Chapter Text
I.
As Park Jimin sat in the back of the classroom, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the side of his pen, each tick of the clock seemed to mock him, stretching seconds into what felt like hours.
His gaze flitted between the teacher, droning on and on about something he couldn't muster the interest to focus on, and the clock above the door, glaring at its hands as if that would make them move any faster.
Jimin's mind couldn't help but drift away, far from the monotonous tones of his teacher's voice and the faint sound of other students scribbling notes on paper around him. His body was present, but his thoughts were back at the place—much as he tried, he couldn't seem to help but long to be there all the time, surrounded by the burst of color and life that seemed to always permeate it.
Sometimes Jimin thought about how life at home was a stark contrast to the warmth he found at Yasaenghwa. How being at the place felt so different from being at home with his parents, living in a house much too big for three people, always so empty and cold.
A sign of a family too caught up in their own worlds, too busy to even be a family.
He could admit that sometimes there was comfort in the house's solitude—as he grew older, Jimin had learned to enjoy his own company quite a lot, and now most days he'd prefer it to another empty, stilted conversation with his parents. There were times when silence was the better option, but that didn't change the fact that it was a dull comfort that did nothing to stir his soul.
Most of the time, Jimin felt unbearably bored of everything around him. But Yasaenghwa... That place was different. It was as if stepping through its doors transported him to another world entirely.
A world where laughter filled the air, mixing with the scent of freshly cooked food and the warmth that somehow emanated from the kitchen even through closed doors. Where the low chatter of customers, the clink of dishes, and the occasional shout from Darae as she cooked composed a vibrant chaos that was music to his ears.
Jimin loved watching the interactions—the easy friendship between Hoseok and Namjoon, the way they would lightly banter with Darae and sometimes a few customers. Even in the busiest of times, there was a harmony to that chaos, a lively piece of life that captivated him.
At those moments, surrounded by the warmth of food and the glow of people, Jimin felt alive.
On top of it all, there was him.
Min Yoongi.
The main reason why Jimin kept coming back time and time again, like an addict seeking his next fix.
Min Yoongi and his chemically damaged mint-green hair. Min Yoongi and his loose shirts that looked two sizes too big on his lithe body, always paired with the same black skinny jeans—jeans that looked so ratty Jimin couldn't tell if the gaping holes at the knees were put there on purpose by the boy, or if they were just a consequence of too much careless use.
Min Yoongi and his pale, smooth skin, that made Jimin think of him whenever he looked at porcelain dolls these days. Min Yoongi and his beautifully shaped cat eyes, complimented by a delicate, cute button nose and gorgeous gummy smile, which Jimin had the privilege of witnessing more times than you'd think likely coming from a person as closed off as Yoongi seemed to be.
Jimin had to thank Darae, the lovely halmeoni who worked as the cook at her grandson's small restaurant, for that. She was always kind and warm towards everybody, Jimin included, and she didn't shy away from good banter, especially not with Yoongi. The elderly woman had an obvious soft spot for the delivery boy, which—yeah. Jimin could strongly relate to that.
Min Yoongi and his sinful smirk, low voice, and big hands. The reason why Jimin had been lying to his parents about going to a study group after school every Tuesdays and Thursdays, just so that he could cycle to Yasaenghwa and spend a good hour or so watching this handsome stranger.
Watching him like a creep, according to his friends. Jimin didn't give a shit about the judgment, though—that's the kind of face worth being called a creep over. As long as it meant he could just sit there and look and admire, even if only for a few moments, he honestly didn't care.
If Taehyung and Jungkook could see Yoongi themselves, if they could feel the way the air seemed to fizzle with charged energy whenever he walked into the room, Jimin was sure they would understand.
He found himself smiling at the thought of the other man, his stomach tying itself in knots as he waited for that goddamn bell to finally ring, to release him from the grayscale of his day and let him submerge himself in Yasaenghwa's colors.
It was hard even for Jimin himself to understand, even harder to try to explain it, but with Yasaenghwa—with Yoongi—he found color in a world that often seemed determined to remain stubbornly monochrome.
As the final bell finally rang, signaling his release, Jimin gathered his things with the frantic speed of anticipation, a mix of relief and excitement tingling in his veins.
Jimin could perfectly hear Taehyung's voice mumbling a quiet and there he goes again before being shushed by Jungkook, the youngest one chuckling right after, but chose to ignore his best friends like he'd done a thousand times before.
With practiced efficiency, Jimin slung his backpack over his shoulder as he all but jumped out of his seat, making his way out of the classroom as fast as he managed to, joining the throng of students streaming through the corridors.
The school grounds buzzed with energy, a mix of voices and loud conversations filling the air, both teachers and students equally excited to go home after a long day. As he tried to fit into every little breach between the bodies crowding the corridors, anxious to get to the exit already, Jimin's thoughts strayed far from the place he called home.
Outside, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pavement, painting the world in hues of amber, lavender, and apricot. Jimin knew that by the time he got to his destination, the sun would've set completely, letting the full moon take over the sky for another night.
Jogging his way from the school building towards the parking lot, the boy quickly located his bicycle among the others in the rows of parked vehicles—an old companion in his journeys around the city.
