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Yoongi leans against the kitchen counter, absentmindedly munching down on the apple he was supposed to cut into slices (he’s already done five of them and he knows they won’t even need half as many) as he watches his boyfriend zoom around from one side of their small excuse for a kitchen to the other, carrying a different item in his hands every five seconds.
Just as he’s about to take another bite of the apple (he had been reduced to fruit peeling and slicing duty because “Hyung, I love you, but I really want this to be—you know, edible,” he reached over to flick Jimin’s cheek, which did nothing to wipe the smug smile off his face, “Brat. Do I look like Namjoon to you?” “No, but we both know the most complex meal you can make is instant ramyun” and Yoongi did not argue any further because he is a very good boyfriend, definitely not because Jimin has a very good point) when he feels Jimin giving him a reproachful look.
“What?” he asks, slowly lowering the fruit.
Jimin sighs, putting down a saucepan, “You’re supposed to be slicing those, not eating them,” and the only thing that’s stopping Yoongi from being intentionally aggravating and taking another, bigger bite out of the apple is the tell-tale downturn of the corners of his mouth and the tiniest crease between his eyebrows, the one he used to get whenever he’d be studying for a test after having just finished working a longer shift at the coffee shop.
He sets the apple aside, watching it roll on the kitchen counter out of his peripheral view as he takes a step closer to the (barely) shorter man, just enough to take a hold of his wrists and slowly run his hands up and down the length of his forearm in an attempt to be comforting. He likes to believe he isn’t imagining the slight shift in Jimin’s expression, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.
(Yoongi is not Seokjin—he is not kind smiles and comforting touches and he is not Hoseok—so, showering people with affection does not come easily to him, like a second instinct. When he told this to Jimin, back when they had just started dating, the younger had laughed it off, telling him it’s fine because “Hyung shows affection in a different way” and that’s good enough for him. But it’s not good enough for Yoongi, who wants to give Jimin all of that and more, so for his sake he tries and keeps trying, and slowly gets better at it.)
“Listen,” he starts, sighing. “We already have enough food to feed a small army, and the salad bowl really doesn’t need to be any bigger,” when Jimin doesn’t look entirely convinced, peering up at him uncertainly, he adds: “You’re doing a great job on this, seriously. I’m not even sure why you’re making such a big deal in the first place—it’s just the guys coming over. Hoseok and Seokjin have tried Namjoon’s cooking before and lived, what you’ve done is practically a feast already.”
(To this day, he still doesn’t know how Namjoon had convinced Seokjin—who is supposed to be the one with the most sense out of the seven of them—to eat that questionable looking bowl of kimchi.)
“They almost got food poisoning from it.”
“Yeah, but they’re still alive after eating it and now probably everything they eat tastes a lot better in comparison, and—Jimin, this is already enough food, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
There’s a slight pout to his lips as he removes his arms from Yoongi’s loose grip so he can reach over and grab the previously abandoned saucepan. “But it’s our housewarming dinner party—it’s the first time we’re going to have everyone over at our place,” he says this as if it’s something he’s been telling Yoongi the entire day.
Ah, the housewarming dinner... After over a year of constantly making trips from and to each other’s places, dealing with Jimin’s creepy roommate walking in on them way too many times for it to be a coincidence, mentally scarring Yoongi’s roommate (“You’re being a drama queen, Hobi.” “Please don’t talk to me until both of you are fully dressed”) and generally having pretty impractical conditions for the development of their budding relationship, Yoongi had finally had it and asked Jimin to move in with him because he just happened to stumble upon an available place with reasonable rent, and Hoseok was thinking of rooming with an old friend of his, and really it’s not like it would be any more inconvenient—he didn’t get to finish because in the next second he was tackled by roughly 130 lbs of person, which made it slightly hard to talk. Nonetheless, Yoongi is glad they had taken the step and eventually moved into their current apartment—Jimin is absolutely ecstatic.
