick me out,” Jimin says stubbornly, and his voice is on the verge of getting louder so Yoongi quickly waves his hands until Jimin quiets down again. His voice is hesitant when he continues. “You’re the entire reason that I got evicted. I… I could tell the landlord, you know.”

Yoongi sucks in a quick breath, because he knows Jimin’s not lying. He could tell their landlord about Bulangi and then everything would be over for Yoongi. He’d have to move out, try to find a new place on his limited salary, probably have to sell some of his sound equipment, maybe even have to give Bulangi away. It’s too much to risk.

“You wouldn’t do that,” Yoongi hedges, wondering if he can maybe call Jimin’s bluff. He doesn’t know too much about the kid—considering they just met a day ago—but he just can’t see Jimin as the type to seek revenge, no matter how justified.

Jimin visibly deflates, nodding down at Yoongi’s desk. “No, I wouldn’t. But you really wouldn’t kick me out, would you? All of my stuff is at your place, or in your storage unit. I just don’t know where I would go, it’s too much for me to handle.”

And Yoongi knows he really, really shouldn’t give in to Jimin’s hurt, pouty look, especially since Yoongi’s just landed this job and doing something as stupid as rooming with one of his students is probably a surefire way of getting himself fired before he gets his first paycheck. But Jimin keeps looking upset and Yoongi’s only human and sometimes it’s too much to try to refuse Jimin.

“Fine,” Yoongi mutters, his mouth moving of its own accord. “You can stay. But it’s not going to be a long term thing, okay? We’ll work something out soon, but until then, you have to keep this a secret. I don’t need you to be the reason I get fired, okay?”

Jimin perks up immediately, and Yoongi can feel the throbbing of the migraine behind his eyes get worse.

“Now leave before people get suspicious,” Yoongi instructs, watching as Jimin practically flees the classroom to get to his next period. Yoongi glances down at his watch and frowns. If he heads back to his office to grab some painkillers, he’s definitely going to be late to the next class he’s teaching. But, Yoongi figures, since there’s no way that this day can get any worse, he might as well risk it.

-

“Holy shit, no wonder the name Min Yoongi sounded familiar!” Taehyung gasps, and Jimin whacks him upside the head.

“Could you get any louder?” Jimin complains, rubbing the side of his palm because Taehyung’s head is sort of abnormally hard. “This has to be a secret, okay? I don’t want to get him fired; then we’d both be out of places to live.”

“You know, you’re always welcome to stay with us,” Taehyung offers, and the honestly in his voice is enough to make Jimin seriously consider it for a moment. The thing is, Taehyung’s apartment is incredibly cramped already, what with housing two boys and all of their keyboards and guitars and other junk, and Jimin really doesn’t want to know what Taehyung and Jungkook get up to in the wee hours of the night.

“Thanks,” Jimin mumbles, resting a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “but I don’t think that it would work out. You guys are already crowded in there, and it would be hard to move all of my stuff all the way to your place.”

“You probably think he’s hot and just want to keep living with him,” Taehyung says bluntly, and Jimin covers his face with his hands and groans because there’s no stopping Taehyung when he gets crazy ideas in his head. “But you know, I’m pretty sure most professors would give you good grades if you slept with them, so maybe this’ll work out for the better for you.”

“Shut up before I strangle you,” Jimin grumbles, glaring at a laughing Taeyung. “Anyway, maybe I’ll come crash with you if living with Professor Min ever gets too weird.”

Taehyung pulls a face. “You’re really going to call him that? When you’re living with him? Is this some weird kink of yours?”

If there’s a way for all of the blood to drain out of his face while simultaneously rushing into his cheeks, Jimin thinks it’s happening to him now.

“No!” he exclaims, punching Taehyung’s shoulder. “God, you’re so weird. I just don’t know what else to call him. I can’t just call him Yoongi, you know? He’s older than us.”

“He looked pretty young to me,” Taehyung squints, trying to recall the details of their class. “He’s just an associate professor anyway, so he can’t be that old.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Jimin mopes, looking up once they finally arrive in front of his apartment building. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Remind Jungkook that we need to be at the studio at eight.”

“Will do,” Taehyung nods, sending Jimin a cheesy two-finger salute. “Update me on how tonight with Professor Min goes.”

He waggles his eyebrows then, and Jimin contemplates punching him again. He never gets the chance before Taehyung turns and heads back to his own apartment, and so Jimin simply turns and heads inside, jogging up the stairs to get to his floor because he figures there’s never a bad time to exercise.

Jimin picks out the spare key Yoongi had given him the night before from his Dooly keychain, but before he can actually unlock the door Yoongi pulls it open from inside.

“Do you always get back from campus this late?” Yoongi complains, stepping back and letting Jimin walk through. Bulangi attacks his ankles, and Jimin can’t help but smile as he drops his backpack and leans over to pick up the cat.

“I have dance conservatory in the evenings,” Jimin murmurs, unsure as to whether Yoongi’s feeling grumpy or not. He certainly looks grumpy, and Jimin would prefer not to antagonize his already-doubtful roommate.

“You’re a dancer?” Yoongi looks surprised, turning to face Jimin. “What the hell are you doing in my editing class then?”

Jimin shifts, suddenly feeling defensive. He knows that a lot of people don’t view dancing as a credible career, but since Yoongi teaches music at an arts university, Jimin had assumed he’d be different. “I dunno, sometimes it would be nice to try to produce the music I dance to, I guess. I didn’t know you were into music either, actually.”

“I went to SeoulArts too,” Yoongi explains, sitting on the couch. “Majored in Music production, and I managed to graduate a year early. I did my Master’s there too, actually, and helped some of the other professors out in the department, and by the time I finished they offered me this job.”

Jimin squints, trying to work out some calculations out in his head, but it’s been five years since he’d last taken a math class. “So what, you’re like, twenty five?”

“Twenty three,” Yoongi says, and Jimin thinks he can detect the faintest note of pride in Yoongi’s voice. “But don’t go around telling all the other students. I think this’ll work out better if everyone thinks I’m older than I actually am.”