After opening the lock and freeing the front wheel from the chain attaching the bike to the school's bicycle rack, Jimin swung his leg over the saddle in a swift motion, the firm seat and cool metal frame beneath him a familiar sensation.
As he pedaled away from the school grounds, school bag slung over one shoulder, the streets stretched before him—an open ocean of concrete and asphalt bustling with life.
Cars honked their horns, cyclists weaved through the traffic, and pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks, but for Jimin, the chaos of the city faded into the background as his mind focused back on that quaint, cozy place.
If closing his eyes, the boy could picture the warm glow of the restaurant's interior, and smell the aroma of steaming food wafting through the air.
Most of all, he could perfectly conjure up the sight of Yoongi, seated at his usual table at the front of the room, always keeping close to the door, silent most of the time and seemingly lost in his mind as he waited for the next delivery order to be called out.
As Jimin navigated the busy streets, his mind replayed snippets of their encounters—the other's piercing gaze, the way his hands moved as he ate his dinner before starting his shift or during a break, the quiet strength that seemed to emanate from him. That enticing, mysterious aura.
Somehow, the promise of a little danger, even.
It's been two months since Jimin started this new routine, and it was already ingrained in him by now: finish classes, head straight to Yasaenghwa, and immerse himself in the simple pleasure of delicious food and clandestine observation.
Two months, and still, Jimin had yet to exchange a word with Yoongi.
He's not proud of that. In fact, Jimin is completely, painfully aware of how pathetic the whole situation is—and just in case he forgets, his friends make sure to remind him of just how pathetic he is, thank you so much—but he didn't know what could be done about it.
It's just—Min Yoongi was fucking intimidating, ok?
Jimin sighed inwardly, the weight of his thoughts now pressing down on him.
In the grand scheme of his social life, Jimin always found himself effortlessly weaving through conversations with the superficial crowds he was accustomed to. And he was good at it, too—ever since he could talk, his parents made sure he behaved in a way they considered proper, always trained to use his words wisely lest he'd embarrass them in front of their filthy rich friends.
So, yeah, Jimin had navigated far more daunting social waters with ease, charming countless self-centered, boastful assholes, with little more than a smile and a few well-chosen words. But Yoongi... Yoongi was different.
It wasn't just about his looks, or the quiet intensity he emanated. It was the sense of depth Jimin convinced himself he saw in him, a silent promise of stories and dreams and fears that lay beneath that quiet surface, which—Jimin felt stupid, really, when he thought about it. He didn't even know Yoongi.
For all that's worth, the guy could be just another boring, empty boy in a world full of them, and here was Jimin, idealizing and projecting. Here he was, someone who prided himself on his ability to connect, to draw people in, and yet with the mint-haired boy, he was immobilized just by the idea of him.
It was as if he stood on one side of an invisible divide, Yoongi on the other, and Jimin couldn't find the words to build a bridge. And that brings up another important detail, too—Jimin worried about the worlds they each lived in.
Jimin's life, with all its cold privilege, felt so far removed from everything he associated with that little restaurant and those people, and that included Yoongi.
What could he possibly offer in conversation that wouldn't sound hollow, dumb, or naive? What the fuck could two people seemingly so different have in common to talk about?
The more Jimin watched Yoongi, the more he realized how much he wanted to know him, truly know him. Not just the snippets of personality visible whenever he interacted with Namjoon, Hoseok, or Darae between orders and deliveries.
But that desire, instead of emboldening him, seemed only to cement his feet to the floor and glue his mouth shut. Yoongi remained a piece apart, a thread he couldn't seem to entangle himself with.
Lost in his thoughts, Jimin failed to notice just how close he was to his destination until he rounded the final corner and spotted the familiar facade of the restaurant. Giddy nervousness washed over him as he parked his bike outside, the clink of the chain echoing in the quiet street.
With a glance around, Jimin leaned his bike against the restaurant's outer wall, not bothering to take his lock and chains out of his bag to secure his bike with them. The boy still remembered the first time Darae caught him locking his bike up, and how she scolded him about nobody daring to "steal from a customer of this fine establishment".
Smiling fondly at the memory, Jimin made his way inside, the soft chime of the bell right above the doors signaling his arrival.
The interior was as always: dimly lit, the air thick with the aroma of spices and cooking meat. Finding his usual seat—each evening, Jimin nestled into the same corner table at the back of the restaurant—, the boy settled into the worn wooden chair, dumping his school bag on top of the empty one beside him, a sense of comfort immediately enveloping him.
From his vantage point, Jimin instantly spots Yoongi across the room.
The man is also sitting at his usual table, and frowning at whatever he's looking at on his phone screen. This evening, his black jeans and black boots are accompanied by a plain white shirt, and, to Jimin's complete delight and dismay, there's a black leather jacket draped over the back of his chair.
Yoongi's presence is magnetic amidst the few people inside, and Jimin's throat goes dry just from looking at him.
"Ah, Jimin-ah!"