So ecstatic, in fact, that he’s decided to invite their five best friends to dinner in the new apartment, which sounds fair enough—but he wants to do, as he put it, a proper dinner, with multiple home-cooked dishes and Yoongi honestly thought he was kidding until he found out from a very excited Jimin that he had gone to Seokjin for recipes and any pointers he could offer. And Yoongi doesn’t see the point of going through all this trouble for their tiny, fairly lovable but definitely far from classy group of friends (for fuck’s sake, Taehyung had once drunk his weight in soda so Jungkook could film the resulting ‘magnificent’ burp that they both hoped would help them go viral on the Internet). But when he tried to say this to Jimin—his boyfriend Park Jimin, smiling from ear to ear, looking at him with an adorably hopeful glint in his brown eyes, cheeks flushed with excitement and his hair all mussed up and looking incredibly soft to the touch—somehow, the sounds coming out of his mouth had rearranged themselves into: “Sounds great, Jiminie.”
(As much as he denies it when Namjoon looks at him with that shit-eating smirk of his, Min Yoongi is rendered weak and useless every time Park Jimin as much as bats an eyelash his way).
Which brings him to this point, standing in the kitchen while his boyfriend is piling God knows what into a saucepan, occasionally peering down at a piece of paper covered in Seokjin’s handwriting, and when he turns to him and earnestly says “I just really want this to turn out well, you know,” he sets aside his reservations and resolves to help out however he can.
His valiant effort lasts for about an hour of following Jimin around in the kitchen (though frankly, he doesn’t end up doing a lot more than more slicing, measuring and handing things when Jimin asks for them) before he starts getting a little bit distracted. And really, who can blame him, when he could name so many better things he could do with his boyfriend other than cooking for their friends. For instance, cuddling on the sofa under the pretence of watching a movie but spending more time arguing about what movie to watch, then ending up not paying attention to it altogether because the moment Yoongi tries to focus on the screen, the younger of the two decides it would be fun to test his reactions to soft kisses being pressed on his skin at random—on his cheek, his temple, the shell of his ear, under his jaw—and he feels it’s only right to retaliate, tugging Jimin closer to him and peppering kisses all over the expanse of skin at his neck.
And he’s doing just that, hugging Jimin from behind as he’s seasoning the chicken, and it’s only after a while of kisses and the occasional soft nibbles at his neck that the man in cause turns towards Yoongi with a whine.
“Hyung,” Jimin says in his ‘scolding voice’, which is a really unconvincing imitation of Seokjin’s and is completely given away by the smile on his face as he looks at Yoongi. “You must really not want to do this. You’re not usually this... touchy-feely,” the hesitant way in which he says this reminds the elder that, even though he’s been getting better with being affectionate, more than half the time it’s still Jimin that initiates it—still, it’s a work in progress.
He releases Jimin, moving his arms from where they were circling the other man’s waist, and shrugs in reply. “I just think that we have more than enough food for seven people already—“
“They’re our friends; you know they all eat at least twice as much as the normal person.”
“—and Seokjin is probably going to bring something with him even though you asked him not to,” he calmly continues, and Jimin pouts.
“Yeah, he probably will,” he says in a tone that sounds equal parts reproachful and excited at the prospect of eating their friend’s (admittedly exceptional) cooking.
“So,” Yoongi continues, before his boyfriend tries to contradict his logical observations. “Maybe we could give cooking a break and relax—it’s not every day that we both have this much free time.”
(And it’s really not because between rent, bills and left-over student loans, they’re swarmed in shifts at an overpriced coffee shop, nights spent in front of a computer with a beat repeating itself over and over again through Yoongi’s headphones, and odd jobs here and there—and there’s Jimin’s dancing, of course. They both try not to think about it too much because they always try and manage to make a little time for each other, but it goes unspoken that it never really feels like enough for either one of them.)
Jimin looks at him with raised eyebrows. “Right, relax.”
“What?” he asks, though he’s fully expecting that he’ll have to defend his ‘laziness’—what Jimin calls his perfectly reasonable desire to lie down and enjoy the presence of his loving boyfriend without wasting energy on actually doing something ‘substantial’.
“Hyung, we both know that what you have in mind has more to do with the bedroom and a lot less to do with relaxing,” Jimin’s tone is flat, but the look in his eyes (and past experience) says he’s not exactly opposed to the idea.
But Yoongi can’t pass up a chance to tease him, so he keeps his face perfectly straight and leans against the kitchen counter.
“Doesn’t necessarily involve the bedroom—the countertop looks pretty sturdy,” he taps the hard surface as he says this almost conversationally, and delights in the way Jimin’s face colours the moment the implication sinks in.