“You’re really young, Professor,” Jimin notes, and the scandalized expression on Yoongi’s face is enough to make him laugh. “Not that you look old, of course. I was just surprised.”

“Don’t call me Professor when we’re not in class,” Yoongi says, making a face. “It sounds so weird. Just call me hyung or something, okay?”

Jimin nods. It feels a little strange, being so informal with Yoongi when they’ve really only known each other for twenty four hours now, but Yoongi’s right in that calling him Professor Min would feel even stranger.

Just then, his stomach makes the horrifying decision to gurgle loudly, and Jimin clasps his arms over his belly as if he could stifle the noise that way. To make things even worse, he can feel his cheeks heating up, and Yoongi’s looking at him and trying not to laugh. God, just kill him already.

“You’re hungry?” Yoongi asks, getting up off the couch. Jimin stands meekly against the front door, watching as the older man walks past him and into the kitchen, and rifles through the cupboard.

“I get hungry after class,” Jimin answers, kneeling down and letting go of Bulangi when she gets restless. “I think I’ll just go grab some dinner somewhere, actually—”

“Grab your coat,” Yoongi interrupts him, and Jimin shuts his mouth because Yoongi’s tone makes it apparent that there’s no room to argue. “Let’s head to the store. I need to pick up some groceries, and I have no idea what foods you like so it’ll be much better if you’re there too.”

“Okay,” Jimin replies thinly, watching as Yoongi pulls on a leather jacket and steps outside. He doesn’t wait for Jimin before heading down to the elevator, and Jimin scrambles to jam his feet back into his shoes and follow him.

He pulls his phone out and sends a text to Taehyung, warning him that if he doesn’t show up to their music theory class the next day, check for him in the nearest supermarket.

-

Yoongi insists on driving to the farthest supermarket on this side of Seoul, because he figures there’s less of a chance of them being recognized there. Not that anybody would recognize the new associate professor after just a single day of classes, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Jimin’s one of those kids that loves looking out the window during car rides, Yoongi quickly learns, and spends the entire thirty-minute trip with his nose pressed against the window. It leaves a foggy little mark when Yoongi grabs Jimin by the hood of his sweatshirt and pulls him away.

“Alright, come on,” Yoongi murmurs, looking away when Jimin flushes bright pink because he’s not in the mood to deal with cute hungry children.

It turns out that Jimin’s also one of those kids that goes straight to the biscuit aisle in the store, and Yoongi rolls his eyes when he sees Jimin trying to decide between two different types of chocolate cookies.

“We should probably buy real groceries first,” Yoongi suggests dryly, watching as Jimin grabs both packs off the shelf. “I’m pretty sure kids need to eat more than just sweets.”

“You talk like you’re already fifty years old, hyung,” Jimin laughs, dropping the cookies into the basket that Yoongi’s carrying. “Anyway, you need food too. What do you like to eat?”

“I don’t really cook,” Yoongi replies, staring at the seven different types of flavored yogurt on the wall. He can understand flavors like strawberry and mango, but fucking lemonberries aren’t even real. “Normally I just… order pizza? Get take out? Instant ramen?”

Jimin’s look of horror makes Yoongi feel a little guilty, and he doesn’t even know why.

“God, how are you a grown man?” Jimin asks, dropping several packs of chicken breasts into the basket. Yoongi follows dumbly as Jimin heads into the pasta aisle, picking out a few different varieties of noodles.

“You shouldn’t talk to your professor like that,” Yoongi reminds him, but there’s no real bite to his words and both he and Jimin know it.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jimin mumbles, scanning the aisles. “You can make soup, right? It’s impossible to mess up canned soup. You literally just heat it up.”

“I don’t like soup,” Yoongi mutters, following after Jimin. The basket’s now a lot heavier than it was ten minutes ago, but Yoongi would feel dumb if he set it down. “There’s no need to buy any.”

Jimin sends him a fake-hurt look. “But I like soup. And anyway, it’s good for you. I got the low-sodium ones because they’ll help you stay hydrated better. I bet you’re the type that doesn’t like to drink water either.”

And Yoongi doesn’t have a good reply to that, so he settles for a glare that Jimin shrugs off. It’s true, anyway. He usually substitutes his daily water intake with coffee.

Jimin’s a lot happier when he’s surrounded by food, Yoongi notes, and he feels a little bad for having nothing but stale ramen in his pantry. He wonders if Jimin’s starving by now—he hadn’t eaten dinner last night either, Yoongi recalls, and he’s only assuming that Jimin had bought lunch during the school day.

For some reason, Yoongi feels responsible for Jimin now that they live under the same roof. And it’s a little weird, because Yoongi likes not having to be responsible for anything other than himself (and occasionally his damn cat), but there’s something about Jimin that’s endearing enough for Yoongi to not mind getting saddled with a sudden roommate.

All of a sudden, Jimin pops up directly in front of his face and dangles an apple at him. “Here, aren’t teachers supposed to like these?”

“You’re a fucking weird kid,” Yoongi replies sourly, taking the apple and putting in the basket anyway.

“Why are you a teacher anyway?” Jimin asks, ignoring Yoongi’s insult and sniffing at the fresh loaves of bread. “You don’t really seem like you’d be the type.”

“I’m not,” Yoongi pulls a face, rubbing at the back of his neck with his one arm that’s not straining under the weight of the basket. “I don’t like kids, but college students aren’t so bad, really. And plus, I’m working for my doctorate in Music Arts, and I need some way to pay for it, don’t I? At least since I’m still studying, I don’t have to get around to paying off my loans yet.”

“What are you gonna do with that doctorate?” Jimin asks, looking intrigued. Yoongi allows a smile, since it’s not every day that someone who’s actually interested in music is willing to listen to Yoongi prattle on about his ambitions.

“Hopefully, compose, and then produce. I already do some on the side, anyway, but I bet with more qualifications I can go bigger. I like studying too, so it’s not so bad,” Yoongi nods, watching as Jimin absently nibbles on the corner of a slice of bread as he listens. “You’re majoring in dance, then?”