Hoseok's voice startles him out of his reverie, causing the blonde boy to furiously blush as Yoongi raises his head to look at them upon hearing his friend's loud greeting, catching Jimin's gaze for a split second.
"Hi, Hoseok-hyung," Jimin answers as he smiles up at the waiter, who's now standing right next to his table. He vehemently ignores the feeling of his warm cheeks. "Glad to see you're all better."
"Psst, a stupid flu is nothing to this hyung," the taller boy says as he flexes his arm up, playfully showing off his biceps. "What's it gonna be tonight, Jimin-ah?"
Jimin doesn't even have to look at the menu at this point.
"A small jjajangmyeon bowl, please. And an iced green tea with—"
"Just a little bit of honey," Hoseok completes, smirking as he finishes writing Jimin's order on his small notepad, all too smug for knowing what Jimin was about to ask for. "Coming right up, sir!"
Jimin smiles as he rolls his eyes at Hoseok's dramatic bow before walking off, watching as he disappears through the door that hides the way into the staff's area.
Speaking of the staff, another glance around the place shows him that not everyone seems to have come in tonight—Namjoon, Darae's grandson and the owner of this place, is nowhere to be found at his usual spot behind the counter.
As he waits for his noodles to arrive, Jimin unlocks his phone and pretends to pay attention to it while mindlessly scrolling through a random app he's opened, all the while stealing glances at Yoongi. Noticing the man distracted by his own phone again—now quickly typing something on it—he allows himself to indulge in the guilty pleasure of observation.
Looking at Yoongi now, Jimin let's his mind drift back to the evening when he saw the man for the first time—the night that marked the beginning of his somewhat fascination with Yoongi.
The memory was burned vividly in his mind, like scenes from a movie playing out before him.
It was a rainy Saturday evening, the kind that blurred the edges of reality a little bit, and Jimin had just been dumped by his boyfriend, his emotions raw and tumultuous.
The asshole waited for the weekend to arrive, letting Jimin ride his bike all the way to his house—which was considerably far from his own—instead of breaking up with him while they were at school on Friday, despite the fact he already knew he was going to do it.
They shared the same lunchtime for fuck's sake, couldn't he just spare Jimin the ride?
Adding salt to injury, what had been only a drizzle the whole day turned into heavy rain only a few minutes after Jimin got to the idiot's house—and immediately after getting through his cliche "it's not you, really, it's me" speech, he asked Jimin to leave.
He didn't even offer an umbrella for the ride back home. Nothing.
So with tears still stinging his eyes, and clad in his now rain-soaked clothes, Jimin had mounted his bike and pedaled aimlessly through the labyrinth of alleys and narrow streets, the raindrops a constant drumbeat against his skin as he tried to make sense of his thoughts and feelings.
The boy could admit he was never really in love with his now ex-boyfriend—that spark people often spoke about in movies and love songs had never been there—but Jimin had just entered his last year of high school, was supposed to turn nineteen by the end of the year, and had never done more than kiss random boys at parties.
And yes, Jimin knew that there was no rush whatsoever, he was still so young, but it's just—he wanted to know what it was like to have someone, to feel something, and to mean something like that to another person.
So he decided to give it a chance, to try it out with the boy that had been pursuing him for weeks because sometimes real love didn't come with an explosion or a crash, but instead, it crept in silently when you least expected it to.
Well, maybe that was true for many people, but in this case, Jimin couldn't have been more wrong.
After giving the boy a chance and getting attache—because although he wasn't in love, Jimin was no monster, of course he felt a little something—he was the one with a broken pride and very likely a future cold, too.
Lost in his thoughts, and now realizing he was lost in this neighborhood as well, Jimin had stumbled upon the restaurant by sheer coincidence.
The streets were slick with water, reflecting the neon lights in small, shimmering pools scattered around the concrete. Suddenly, the restaurant's warm, inviting glow called to him like a beacon amidst the darkness, and Jimin decided to answer that call.
With a weary sigh, he hopped off his bike and stepped under the restaurant's red awning, seeking shelter from the storm. He stood there, drenched from head to toe, shivering slightly at the cold spring air, hesitating to enter—Jimin was wary of leaving wet footprints on the wooden floors he caught a glimpse of when parking his bike by the place's window and getting scolded by the owner on top of everything else.
It had only been a few minutes of him standing there, trying to will the rain away, before the door right next to him got flung open, startling him enough to cause him to flinch.
An elderly, stout woman peered out from the doorway. Her eyes quickly found Jimin's shivering form under the awning.
"What are you doing out here, standing in front of my restaurant in the rain looking like a drowned puppy, boy?" Darae scolded, her loud voice carrying a mix of irritation and concern.
Jimin opened his mouth, mortified and ready to apologize for using her establishment as shelter from the storm without even buying anything, but couldn't get one word out before she spoke again.
"Come inside this instant, you fool! You'll catch your death out here!"
Jimin protested, tried to explain his reluctance to dirty the floors of her restaurant, but Darae would have none of it. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she beckoned him inside, her decision final.
"Leave those worries for the wind to carry away. The floors can be cleaned, and I won't have you falling ill on my watch. Come, come," she insisted, her tone brooking no argument.