He can’t help but let out a chuckle at the reaction (he knows for a fact that the younger is not half as innocent as he looks, but he also knows that certain comments and situations still make him flustered, and Yoongi takes advantage of this whenever he can partly because he finds it the cutest thing ever—partly because he’s always been kind of an asshole, so it’s part of his programming). Jimin frowns at him, cheeks still a shade darker than usual, and mutters “Jerk” under his breath without any bite to it.
Just as Yoongi thought he had convinced the other to join him for a blissful, lazy (or not so lazy, depending on how things went) hour in bed, Jimin opens a drawer and starts reaching out for more kitchen utensils. He gives him a miffed look when he turns around and Jimin replies with a roll of his eyes, pointing at the chicken next to him.
“I’ve already prepared this, so we have to cook it—“ he opens his mouth to reply, “—and you know it would be a waste if it goes bad and we have to throw it out.”
He shuts his mouth because he can hear his wallet and the money he’s spent at the convenience store crying at the thought of wasted chicken so his reply ends up being a suppressed sigh and: “Okay, let’s do the chicken, Jiminie.”
(He feels far less disgruntled when Jimin directs one of his smiles—big, warm, with his eyes curved into thin crescents—at him, because the warm feeling that fills his chest renders his complete lack of interest in cooking insignificant).
So they work in relative silence—Jimin working diligently on the chicken to the best of his ability, Yoongi working—well, not as diligently, but he’s trying—on the side dishes he was told to take over, when he suddenly feels something wet smear over the tip of his nose, smelling oddly of spices.
“What the fu—“ he whirls around, dumbfounded, only to come face to face with the culprit and his accomplice—a bowl of sauce in his left hand.
Jimin snorts then bursts out laughing at the (no doubt comical) look on Yoongi’s face (who is still gaping because his mind is buffering and—what happened to cooking and taking this seriously?) not looking the least bit apologetic, and then a smile fights his way onto the elder’s face.
“Park Jimin,” he growls out, trying his best to make it sound menacing, but Jimin only giggles harder in response before he sets the sauce down and bolts, Yoongi hot on his heels.
“Come back here, you brat!” he shouts, but he’s laughing as he’s chasing down his boyfriend through the apartment.
(He eventually catches up with him and tackles him—he makes sure to soften the landing for him but he’s pretty sure he’s earned himself a couple of bruises in the process instead—and for a moment they both stare at each other, breathless from laughter and running around, respectively “You’re getting old, Yoongi-hyung”. Moments later, they’re breathless for a whole other reason, exchanging kisses and biting at each other’s lips, Yoongi’s hands on either side of his boyfriend’s head while the other’s fingers are trailing lines and patterns under the elder’s shirt, and then—And then, Park fucking Jimin pulls away with a cheeky smile, scoots away from where he was lying underneath Yoongi and gets up because they “haven’t finished dinner yet” and Yoongi gives himself a moment to lie there and contemplate the unfairness of life.)
In the end, they couldn’t have done anything more besides the chicken even if they wanted to (Yoongi sure didn’t) because of time constraints (which Jimin is apparently blaming him for, as if he hadn’t smeared sauce on Yoongi’s nose and made him chase him around the apartment and then just—) that left them with just enough to tidy up the place a little and arrange the living room into a makeshift dining room.
This involved moving two chairs from the kitchen to put next to their couch and armchairs (a horrible set-up, but the best they can manage to make—barely—enough space for seven people), hauling over their largest table (one found in a thrift store that Yoongi thought was unnecessarily tall, but it had been easily the best and cheapest option) and placing glasses and a couple side dishes on it before stepping back to admire the arrangement. It looked like something that Yoongi’s mother would have collapsed from sheer horror after seeing, but that happy sparkle in Jimin’s eyes was back so Yoongi refrained from pointing out how ugly the entire thing looked.
Sooner than later the guests start to arrive (Namjoon and Seokjin are first and tell them the other three are carpooling and will be there in a minute—probably—as they hang up their coats).
Once inside, the eldest of them places two empty plastic food containers into the hands of a rather reluctant Jimin, who is trying his best to mask his bemusement.
“Housewarming gift—you can never have too many of these,” Seokjin explains with a smile on his face, but when Yoongi raises an eyebrow his way, he sighs. “Okay, I really was planning to give you these to keep—they’re really useful—but they were supposed to have food inside.”