“Modern Dance,” Jimin says, visibly perking up as he drops the bread into the basket. “Emphasis on performance. I’m trying to join a local troupe, but they only take people with degrees so I have to go through SeoulArts.”

“I have a friend who runs a studio,” Yoongi notes, making his way up to the cash register because he figures they have enough food to last three weeks at this point. “Maybe I’ll see if I can introduce you guys one day.”

“That would be amazing,” Jimin says earnestly, and Yoongi fights back a sigh of relief when Jimin takes the basket from him and relieves his aching arm. “Anyway, let me pay for the groceries, hyung. I’m sure I’ll end up eating most of it anyway.”

“But I’m older,” Yoongi protests, pulling out his wallet.

“Aren’t I living at your place for free?” Jimin grins, sliding his own card over to the confused-looking cashier. “That’s really nice of you. The least I can do is cover some of the groceries, right?”

And with Jimin looking at him like that, all scrunched-up eyes and toothy grin, Yoongi figures that not all kids are bad.

-

Somehow over the course of two months, Yoongi goes from Jimin’s quiet roommate to his reluctant friend.

Yoongi firmly avoids making eye contact with Jimin during class, and eventually Jimin becomes used to being ignored. Things are probably less suspicious that way, he knows, but it’s still nerve-wracking to think that the man who grades his homework is the same man who tried to make soup for Jimin when he was sick a week ago. Taehyung, who always sits next to him in Yoongi’s class, thinks the way Jimin gets all fidgety is the funniest thing in the world.

But really, Jimin’s just being cautious. He knows that Yoongi really needs his job, and Jimin doesn’t want to be the reason that Yoongi loses it.

And Yoongi’s a surprisingly good teacher, considering how naturally quiet and grouchy he can be at times. He never assigns too much work—and Jimin will be forever grateful for that, considering he spends too much time in the practice room to really focus on any homework—and doesn’t ever give out pop quizzes, which automatically checks him off in Jimin’s book. He’s even nice enough to offer Jimin some extra help at home when he has trouble producing a piece. His lectures are never boring either, although Yoongi’s voice is so deep and pleasant that Jimin figures he could probably get away with reading the phone book during his lectures instead.

God, he has it bad.

Jimin ignores his mixed feelings toward his too-attractive teacher as much as possible, because he knows acting on them would be disastrous. First off, it’s probably illegal to like your professors, and second, Yoongi probably wouldn’t recognize a crush if it bit him on the ass, since Yoongi’s dense like that when it comes to people skills.

Luckily, Yoongi’s easy to avoid since Jimin only sees him on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday mornings and avoids the music department like the plague otherwise. He comes home late after dance practice too, late enough where Yoongi and Jimin usually only have time to share a dinner before Jimin’s scrambling to finish his homework and Yoongi’s working on whatever he does alone in his room.

Today, however, Jimin’s forced to seek out Yoongi because it’s pouring outside and he really needs a ride to practice.

The short walk from campus to the apartment is enough for Jimin to get completely drenched, and he’s still dripping by the time he jogs up the stairs and opens the door. Bulangi rushes forward to try to lick him clean, and Jimin laughs.

“You’re making a mess,” Yoongi says as soon as Jimin walks in, looking at the small puddles on the floor. “Is it really raining that hard?”

“Haven’t you gone outside at all?” Jimin asks, stepping back out into the hallway so he can wring out his shirt onto the ugly blue carpet. “It’s been raining ever since noon.”

“I stayed home today,” Yoongi explains, shutting his laptop and walking over. “My staff meeting got rescheduled so I canceled my office hours and took the day off.”

“Just to laze around? You do that enough,” Jimin jokes, slipping out of his wet shoes and ignoring Yoongi’s scowl at his words. “Anyway, I need a favor. Do you think you could drop me off at my dance studio? I normally walk there, but I don’t want to get wet. Well, more wet.”

“I—fine,” Yoongi sighs, giving in easily when Jimin pouts at him. “Is it far?”

“Nope!” Jimin replies cheerfully, shrugging out of his soggy shirt. “Let me just go change really quick, I’m already going to be late, I think.”

By the time they actually arrive at the studio, it’s half past six. Jimin hates being late, even if his teacher is rather lenient, and he frowns to himself when Yoongi pulls up in front.

“Thanks for the ride, hyung,” Jimin says quickly, covering his head in preparation to sprint outside. Yoongi watches his action and sighs.

“I have an umbrella. I’ll walk you inside, okay? If you get another cold this month I think I’m going to go crazy,” Yoongi complains, getting out of the car and shaking out his umbrella. He looks expectantly at Jimin, who hurries to go stand under it with him. They’re standing close enough where Jimin can feel Yoongi’s breath against his ear, and he has to force his face to remain neutral.

Hoseok is already warmed up when they walk inside, practicing one of their mixes, and Jimin waves. Yoongi, however, freezes in his tracks, and Jimin sends him a questioning look.

“Holy shit, Yoongi?” Hoseok exclaims loudly, pausing the stereo and walking up to them. Jimin looks between the two of them, confused.

“Um,” Yoongi winces, “hi.”

“You guys know each other?” Jimin interrupts, not fazed when Hoseok drapes his arm over Jimin’s shoulders and pulls him into a makeshift headlock. “Oh man, I didn’t know that.”

“I knew him in college for a while,” Hoseok explains. “But you were only a freshman, Jimin-ah, so you probably wouldn’t have. And now sometimes I keep up with his music. But wait, how do you two know each other?”

“I’m one of his teachers,” Yoongi says, just as Jimin pipes up to say, “I’m living with him.”

Yoongi’s face turns ashen, and Jimin realizes that he may have said the wrong thing. Hoseok looks stunned, and then bursts into laughter which doesn’t help to soften Yoongi’s expression.

“Oh my god,” Hoseok bends over, clutching at his knees as he gasps. “Yoongi, I knew you liked the cute ones but I never figured that you’d go for your own students.”

“It’s not like that!” Yoongi snaps, and Jimin’s glad that at least one of them is coherent enough to say something because Jimin sure isn’t. He thinks his mouth may be hanging open, but he’s really not sure. “We’re neighbors, okay? And Jimin had a—an incident, so he’s living with me for a bit. I didn’t know he was going to be in my class.”