With a grateful, sheepish smile, Jimin stepped inside, the warmth of the restaurant enveloping him like a comforting hug. Darae closed the door behind him, effectively shutting out the cold and the chaos of the storm.
As he stood awkwardly by the entrance, dripping onto the wooden floor, Darae marched up to an open door behind the restaurant's counter, before calling out to whoever was beyond the corridor.
"Namjoon! Bring halmeoni a towel, will you?"
Without waiting for a reply, she walked back to Jimin.
"Here, come sit, darling," she instructed, leading Jimin to the table closest to the front door. "The place is empty tonight, and I'm bored out of my wits. Cooking something to warm you up will at least give me something to do."
Jimin tried once again to tell her she shouldn't bother, that he didn't want to be a burden, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. And just like that, Darae disappeared through the staff's door while someone else came out, a man this time—carrying a bucket and a mop, with a towel slung over his shoulder.
"Oh! Hi!" The man smiled brightly, walking towards Jimin and unceremoniously throwing the towel at him when he got close enough. "You're the stray puppy, I guess? You kinda look like one. I'm Hoseok, the waiter of this lovely place!"
"I- I'm Jimin?" The boy replied, a little uncertain as he watched the man, Hoseok, begin to dry the floor off the rain he brought in. "I'm sorry about the mess, I tried to tell her—"
"Tsk, don't worry about it, man," the other waved him off, not taking his eyes off of the task at hand as he kept moping the wet floor. "It's my job, and halmeoni would never just leave you out there to freeze your balls off in this weather."
The boy's bluntness startled a small, surprised laugh out of Jimin, mirrored by a playful smile on the waiter's lips.
Jimin finally let himself relax for the first time after leaving his ex's house, watching the smiley boy finish cleaning up the floor as he draped the towel over his shoulders, trying to dry his bleached blonde locks as best as he could.
Jimin's gaze wandered around the restaurant, seeking a distraction in the mundane details of his surroundings. And then, barely a few minutes after Hoseok had disappeared back through the small door Darae still hadn't come back from, the little bell above the door had chimed, announcing a new arrival—a figure cloaked in shadows and raindrops.
At that moment, time seemed to stand still as Jimin's gaze locked onto the newcomer.
Yoongi, with his tousled white hair and cat-like eyes, his features illuminated by the glow of the restaurant's interior. Despite the rain that clung to his clothes and the weariness etched into his expression, Yoongi had a kind of ethereal beauty that left Jimin breathless.
Something was mesmerizing about the way he moved, and as Yoongi made his way further into the restaurant without even sparing a glance in his direction, Jimin couldn't tear his eyes away, captivated by the sight of him.
There was a silent something that drew Jimin in like a moth to a flame.
Jimin couldn't help but think the man looked a bit like a disgruntled cat—white hair sticking to his neck, and no matter how much he ran a hand through the strands, trying to push them out of his face, the longer ones stubbornly stuck to his cheeks, making him look grumpier by the second.
Yoongi was holding his motorbike's helmet in one hand, trying to unstick the wet fabric of his black shirt from his torso with the other, and making droplets of water fly all around him, much to the waiter's chagrin.
"I'll have to fucking clean that up again, hyung," Hoseok whined upon walking out of the staff's door again.
Yoongi glared at him.
His clothes were dripping wet, he looked angry, and he was the most beautiful person Jimin had ever seen in his 18 years on this earth.
"Fuck you, Hoba. I'm the one fucking dripping wet," Yoongi fired back, clearly displeased with his predicament. "It should be illegal to ask for deliveries when it's raining this hard, what if I fucking crashed?"
"You didn't, though," a third voice came from the door that led to the staff area. Chuckling at Yoongi's sour expression, the tallest of the three boys handed a grumpy-looking Hoseok one very familiar mop before placing himself behind the counter, Yoongi immediately moving towards him. "Where's your raincoat, you idiot? It's spring, you should know better."
"Hey, brat, watch it!" Yoongi exclaimed, pointing a finger at Namjoon, "You might be the boss, but I'm still your hyung."
The man laughed out loud and said something else as Yoongi opened the small money belt wrapped around his waist, throwing some money on top of the counter, but Jimin didn't get it. All he could pay attention to was the way Yoongi' s black shirt stayed glued to his back as he moved—he wasn't as built as the man behind the cash register, but the muscles were there, clear as day and deliciously outlined by wet fabric, all for Jimin to admire.
"I'm not getting out there again, Joon-ah. Whoever orders can fucking wait this rain out, I don't give a shit," Yoongi declared. His voice was flat, but it was obvious he meant it.
Who spoke to their boss like that?, Jimin immediately thought.
Namjoon shook his head, but there was a fond smile adorning his lips.
"Be nice, Yoongi hyung. We have a guest."
Yoongi then turned around, eyes scanning the tables and zeroing in on Jimin.
At that moment, Jimin's heart had skipped more than a few beats, a flicker of curiosity and something he couldn't quite name yet igniting within him. Despite the heaviness still weighing on his heart, he found himself suddenly excited, drawn to Yoongi, and completely captivated by the beautiful stranger.