He turns his head and throws a thoroughly unimpressed look in the general direction of his taller, blond counterpart, who is fixing the cuffs of his shirt.
“Only someone decided to eat that.”
Namjoon peers into the living room, “Oh, nice. You redecorated,” he remarks, stepping inside as if suddenly very fascinated by the impromptu dining set up.
(Yoongi feels like he’s on the receiving end of a side-eye himself, so he goes after his friend to tell him the story of how he bought that incredibly fascinating table).
The others are soon to arrive (they know even before they open the door because Taehyung knocks like a fucking maniac) and Hoseok is the first one to greet them and compliment the new apartment (“Honestly, Yoongi, when you told me you found something cheap, I thought you were going to take poor Jimin to live in a storage unit, but this is really nice.” Yoongi thanks him, voice dripping with sarcasm, and quietly resents having been a—relatively—good roommate to Hoseok if this is the amount of trust he is rewarded with).
Taehyung had already zoomed past him and into the living room, where he and Jimin are screaming something incoherent at each other and he’s left alone with Jungkook, who is being suspiciously quiet as he scans his surroundings—until Yoongi squints at him and he shuffles into the living room, following the others.
Soon enough everyone is sitting down (Seokjin, Namjoon and Taehyung on the couch, Hoseok and Jungkook in the armchairs on either side of the table, leaving Jimin and Yoongi to sit on the two kitchen chairs, which are far less comfortable in comparison) and the sound of lively chatter fills their living room.
“You did a good job putting this together, Jimin,” says Hoseok, sometime after Taehyung has finished telling them a really animated story about a monkey and a taxi driver (Yoongi honestly has no idea), “If the rest of the food is even half as good as these side dishes, this is already a great dinner party.”
The dark-haired man’s tone of voice is warm and genuine as usual, and Jimin is visibly glowing with pride.
“Actually,” he pipes up, turning towards Yoongi with a fond smile. “Yoongi-hyung’s the one who took care of the side dishes.”
It’s just like Jimin to still give him credit for putting a couple things in bowls after he was pretty uncooperative the entire day—which he’s starting to feel bad for all over again—and it makes his heart clench under the sheer weight of the affection he feels for him.
Jungkook swallows whatever he was previously chewing. “You mean Yoongi-hyung actually did something that wasn’t ‘supervising’?” making Namjoon snort.
The rush of affection for his boyfriend that he was overwhelmed by mere seconds ago subsides, because he resents Jimin for strategically placing himself between Yoongi and Jungkook, so he can’t reach over and give the youngest a well-deserved smack on the head.
Hoseok pouts, “You never helped me with cooking when we were living together.”
(He says this as if he’s not the one who, quite often, would come home whining about being “too tired to cook. Yoongi, do you have the number for pizza delivery?”)
“Hyung, he only helps Jimin because he’s whipped,” Taehyung points out sagely, causing more unattractive snorting from Namjoon and Yoongi’s death glare being directed at him. “I mean, they probably didn’t even cook as much as they—“
Whatever Taehyung was about to say is interrupted by Seokjin gently but firmly shoving a couple vegetables into his open mouth, and everyone is none the wiser as the younger continues chewing, his initial thought forgotten.
And so it goes for a while—they exchange stories they have or haven’t heard from each other before, they laugh and joke around. Everyone seems to go out of their way to tease Yoongi and he allows them only because Hoseok’s laughter is infectious and Jimin looks so happy and under these conditions, not even a grump like Yoongi could keep a bad mood.
“—and I grab the umbrella—it was the only thing within reach and it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Hoseok is telling them, wildly gesticulating as he talks and Taehyung looks at him with a look of deep concentration that it looks almost comical on him. “I lean over and tell him to grab onto it, and then—“
And then, everything goes black.
Silence fills the room for a couple seconds before Jungkook’s hesitant voice breaks it.
“So... I’m guessing this isn’t part of the story.”
“You know, this is exactly like that scene in the movie I was telling you about, where the aliens—“
“Taehyung, we’re not in a movie,” this is Seokjin’s voice and he lets out a sigh. “It’s probably just a power outage. Do you guys have any—ouch! Namjoon, that’s my thigh.”
“Sorry!”
Jimin is oddly silent throughout this debacle so Yoongi frowns and gets out of his seat, phone in hand.
“I’ve put some things aside in case something like this ever happened,” of course, when he stashed away the candles, batteries and flashlights, he hadn’t imagined this would be during a dinner Jimin had worked damn hard on organising.