“Sure,” Hoseok says slowly, eyes flickering between Yoongi’s stern face and Jimin’s own mortified one. “In the future, you guys should have a better excuse planned, okay?”

“I’m leaving!” Yoongi announces loudly, gripping Jimin’s wrist briefly to tug him away from Hoseok’s tightening hold. Jimin sends him a grateful look, but Yoongi misses it as he’s already turning around and heading back outside, umbrella forgotten. “Jimin, just call me when you’re done.”

It’s hard to focus on dancing after that, because Jimin keeps getting distracted by Hoseok’s wiggling eyebrows and the ghost of Yoongi’s fingers on his hand.

-

Midterm week turns out to be even worse as a teacher than as a student, Yoongi finds out, because it involves revising syllabi and grading projects and exams and dealing with crying students upset about their grades. At the end of it all, Yoongi’s exhausted and just wants to sleep until it’s time for final exams.

Surprisingly, Jimin’s home before Yoongi is.

“Jiminie?” Yoongi calls, looking down at Jimin’s sneakers carelessly discarded on the floor in front of the door. “You here?”

“Hyung!” Jimin’s voice cries out a little too loudly, and Yoongi winces as he heads into the kitchen where he thinks Jimin’s voice. Jimin’s sat on the ground, leaning against the fridge and surrounded by at least five empty bottles of soju. He flashes Yoongi a brief smile before taking another swig, then goes back to playing a game on his cell phone. Yoongi can barely believe his eyes.

“Are you drunk?” Yoongi asks incredulously, kneeling down to try to pull the last bottle out of Jimin’s hand.

“No I’m not!” Jimin says heatedly, pulling a face. He belatedly notices Yoongi’s efforts to take the bottle and pulls it close to his chest. “You’re drunk, hyung!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yoongi deadpans, pushing Jimin’s head back until he can catch sight of Jimin’s dilated pupils and flushed skin and yup, if the empty bottles don’t confirm Jimin’s drunkenness then his face definitely does.

“Why are you drinking, Jimin?” Yoongi sighs, cleaning up the bottles and setting them in the sink. “Don’t you have dance tomorrow?”

“Because midterms are over!” Jimin squeals, draping himself over Yoongi’s legs. “I want to celebrate. No more work!”

“You’re such a lightweight,” Yoongi mumbles, unsure as how to proceed in dealing with a very wobbly Jimin, who’s currently using Yoongi’s legs to try to pull himself off the floor. Yoongi groans and leans down to hook his arms under Jimin’s, hauling him to his feet. “Anyway, I think maybe you should go to bed early tonight.”

“You’re trying to get rid of me,” Jimin accuses him, looking up at Yoongi with wide, watery eyes. “You hate me.”

“You’re crazy,” Yoongi corrects him, slinging Jimin’s arm over his shoulder so he can lead him back over to the couch. Another glance at Jimin tells Yoongi that the younger would probably fall off the couch if left to his own intentions, and so Yoongi changes course and heads to his own bedroom. Jimin should probably sleep on a real bed, he decides, and Yoongi doesn’t mind being out on the couch for a night.

“Are you taking me to bed?” Jimin giggles, breath hot against the side of Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi forces himself to ignore it. “Hyung, that’s so sweet of you.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi grits out, practically dragging Jimin into his bedroom. He drops him onto the bed unceremoniously, but Jimin doesn’t mind and rolls onto his stomach, laughing. Yoongi grabs his phone charger and turns to leave, but a small hand sneaking into his back pocket makes him stop.

“Wait,” Jimin mumbles, tugging Yoongi backwards. “Don’t leave. I’ll be lonely.”

“I’m just going to be in the living room,” Yoongi sighs, pulling Jimin’s hand away. He turns to catch a glimpse of Jimin’s puppy eyes and his resolve immediately melts into a puddle of weak-willed goo, and so he shoves a pillow aside and sits back against the headboard.

Jimin sits on the other end of the bed, legs crossed, and then apparently decides that’s too far and crawls forward until his knees knock against Yoongi’s. The professor looks away, somehow embarrassed even though Jimin’s the drunk one tonight.

“You know,” Jimin says thoughtfully, resting his cheek on one of his hands. Yoongi traces the outline of his short fingers and then mentally slaps himself back into reality. “You really gave me a hard time, hyung.”

And Yoongi knows it’s not meant to be suggestive, but that doesn’t stop his neck from turning red.

“Did I?” Yoongi asks, fiddling with his phone charger in an attempt to avoid looking at Jimin’s pink cheeks and parted lips because he really has no business admiring one of his students like that, even if they do happen to live with him.

“Yeah,” Jimin sighs, shutting his eyes. “Your midterm exam was harder than I thought it would be. Did I do alright?”

Yoongi’s not sure if he wants to choke Jimin or himself more.

“You’ll just have to wait until I hand back grades next week,” Yoongi says lamely, and it’s not really a lie since he’s not supposed to tell students their grades before the school allows it. He’d probably make an exception for Jimin, though, and the younger seems to know it when he scoots closer until he’s set right next to Yoongi.

“Okay.” Yoongi’s a little surprised when Jimin drops the topic so easily, but then nearly jumps when Jimin suddenly moves to lay his head on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“You don’t hate me, right?” Jimin asks curiously, playing with a ring on his finger.

“Why would you think that?” Yoongi asks, furrowing his brow. He knows he doesn’t exactly act all chummy with Jimin in class, but they’re both friends when they’re at home.

“It’s really annoying when you answer a question with another question,” Jimin scowls, and Yoongi can’t help but laugh because the sight of Jimin trying to look mad is one that will always amuse him. “You should just say that you like me.”

“I’m pretty sure I should not say that,” Yoongi replies, watching as Jimin wilts.

“I knew you wouldn’t say it,” Jimin mutters, pulling away from Yoongi and turning so that all Yoongi can see is his back. “No one ever says it back, you know.”