The white-haired boy's face remained blank, not an ounce of emotion showing as he stared at Jimin.
Jimin could only stare right back, feeling much too hot for someone who was still wet from the cold rain outside.
Fuck, he probably looked like a drowned rat, didn't he?
He didn't know how long they held each other's gaze like that, just analyzing one another—probably mere seconds, but to Jimin, it felt like an eternity before the loud noise of the staff's door being thrown open startled them out of it, Darae coming back with a tray of warm food and an even warmer smile.
"Here you go, darling. Let's warm you up!"
Jimin got distracted then, promptly standing up to bow a million times, while thanking Darae profusely for her kindness. After helping the old lady arrange bowls of steaming food around the table and sitting back down, Jimin let his gaze flick around the room, looking for the white-haired man once again.
Yoongi had seemingly vanished, and Jimin didn't see him again that night.
Now, there he is.
Two months of Park Jimin diligently coming back to Yasaenghwa every Tuesday and Thursday evening—he made a deal with himself to only come two days a week, not wanting to look too creepy—sitting at the same corner table at the back of the restaurant, where he ate his bowl of noodles while pretending not to watch the delivery boy.
Maybe Taehyung had a point when he called him a crazy stalker.
As Jimin stuffed his cheeks full of his jjajangmyeon—he was trying to eat like a civilized person, but Darae's food tasted amazing and he was so hungry—he tried to eavesdrop on Yoongi and Hoseok's conversation as both boys stayed huddled together by the counter.
He could only hear a few words when the waiter spoke up, Yoongi's voice being too low for Jimin to hear what he was saying. All he could make out was something about Namjoon not coming in tonight, and calling all special deliveries off until he got back.
Yoongi looked tense, and Hoseok looked a mix of worried and scared, and that was all Jimin could gather.
Remaining silent, Yoongi walked back to his table and Hoseok went around the room, tending to the other customers, and nothing out of the ordinary happened for a while.
Jimin finished his meal, and as he drank the last of his tea, the boy started calculating in his head how much longer he could stay there, just stalling and stealing glances at the other boy until it got too weird and he eventually had to leave.
Upon noticing Jimin's empty bowl, Hoseok made the decision for him.
"Hey, Jimin-ssi," the waiter said with a small smile as he started gathering Jimin's used utensils. "Not to be rude, but we're closing up early today, so if you're all finished, would you mind, like—"
Hoseok trailed off at the end of his question, but the message was clear: he was politely asking Jimin to leave. Judging by the color of his cheeks, or the way he couldn't quite look Jimin in the eye, he was mortified about it.
"Oh, sure!" Jimin promptly exclaimed, much louder than necessary. He was embarrassed too, and just wanted to get both of them out of this awkward situation as quickly as possible.
Clearing his throat, he tried again.
"Sure, no problem, hyung. I'm all finished, yep."
Hoseok smiled a bit wider at him, seemingly relieved that Jimin wasn't offended by the request.
"Thank you, Jimin-ah. I'll take this away and Yoongi-hyung will ring you up, yeah?"
Jimin froze as he was zipping up his bag, and he must have looked as nervous as he felt, because Hoseok laughed amusedly before throwing him a simple "See you around, kid" and disappearing through the staff's door while carrying a tray full of Jimin's used silverware.
Jimin could feel eyes on him but didn't dare look in Yoongi's direction as he took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what would be their very first, very real interaction. He was about to talk to the gorgeous guy he's been pathetically pining over for months.
But just as Jimin got up from the wooden chair, everything shattered. Things started happening so fast that Jimin wasn't sure what exactly was going on.
A group of five men barged into the restaurant, startling Jimin and the other two remaining customers. They were talking and laughing loudly, purposefully causing a ruckus, eyes scanning the room as if searching for something.
There was something off about their energy, and Jimin's heart sped up in his chest as he watched their gazes zero in on Yoongi, dangerous smirks forming on their lips.
One of the men walked away from his peers and towards Yoongi, and words were exchanged, low and tense, but Jimin couldn't hear anything through the loud thumping of his heart.
And then—violence.
The man closest to Yoongi threw the first punch, starting a fight in a blink of an eye just like that, and Yoongi tried his best to stand his ground.
His movements were a little awkward, yet calculated. With surprising precision—although he didn't move with the swiftness of someone who fought regularly, Yoongi clearly knew where and how to hit someone to cause damage—he took down two of his assailants.
Still, the man knew how this would end. Jimin could see it written all over his face as the remaining men charged towards him—the odds were not in his favor.
So it was just Yoongi's luck that right at the moment two of them were reaching for him, Hoseok barged into the room again, a metal baseball bat firmly held between both hands as he shouted out his question of what the fuck was going on.
The distraction was enough to give the men a brief pause, and Yoongi seized the opportunity. In a desperate attempt to escape, the mint-haired boy ran out of the restaurant and went for the closest thing that would help him get away fast—Jimin's bike.
Without even a glance back in the restaurant's direction, Yoongi hopped on his bike and started to frantically pedal away, leaving chaos behind.
For a moment, Jimin was frozen, torn between shock and awe. Then, adrenaline surged through him, propelling him into action.