“Did you want me to say it?” Yoongi wonders, genuinely curious. It’s intriguing, seeing this side of Jimin, since normally Yoongi only hears about dance and complaints about homework from the boy. Jimin turns his head and fixes him with a wide-eyed stare.

“Well, yeah,” Jimin says, sliding down until he’s more or less lying on the bed. Somehow, Yoongi’s hand finds its way into Jimin’s hair, and Yoongi can’t bring himself to move it away. “Because I like you, so it would be a lot better if you said it back.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says, a little taken aback. He’s not sure what to do anymore, not sure which of his many excuses to use so that he doesn’t have to try to explain to Jimin how he really can’t afford to act on whatever feelings he may have for the younger.

He ends up not having to say anything, because Jimin falls asleep within a few minutes. Yoongi takes the time to carefully remove Jimin’s glasses and set them on the nightstand, and wonders how he’s never noticed that Jimin is a light snorer.

“I gave you an A on the midterm, by the way,” Yoongi says out loud. He figures that since he can’t say what Jimin really wants, this will have to do.

-

Two weeks before finals is when Jimin has the first of his three dance evaluations.

And even though Jimin’s practiced every day for the past month in preparation, he still manages to forget a step and mess up. It’s not enough to kill his grades, but it’s plenty enough to crush his spirit and force him to work much, much harder for the next two evaluations.

It’s dumb to mope, he knows, but Jimin figures he deserves to throw himself a pity party when he’s practically just thrown away the last month of his life over a silly missed step.

“You look upset,” Yoongi notes when Jimin finally comes home, sucking on the last dregs of his protein shake. The teacher’s sat at the kitchen table, looking over some completed exams. Jimin catches sight of his name scribbled over the corner of one of them and frowns deeper. The last thing he needs to be reminded of right now is school.

“Had a rough day,” Jimin mutters, hoping Yoongi will be able to leave it at that. Unfortunately, Yoongi’s stubborn, and Jimin knows he’s out of luck when Yoongi closes his laptop and turns to face him.

“Was my test that hard?” Yoongi jokes half-heartedly, and Jimin groans when he sinks down onto the sofa.

“No, it’s not you,” Jimin sighs, lifting the lid off his Styrofoam cup so he can get to the last bits at the bottom. It’s never Yoongi, really, but when Jimin catches sight of Yoongi’s concerned gaze and teeth worrying at his lip he decides that it’s always Yoongi.

“I just screwed up one of my dance practicals,” Jimin explains, setting his empty cup inside his sneaker so it won’t tip over. “I’m just bummed, I guess. Hoseok hyung will be disappointed, too. It’s one of the routines we worked on together.”

“Hoseok is never disappointed in you,” Yoongi replies, and Jimin flings his arm over his eyes so he doesn’t have to stare at Yoongi’s dumb face for any longer than he absolutely has to. “Hey, don’t be upset. It’s not like it’s the end of the world or anything.”

“No,” Jimin admits, pursing his lips. “But if I can’t get a short routine down after a whole month of practice then I don’t know how I’m going to do on my next evaluation, and that’s when the dance troupe recruiters will be watching. And if I screw up again then I can pretty much kiss my chances at a job goodbye.”

“Now you’re just overreacting,” Yoongi points out, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. Jimin sits up so that there’s more room for the two of them, and Bulangi uses the opportunity to hop up and settle between them.

“No,” Jimin frowns, shaking his head. “I’m being reasonable. I need to be the best if I want to get noticed, and right now I suck. I’m going to have to work a lot harder in the future. Actually, I’ll probably end up staying later at the studio, so don’t wait up anymore.” Jimin rubs at his eyes as he thinks of another thing. “Also, I think I’m going to have to diet again, so don’t make dinner for two either.”

“You’re really going this far?” Yoongi asks, looking surprised. “I don’t think you need to do any of that, Jimin. I’m sure things aren’t as bad as you think they are.”

“How would you know?” Jimin shoots back, suddenly angry now that Yoongi’s trying to persuade him to be more lenient with himself. Yoongi wants him to go easier, his dance professors want him to work harder, and Jimin’s just so fed up of being caught in the middle that this is the last straw. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

“So now I can’t even tell you to take care of yourself?” Yoongi looks annoyed, and Jimin’s absolutely not in the mood to deal with an annoyed Yoongi tonight.

“No,” Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms stubbornly. He knows he looks childish, but he doesn’t care. “You’re just another one of my teachers, remember?”

“Aren’t I your friend too?” Yoongi asks, and Jimin scowls because he doesn’t have a good answer to that. Yes, of course Yoongi’s a friend, but Yoongi’s also the one who always insists that they need to maintain a professional relationship when Jimin just wishes they could be something more. It’s exhausting, and Jimin’s tired of pretending that it’s working out.

“Are you?” Jimin asks, reaching out and holding onto Bulangi so he can’t do something stupid with his hands like drag Yoongi closer and kiss him. “Because half the time when you see me, you just ignore me.”

“Because I’m your fucking professor,” Yoongi hisses, narrowing his eyes and leaning closer. “I can’t afford to do more than that.”

“Do what?” Jimin practically shouts. He wants to scream more, but he end up swallowing his words when Yoongi lunges forward and grabs onto the front of Jimin’s sweatshirt, tugging him forward until Yoongi’s lips come crashing over his.

Bulangi wiggles her way free from between them, and Yoongi seizes the opportunity to move forward until his chest presses against Jimin’s and his tongue teases at the seam of Jimin’s lips. Jimin almost gives in, but then shakes himself back to reality and breaks away.

“What are you doing?” Jimin pants, raising his arm to press his sleeve against his mouth. “What happened to being my professor?”

“What happened to you not wanting me to ignore you anymore?” Yoongi looks peeved, but his lips are already turning redder and Jimin can feel his cheeks heating up by the moment.

“I didn’t realize that this is what you were talking about,” Jimin says truthfully, looking doubtful.

“Park Jimin,” Yoongi mutters, looking so endearingly frustrated that Jimin feels all the air leave his lungs. “Do you know how fucking difficult you are to ignore?”

This time, it’s Jimin that kisses Yoongi.

-

Yoongi knows he’s screwed when he wakes up next to Jimin.

Jimin’s practically laying on top of him, which isn’t the most comfortable feeling considering that the younger is pretty heavy, at least compared to what Yoongi’s capable of dealing with. The blankets are pooled around his waist, and Yoongi squints his eyes when the sunlight nearly blinds him.

The younger’s still asleep, which is unusual considering it’s already nearing eight. Jimin’s normally a light sleeper, Yoongi knows, and there’s a part of him that puffs out in pride at being the reason that Jimin’s so lethargic this morning.

“Hyung,” Jimin suddenly mumbles, clinging onto Yoongi’s arm. The sun illuminates the planes of his shoulders, the curve of his neck, and Yoongi thinks he looks absolutely beautiful. His legs are tangled somewhere between Yoongi’s own, and Yoongi’s mouth quirks up when Jimin tries to burrow closer. Of course Park Jimin would be a cuddler.

“Morning, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says, squinting against the bright light of the sun. It’s shining directly into his eyes, and that coupled with the stifling heat of being trapped next to another body under his heavy covers makes Yoongi want to get up and get some air, but Jimin looks so sated and pliant and comfortable that Yoongi doesn’t want to disrupt him just yet.

And then he looks at the clock again, realizes they have less than half an hour before they both have to be in class, and decides he’ll let Jimin sleep in another day.

“Jimin, we have to go,” Yoongi says, pushing the younger away and getting up. He trips on the edge of the blanket when he leaves the bed, and there’s a faint stinging sensation across the back of his shoulders that he assumes Jimin is responsible for. The thought of it manages to make him smile.

“I wanna sleep,” Jimin mutters, turning to look at Yoongi, eyes still puffy with sleep. He reaches out an arm in silent demand and Yoongi obliges him and leans down, letting Jimin pull him into a clumsy kiss. Jimin’s morning breath is pretty bad, but Yoongi won’t tell him that. Today, at least.

“We don’t have time for this,” Yoongi points out, shaking Jimin’s shoulder to try to wake him more. They need to discuss some things too—such as what this thing means for them—but they definitely don’t have time for that, and Yoongi figures it can wait until after classes end for the day.

“I’ll just ditch,” Jimin mumbles, yawning. Yoongi can’t help but feel betrayed.

“There is no way you’re skipping my class,” Yoongi says, eyes narrowed as he grabs the end of the blanket and yanks it off the bed, watching as Jimin huddles into a ball and shivers as soon as his source of warmth is removed.

“You’re so mean in the mornings,” Jimin complains, sitting up and pulling the blankets over his lap as if he has any modesty left to hide. Yoongi catches the faintest shape of a handprint on Jimin’s skin and grins.

“I’ll be nice again if we manage to get to campus on time,” Yoongi replies, pushing Jimin toward the bathroom. “Now go, take a shower, you reek.”

“Isn’t that partly your fault?” Jimin mumbles, rubbing at his cheeks as he heads into the bathroom, and Yoongi’s just glad that he’s still sleepy enough to not argue too much.

Breakfast is a rushed affair of hastily-buttered toast and lukewarm coffee, and Yoongi decides that in the interest of saving time it’s best if he gives Jimin a ride to campus. It’s in no way related to Yoongi’s desire to see more of sleep-ruffled Jimin. Not at all.

“See you in class, Professor,” Jimin grins, grabbing his backpack and taking off. Yoongi stays seated in the car, running over Jimin’s words in his head. Professor.

It’s a grim reminder than Yoongi’s still Jimin’s teacher at the end of the day, and that if anyone were to find out that he had fucked his student, he’d be out of a job. He’s going to have to talk to Jimin about this at some point, he realizes, but he doesn’t want to be the one to ruin their newfound good mood.

By the time he finally makes his way to the classroom, he’s ten minutes late. He figures it doesn’t matter, though, since he’s the professor and he can do what he wants.

“I’m sure you guys have been wondering about the final exam for this class,” Yoongi starts off, staring at the expectant faces of his students. It’s strange, but through the past fourteen weeks he’s found himself becoming strangely attached to them.

“I bet you guys all have boring written exams in your other classes,” Yoongi nods, watching as Jimin’s tall friend Taehyung groans and sinks lower in his seat, clearly distraught. “So I figure for this class, we’ll do something different. I want you guys to give me a song.”

And yeah, that gets the students’ attention.

“You can compose it if you like, but it doesn’t have to be original,” Yoongi says, pacing around the front of the hall. “I just want you guys to show me what you’ve learned over the semester. Edit a bunch of sounds together and turn it into music. That’s how you produce, okay?”

The rest of the class period is filled with questions and concerns from the students, and Yoongi’s glad for once because it means he doesn’t have to try to think of a lesson plan anymore. Jimin doesn’t come up to talk to him, and that’s a good thing because Yoongi doesn’t think he can talk to Jimin as his professor just yet.

He’ll have to work on that.

-

Jimin’s surprised when he arrives home after dance and Yoongi isn’t there.

A text from Yoongi reveals that the professor needed to stay late for a meeting, and so Jimin decides that tonight is a good night to try out a new pasta recipe he found online. He gets halfway through with it by the time Yoongi comes home.

“Hey there,” Yoongi says, offering Jimin a tired smile. Jimin scans over the other man quickly and purses his lips, stirring the pasta absently.

“Long day?” Jimin asks, watching as Yoongi sets his bag down by Jimin’s. He’s suddenly struck by how domestic they must look, what with Jimin cooking dinner and Yoongi just getting back from work. It’s a strange thought, since he’d never viewed him and Yoongi this way before.

“They’re just going to get longer,” Yoongi grumbles, sinking down onto one of the dining room chairs. “And you thought you had it bad during finals.”

Jimin glares good-naturedly. “I do have it bad, hyung. Not only do I have to practice for my dance evaluations, I have to make a song for your class too.”

“Shit, is it too much? I don’t want to be one of those teachers that just loads everything on you at the worst times,” Yoongi looks distressed, running a hand through his hair. Jimin feels the absurd urge to abandon his pasta and go over and feel Yoongi’s hair for himself, to see if it’s as soft as he remembers.