Ignoring the way Hoseok was screaming at him to go back, Jimin dashed outside, only to find Yoongi disappearing into the night on his beloved bike as the men chased after him.
Fueled by a mix of outrage—did the boy just steal his fucking bike—and concern as the reality of the situation started to dawn on him, Jimin did the first thing he could think of:
He started running, too.
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Despite the adrenaline still thrumming through his veins, it didn't take long for fatigue to take over, Jimin's muscles burning after the boy had pushed them to the limit, lungs and legs equally on fire. The boy's breath came in ragged gasps as he slowly came to a halt, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath and feeling exhaustion wash over him.
He watched, heart sinking, as Yoongi and the men chasing him became smaller and smaller figures in the distance until finally, they disappeared altogether, leaving Jimin a panting, sweaty mess. He would've screamed in frustration if he had the oxygen to spare.
As he stood alone on the empty street, the sound of his labored breathing loud in his ears, a bitter thought wormed its way into his mind, bringing back painful memories. His father's voice suddenly echoed around his mind with the harsh criticisms he used to throw at him—always making sure to remind Jimin of the expectations placed upon him. Expectations he never seemed to meet.
From a young age, Jimin's father had made it clear that Jimin's physique didn't meet his standards of masculinity, constantly berating him for looking too soft and unmanly. His so-called lack of manliness has always been the target of his father's disdain, and it only got worse after Jimin discovered a passion for dancing.
To his father, dance was an activity meant for girls, unfit for a son destined to uphold the family's reputation. Instead, he had relentlessly pressured Jimin to abandon his love for dance in favor of more manly pursuits—sports that would supposedly toughen him up and mold his body into the elder's twisted image of ideal masculinity.
Despite his father's expectations, Jimin had never been able to muster the same enthusiasm for sports as he did for dance. The pressure of competition held no appeal compared to the liberating sense of expression and freedom he found in dancing.
But as he stood there in the middle of the quiet street trying to catch his breath, Jimin couldn't stop his mind from conjuring up an annoying thought: maybe his father had been onto something. Not about dancing or its worth, obviously. It's just—right at this moment, when every breath felt like a struggle and his legs threatened to give out beneath him, Jimin couldn't help but wonder if maybe, had he spent his time on a more physically demanding activity, would he be better prepared for a situation like this?
In another universe, Jimin might have heeded his father's advice, building his body up and being able to reach both his father's expectations and Yoongi, getting his chance to demand an apology and his bicycle back. But in this reality, as he stood alone in the quiet night, Jimin had to admit that he had miserably failed at both things.
With a deep, resigned breath, Jimin decided to just continue walking in the direction Yoongi had disappeared, the echoes of his father's words fading into the night as he looked for something that could guide his way back to the restaurant.
Still a little breathless and a lot disoriented, Jimin stumbled through the narrow streets, his heart pounding in his chest for an entirely different reason now. As he tried to find signs of other people around the dark surroundings, Jimin realized he had probably run much further than he'd thought, because he had absolutely no idea where he was.
With each turn, everything around him seemed to morph into an even more unfamiliar scenery, the closed down buildings looming like vultures in the night. Anxiety clawed at Jimin's chest as he came to terms with the fact that he was hopelessly lost, the neon lights of the city getting farther and farther away the deeper he wandered into these streets.
Exhaustion mingled with fear as Jimin finally came to a halt again, his legs still trembling slightly beneath him. He glanced around frantically, trying to find a street sign to help orient himself in the maze of streets and alleys.
As he slumped against a nearby concrete wall, defeat washed over him not for the first time tonight—he had lost Yoongi, lost his bike, and now, it seemed, he had also lost himself in this unfamiliar neighborhood. Fantastic.
Just as panic threatened to consume him, a faint sound caught Jimin's attention—a rustle of movement coming from the alley nearby. With caution, he approached it slowly, his senses on high alert.
Peering into the darkness, Jimin's eyes widened in shock at the sight before him: there, huddled against the cold concrete wall, was Yoongi, his figure bathed in the glow of the moonlight. Despite the familiarity of Yoongi's mint-colored hair, there was an air of vulnerability about him that Jimin had never seen before.
His breath caught in his throat as he watched Yoongi's tense form, the shadows casting eerie shapes across his face. Before Jimin could really think it through, his feet carried him over to the boy, a million questions running through his mind, ready to demand an explanation as to what the hell was going on.
"Hey!" Jimin's voice sliced through the stillness of the night, reverberating off the alley walls with a sharpness that seemed out of place in the silence. He pointed accusingly at Yoongi, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "What the hell, dude? Why did you—"
Before Jimin could finish his sentence, Yoongi's hand shot out with unexpected swiftness, gripping Jimin's wrist with a strength that took him by surprise. In an instant, Jimin found himself yanked into the shadows of the alley, his back pressed against the rough brick wall, the cool night air being replaced with Yoongi's body heat, sending shivers down his spine.
"Shh," Yoongi's voice was a hushed whisper against Jimin's ear, too close for comfort as his hand pressed firmly over Jimin's mouth, effectively silencing him. "Shut the fuck up!"