“No, it’s better than studying for an exam or something,” Jimin says honestly, straining the pasta into two bowls. “And I bet that if I edit some sort of techno remix thing, I could dance to it for my last practical too. I bet dancing to my own song would give me some sort of boost with the judges, right?”

“Maybe,” Yoongi says easily, accepting his bowl of food gratefully when Jimin walks over. “I could help you with it, if you like.”

Jimin wrinkles his nose in distaste, sitting down opposite from Yoongi. “Wouldn’t that be like cheating or something? You know, since you’re going to be grading it too?”

“I guess,” Yoongi murmurs, staring at a few strands of spaghetti as he winds them around his fork. He doesn’t say anything for a while after that, and Jimin frowns a bit because it’s unusually quiet, even for Yoongi.

“Listen,” Yoongi says suddenly, and when he looks up at Jimin there’s something akin to regret in his eyes that turns all of Jimin’s blood into ice. No, no, no, he was doing so well until now.

“Don’t,” Jimin warns him shakily, pointing his fork toward the professor. “Don’t start this now. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You can’t ignore it, Jimin,” Yoongi scowls, and Jimin thinks it’s almost funny how Yoongi said something similar to those words last night. “I’m your teacher. We really can’t be doing this.”

“Doing what?” Jimin can’t help but get defensive. “Are we dating? Or are you just going to back out of this now with your terrible excuses?”

“They’re not excuses, Jimin,” Yoongi says, and Jimin absolutely hates the way Yoongi manages to sound level and calm when Jimin’s on the verge of breaking down. “Seriously, if anyone ever finds out about us, then we’re both screwed. It’s not just my job on the line, you know. What if you get expelled or something? How are you going to graduate then?”

“That won’t happen,” Jimin mumbles, trying to ignore the look Yoongi’s giving him. He knows that if he catches sight of Yoongi’s pleading face, it’ll be over.

“You don’t know that,” Yoongi argues, setting his fork down. “I just think it would be better for the both of us if we just… stopped. No more mistakes like last night again, okay?”

“I didn’t think it was a mistake,” Jimin chokes out, staring down at his dinner. Bulangi walks up at rubs against his ankle, but looking at her just reminds Jimin of how he came to be in this crazy situation in the first place.

“I shouldn’t stay here,” Jimin mutters, pushing his chair away from the table and standing up hastily. “God, I’m so stupid.”

“Wait,” Yoongi says, looking confused. “I didn’t mean that you should leave, I want you to stay.”

Jimin heads to put his shoes on, shaking his head while he tries to collect himself. He doesn’t want to cry. “You want me to stay, but you don’t want me anymore. I just don’t think I should live here anymore, hyung.”

“Jimin,” Yoongi tries, reaching out to grab onto Jimin’s wrist when he opens the door. Against all of his instincts, Jimin turns to look at Yoongi one last time, and the look in his eyes is so sweet and longing that Jimin thinks he’s going to be sick.

“I’ll see you in class, hyung,” Jimin chokes out, wrenching his hand free of Yoongi’s grasp and practically sprinting down the stairs. He’ll stay at Taehyung’s for the night, maybe. All he knows is that he needs to get away from Yoongi before he does something they’ll both regret.

-

Living without Jimin is hard.

And it shouldn’t be, considering that Yoongi had only lived with the kid for less than four months, but in that period of time he had gotten frighteningly used to living with Jimin.

Everything feels wrong to Yoongi. There’s no more fully stocked pantry, no more cartons of banana milk stashed in the fridge, no more pastel post-its stuck to his briefcase to remind him that he has office hours he needs to remember to attend.

He hasn’t heard from Jimin in nearly two weeks. Every text Yoongi had sent him had gone unanswered, and Jimin had steadily ignored him during class too, even though he hadn’t skipped any yet. Yoongi had tried once to get Jimin to stay after class—if only to ask if he had somewhere safe to stay, was he eating enough, was he working too hard—but Jimin had practically fled as soon as the period ended. Yoongi could take a hint.

He doesn’t even get to see Jimin during finals week because Yoongi had asked his class to submit their songs electronically. When he finally does receive the file named untitled.mp3 from Jimin’s school email address, it’s the first form of communication he’s gotten from Jimin in weeks. Opening it is a little daunting, and Yoongi has no idea why.

It’s silly, but he’s a little afraid to press play. And there’s no logical reason for that, really, but just the thought of Jimin working on this piece just for Yoongi is enough to send a spike of longing through Yoongi’s chest. He misses Jimin, he admits, and the idea that this song may be the closest he’ll get to Jimin ever again is daunting.

It turns out to be a techno melody, just as Jimin had said he was planning to do for his dance evaluation as well. Yoongi suddenly realizes that his last practical is tonight, and absently wonders what his routine might look like.

The piece starts off slow, but Yoongi doesn’t mind waiting for the build. He always listens to new songs with his eyes closed, and so he settles back in his plush office chair and waits for Jimin’s song to unfold.

It’s rather catchy, Yoongi decides, filled with quickening synth beats and some sort of piano melody woven through it. He can’t help but imagine what Jimin would look like dancing to it, body twisting and flexing. He’s startled when he hears a voice suddenly start up, singing snippets of words that Yoongi can’t quite catch. It’s not Jimin’s voice, Yoongi quickly ascertains, so it’s probably ripped from the internet. Maybe he got one of his friends to sing for him.

When Yoongi focuses hard enough, he realizes that the voice is murmuring, “I loved you.”

It feels like he’s being punched in the face, suddenly hit with all the emotions that he had refused to feel that last night he had spent with Jimin.

The song continues to build, and Yoongi pushes his thoughts to the side and tries to focus on it from a purely educational perspective, critiquing the editing and flow of it. He agrees that it would make good dance music, at least for someone who knows how to dance to it.

He loses himself in the music then, scribbling down quick notes to refer to when he’s assigning grades later—although realistically, he knows he would never be able to give Jimin a bad grade—and pausing and occasionally rewinding the song to listen to it better. He reaches the end too quickly for his liking, and at this point the background music fades and Yoongi’s forced to hear the voice keep singing to him, repeating the phrase over and over again.

I loved you. I loved you. I loved you.

Yoongi shuts his eyes, tries not to think about what Jimin was thinking of when he made this song. Another voice suddenly chimes in right as the first voice dies down, and Yoongi jolts when he realizes that it’s Jimin’s voice.

“I still do.”

And then it’s over. Scrambling forward, Yoongi has to repeat the ending a couple more times before he finally understands what Jimin was trying to tell him.

It’s not over, Yoongi realizes slowly, sitting at his desk and staring into his laptop screen. Jimin still likes him, loves him, and now it’s up to Yoongi to try to convey the message back to him.

Glancing at his watch, he wonders if he has enough time to try to get to the dance department.

-

Jimin feels like vomiting. It’s not that he feels sick, necessarily, since he’s perfectly healthy, but he’s just so nervous.

“Would you relax?” Hoseok mutters, rubbing at Jimin’s shoulders soothingly. “I don’t know why you’re so freaked out over this. You showed me your choreography, I think it looks amazing. Just get out there and do it, okay?”

“Easy for you to say,” Jimin mumbles, and then he glances at Hoseok in apology because he shouldn’t be taking his frustrations out on his dance teacher, not when he was kind enough to come all the way to campus and cheer Jimin on in his final evaluation of the semester. “I’m just anxious because this is the final one, I guess. I see some recruiters out there.”

“And they’ll love you,” Hoseok says confidently, nudging Jimin’s shoulders until he’s pointed toward the stage. “Okay, you’re up next. Go get them, tiger.”

And Jimin doesn’t even have time to glare at Hoseok before he can hear his song start to play, and he manages to take one last deep breath to fill his lungs before he walks out onto stage.

Out of the corner of his eye he can catch Taehyung sitting in the first row of the auditorium seating, waving a small sign that makes up for its size in glitter and bubble letters. It’s embarrassing, but Jimin won’t deny that it makes him feel better as he stands alone in the center of the stage. The spotlight suddenly flickers to live and trains on Jimin, and he blinks rapidly to try to get used to it.

Getting into position comes naturally now, considering he had practiced hundreds of times for this very moment. The song is more familiar than his own voice as it blares through the speakers, and Jimin lets it fill his mind as he starts to dance.

It’s going well, he thinks, but right as he dips down to do his floorwork he hears a crashing from backstage. Luckily it doesn’t disrupt him, and the evaluators don’t seem to think anything’s wrong, but Jimin’s still curious and tilts his head until he can see the backstage wings—

—and nearly misses his next step, because standing at the side of the stage, hands braced on his knees and gasping for breath, is Yoongi.

Jimin’s glad that his routine is practically muscle memory at this point, because if he had to forcibly remember all the steps then he would have been doomed at this point, considering his mind just feels like a mess of white noise.

Yoongi’s still staring at him, and Jimin tries his hardest to not get distracted and focus on his choreography, but it’s so hard when Yoongi’s standing only a few feet away.

The performance version of the song ends with Jungkook’s voice still singing. Jimin had only added his own voice to the version he had sent Yoongi, and evidently Yoongi had heard it considering he had apparently run all the way to the dance buildings.

Jimin barely notices the cursory clapping from the audience as he walks backstage, barely notices Taehyung’s obnoxiously loud cheering or Hoseok’s embarrassing wolf whistle. He doesn’t notice anything, really, except for Yoongi’s wide smiles and the warm circle of his arms as they settle around Jimin and pull him close.

“That was incredible,” Yoongi murmurs, nose pressed into Jimin’s sweaty hair. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen you dance before.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Jimin says, still shocked at having Yoongi so physically close. He pulls back and fixes Yoongi with a questioning look, afraid to make assumptions. The last time he had done that it had resulted in him living at Taehyung’s place for two weeks. “Wait, why are you here?”

“I listened to your song,” Yoongi says, pulling back from the hug so that Jimin can see his face again. “I liked it.”

Jimin swallows thickly, looking down. Yoongi would never lie about liking his song, he knows that, but Jimin’s still embarrassed at having put such a personal message into his final exam, for god’s sake.

“Did you listen to the whole thing?” Jimin asks shakily, watching as Yoongi gnaws on his lip. It’s a nervous habit of his, Jimin knows, one he slips into when he’s worried or nervous.

“I did,” Yoongi replies quietly, and Jimin’s glad they’re alone because it means he gets Yoongi’s earnest eyes, his deep voice all to himself. “I still do, too.”

“I—,“ Jimin starts, but he closes his mouth again because he doesn’t know what exactly he’s supposed to say to that. Yoongi somehow understands, and he’s sort of smiling when he pulls Jimin back into a hug. Jimin sighs in relief and tucks himself against Yoongi’s side, and wonders how he had ever left it.

“I’m sorry I acted so harshly,” Yoongi says, speaking more into Jimin’s shoulder than actually to him. “I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. But you know, you submitted your final exam for my class today, and so you officially won’t be my student anymore.”

Jimin looks up, a little incredulous. “And that suddenly makes it okay? It would be allowed?”

“No,” Yoongi admits, sliding his hands down until they fit neatly into the front pocket of Jimin’s sweatshirt. “But I don’t care if it’s allowed or not anymore.”

“Really?” Jimin asks, unable to imagine that Yoongi, his grumpy, stickler-for-the-rules Yoongi, would ever disregard the laws like that. Instead of answering him, Yoongi tilts his head up and kisses Jimin firmly, taking a step forward when Jimin stumbles back in surprise.

And when Yoongi puts it like that, Jimin figures that he doesn’t care if it’s allowed or not either.

“So will you come home?” Yoongi asks, looking down into Jimin’s eyes. The warmth Jimin sees there is reassuring, and for the first time all semester Jimin finally isn’t unsure of where he stands with Yoongi.

“That depends,” Jimin says, unable to resist teasing the older a little. “Are you still going to make me move out eventually?”

“Never,” Yoongi replies immediately, and Jimin smiles because he can already hear the promise in Yoongi’s voice.

They’ll make it work.