Confusion and annoyance warred within Jimin as he stared back at Yoongi, his eyes wide with incredulity. But as he met Yoongi's gaze, he saw the hint of fear and anxiety burning in his eyes. In that moment, understanding washed over Jimin, replacing his initial anger with something absurd—a desire to protect the other man from whoever wanted to cause him harm.
With a slow nod, Jimin clutched Yoongi's wrist with both hands and squeezed faintly, signaling that he understood the situation and would, in fact, shut the fuck up as requested.
Yoongi released his grip on Jimin's mouth and took a big step back, putting some distance between them once more. Jimin couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the loss of Yoongi's touch, and immediately hated himself a little for that. The boy had just stolen from him, for fuck's sake.
They stood in tense silence, hidden within the shadows, their senses heightened and pulses racing as they strained to pick up any sound that might betray the presence of the men looking for Yoongi.
Time seemed to stretch on indefinitely, Jimin being so on edge, he lost sense of it—they could have been standing there for five minutes or a whole hour, Jimin honestly wouldn't be able to tell.
The tension hung thick in the air, suffocating as he struggled to make sense of all that happened. With each passing second, the weight of Yoongi's stress bore down on him more and more, amplifying his own anxiety until it felt like he was going to combust.
Unable to bear the oppressive silence any longer—and hating the way Yoongi was clearly doing his best to avoid even looking his way—Jimin decided to speak, his voice barely a whisper.
"I've been walking around for a while, you know," he began tentatively, his words hesitant as he searched for the right thing to say, anything that might help to calm Yoongi down and maybe get them out of here. "I didn't see or hear anybody."
Jimin barely finished speaking before Yoongi cut him off with a sharp shh, his tone laced with irritation as he hissed back, "I told you to shut up, didn't I?"
The words stung a little, leaving Jimin with his own mixture of annoyance and hurt.
"I'm trying to help!" Jimin hissed back. He hated how small he felt at that moment, how insignificant his presence seemed to be to Yoongi, or worse—how the other man saw Jimin as one more problem on his list.
Yoongi's exasperation only seemed to grow with every word leaving Jimin's mouth, his frustration palpable as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
"I don't need your help. What the fuck are you even doing here, kid?" He muttered, voice still heavy with annoyance. "Why would you run after me like a goddamn lunatic?"
The use of the word "kid" only served to add salt to Jimin's wounds, a reminder that despite his feelings for the other boy, despite the way his heart did weird things whenever Yoongi was near, Jimin was still viewed as nothing more than a pathetic child in Yoongi's eyes.
The question hung in the air, pressing down on Jimin's chest. Shocked by the bluntness of Yoongi's words, and annoyed by the weight of his own disappointment, Jimin felt his temper flare, his voice rising in response.
"Why? I don't know, maybe because you took my bike!" Jimin exclaimed, frustration boiling over.
Yoongi immediately shushed him—again—not bothering to turn around and look at him as he waved his hand in a shooing motion, like Jimin was an insect he could get rid of by waving it away. The gesture only served to worsen Jimin's shitty mood.
Rolling his eyes and huffing, Jimin muttered under his breath, "I told you they're gone, asshole."
The words slipped out before he could stop them, but at the moment, Jimin didn't really care. The blonde boy just wanted to get out of here, and away from Yoongi, so that's exactly what he did.
"What did you call me?" Yoongi's voice cut through the air, laced with disbelief, as Jimin strode out of the alley without a glance back at him. Petty pride blossomed within Jimin's chest at the other man's incredulous tone—a small victory.
If Yoongi wanted to be rude towards him, then Jimin would match him in kind.
"Hey!" As Jimin continued walking, ignoring Yoongi's protests, the mint-haired boy's voice rang out again. "Where the fuck are you going?"
It didn't take long for Yoongi to follow after Jimin, his steps echoing alongside his own in the quiet night. As they continued walking, the man started chastising Jimin for putting himself in danger by following strangers around just for the sake of a bicycle.
That's when realization hit Jimin—there was no trace of his bike anywhere in sight.
"Wait, what did you do with my bike?" Jimin demanded, cutting Yoongi off, his voice immediately tinged with annoyance as he stopped and turned to face the other.
Yoongi shrugged nonchalantly, his expression unreadable.
"I left it a few streets back," he replied casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Just to throw off the assholes chasing me."
Jimin opened and closed his mouth a few times, left speechless by Yoongi's dismissive attitude.
"So first you steal my bike, then you discard it like trash?" he asked, his voice rising with indignation.
Yoongi's reaction was immediate—shoulders tensing, and face hardening as he bristled at the accusation.
"I'm not a fucking thief," he snapped, his words sharp with offense. "I was planning on riding back to the restaurant and giving your damn bike back after getting rid of them."
Jimin narrowed his eyes skeptically, not sure if he should trust anything that came out of Yoongi's mouth. Although, admittedly, stealing from a regular customer that knew just where to find you would be incredibly stupid.
"I don't believe you," he shot back anyway, just to be difficult.
"Whatever," he dismissed after a scoff, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I'll take you to your stupid bike."
A few minutes into them walking in uncomfortable silence, Yoongi's phone buzzed in his pocket, startling both of them. With a furrowed brow, the boy pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen, his expression darkening at whatever he saw there.
"Fuck," he whispered.
"What is it?" Jimin couldn't stop himself from asking, feeling stupid for even thinking about being worried for Yoongi.
"It's Hoseok," Yoongi replied tersely, his tone clipped as he typed something with quick fingers. "He says it's not safe for us to go back to the restaurant tonight. There are men roaming around, probably waiting for me to show up."
Jimin's eyes widened in alarm at the news, the reality of the situation sinking in like a lead weight in his stomach.
"Who are these people and why are they after you, Yoongi?" he asked, his voice trembling with apprehension. "What did you do?"
"None of your fucking business," Yoongi shot back, tone clipped with tension, before letting out a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "Fact is, we can't go back there tonight. It's too dangerous."
"But what do you mean it's too dangerous?" Jimin asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. "To you, right? Surely not me, because I have nothing to do with whatever's going on."
At that, Yoongi just laughed bitterly as he pocketed his phone again.
"Should've thought about that before you decided to follow me and involve yourself, huh?" He retorted, looking at Jimin as if the other was being purposefully obtuse.
Frustration bubbled within Jimin's chest for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, completely squashing away any trace of worry for the other man. Yoongi gave him whiplash.
"I need to go back to the restaurant," he insisted, sounding petulant to his own ears, but he didn't care right now. "I left my backpack and phone there. I need them for school tomorrow."
"How's that my fucking problem, Jimin?" Yoongi snapped, voice sounding the loudest so far tonight.
Jimin recoiled at Yoongi's sharp tone, watching with surprised eyes as the man let out yet another frustrated sigh, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths before pulling out his phone again with a scowl.
"Fine," he muttered, his fingers flying over the screen as he started typing again. "I'll text Hoseok and ask him to keep your shit safe. Just type in your school address and he'll drop it off tomorrow before your classes start."
As Jimin got a hold of Yoongi's phone to type out the address, he couldn't help but latch onto the fact that the boy said Hoseok would be the one to drop "his shit" off tomorrow morning. Jimin would bet all the money on his bank account that Yoongi didn't even consider doing it himself.
Why would he? The boy clearly didn't give a fuck about Jimin, and probably never wanted to see him again after tonight.
Pushing aside his hurt feelings and focusing instead on the relief of knowing his belongings would be returned to him, Jimin returned Yoongi's phone wordlessly, too exhausted to argue. He just wanted to go home.
When they finally reached Jimin's bike, Yoongi made to walk away, obviously eager to get away from Jimin as soon as possible, but Jimin stopped him before he could go far.
“I don't know where I am," he admitted tersely, his pride being squeezed a bit more out of him. "I need your help to find my way back."
Yoongi's expression hardened at Jimin's admission, a flash of irritation crossing his features.
"You're an even bigger idiot than I thought," he snapped, spitting the words out with what sounded like contempt. "Not only following strangers into the night, but also into a neighborhood you don't even know how to get out of."
Jimin's heart sank at Yoongi's harsh words, his hurt evident in the way he flinched and averted his eyes. He was tired of being treated like shit by the other boy.
Looking back at the man, Yoongi's expression seemed to have softened slightly with Jimin's reaction, and Jimin dared to say he saw a flicker of regret crossing his features, but it was gone in a second. Probably just his wishful thinking.
At Jimin's lack of response—because what the hell could he even say—Yoongi took a deep breath and spoke again.
"Just—come on," he said gruffly, his tone gentler than before. "I'll show you the way."
Feeling utterly humiliated, Jimin followed Yoongi in silence, and as soon as the boy got them back to familiar streets, the blonde boy climbed onto his bike and pedaled away as fast as he could without another word. Jimin was eager to escape the embarrassment of the night.
As he rode home, the weight of disappointment settled over him like a heavy blanket, his thoughts consumed by the ugly reality of Yoongi's true nature. Gorgeous as he was, and even though Jimin still felt a pull towards him, it was hard to deny the man was an absolute asshole.
Arriving home to an empty house, Jimin went straight to his bedroom and showered, trying to turn off his thoughts for a second. Feeling as relaxed as he would get tonight after spending far too many minutes under the spray of hot water, he got out of the shower and mechanically patted himself dry before putting on some pajamas.
Not feeling hungry at all, Jimin decided it was best to just skip dinner and go to sleep, especially considering that now he had to wake up twice as early just to get the first bus to school in order to meet Hoseok and retrieve his belongings.
Collapsing onto bed with a groan, Jimin lay there in the darkness, face squished against the soft material of his pillow and heart heavy with the weight of disillusionment.
After everything that happened tonight, Jimin couldn't help but feel like the biggest fool in the world for ever hoping for something more with Yoongi.
After all, it was clear now that Jimin had been completely wrong about the boy. Yoongi was nothing more than sharp edges and trouble—a realization that, as Jimin started to doze off, left him feeling strangely empty, and inexplicably lonelier than he's felt in a long time.