He takes a slightly unsettled Hoseok with him (while they’re looking for the supplies using the light from their phones, they hear Seokjin, increasingly exasperated, telling Taehyung that “nobody is getting kidnapped by aliens and will you please stop making those noises,” “I’m not making the noises, it’s the aliens, hyung,” he can almost see the unimpressed look on the eldest’s face and then he hears “Ow— Namjoon,” and relaxes when he can hear Jimin’s soft laughter over Namjoon’s apologies and explanations that something grabbed his leg under the table—“ALIENS!”) and the two of them come back with three flashlights, spare batteries, and an uncomfortably large amount of candles.
(“But hyung,” Jimin whines, looking at the two pairs of matching fuzzy slippers with an expression that could only be described as a mixture of longing and regret.
Yoongi sighs, “Jimin, we already have slippers. Why would we need extra pairs?”
“Why would we need this many candles?” the younger retaliates, pointing at what is, indeed, a rather ridiculous amount of candles that Yoongi is holding.
“Because they’re on sale and the weather is shit, so we’ll need them if we get blackouts,” he reasons, as they’re approaching the check-out line.
Jimin—who is not very fond of the dark—pouts and doesn’t say anything else. Yoongi heaves another sigh.
By the time they exit the store, Yoongi is carrying a bag full of candles and some other things he deemed necessities—Jimin, in one hand, is clutching a bag of his own with a huge smile on his face, while his other hand is tightly holding onto Yoongi’s.)
They turn on the flashlights and light up candles (it’s an unspoken rule, but they all make sure not to place them anywhere where Namjoon’s long limbs could reach) and are back in their seats in a now relatively well lit room as Jimin starts bringing food and placing it on the table.
“You know,” Taehyung starts when they’ve all settled down, “this really isn’t how I imagined my first candlelight dinner going.”
Everybody bursts out laughing and the atmosphere is back, as if the stupid electricity going out hadn’t interrupted it to begin with. The table is filled with food to its capacity—and Jimin is rightfully complimented for how delicious everything looks (from the chicken and the rice cakes to the ridiculously large bowl of salad) and everyone starts digging in. Yoongi takes a minute to admire the scene in front of him and thinks he might understand where Jimin was coming from when he’d suggested this dinner. Smiling, he brings a piece of chicken and bites down on it, sighing as it makes a satisfying creaking sound—
It’s like it happens in slow motion, as Yoongi realises that chewing on a piece of chicken is not supposed to make creaking sounds, but before he or anyone else can open their mouth to say anything, two of the table’s legs (which seem to have yielded to the weight of the many, many dishes laid on top of it) give out, and it tilts down to one side. They watch in horror as the giant salad bowl (and a couple other unfortunate bowls) slides down on the smooth surface on the table until it lands on the lap of a shell-shocked Jungkook, splattering its contents all over him.
Seokjin had somehow had the sense to reach out and try to hold up the table, to prevent him from falling over completely and possibly flattening Jungkook—Hoseok has come to and is now also holding it down from the other end—and Yoongi is so, so glad for the fact that, as a Namjoon-proofing precaution, they had put a flashlight in the centre of the table instead of candles.
(The flashlight lies on the floor, probably broken since there is no light coming from it, and if Yoongi were in the right state of mind, he’d delight in the fact that now he has a legitimate reason to dislike the stupid table).
For the second time that night, the room is engulfed in complete silence, and the floor (and Jungkook) is covered in at least half the contents that had been on the table, some of the dishes are probably broken and the sauce is probably going to stain the carpet. But now that Yoongi can clearly see everyone else’s faces, he notices they’re all staring in the same direction with identical, apprehensive looks. He follows it with his own eyes and finds himself looking at Jimin, whose gaze is fixated on Jungkook, his face completely unreadable. Yoongi’s about to—he has no idea, maybe say everything is going to be fine or just reach out and hug the younger close to his chest—when Jimin’s face scrunches up and he starts laughing loudly.
“The look on your face,” he hasn’t stopped laughing as manages to say this to Jungkook, and that’s then Taehyung starts laughing as well—so loud it resounds through the house—as he points at Jungkook (who, now that he’s calm enough to appreciate it, looks pretty ridiculous, still gaping while covered in mayo and bits of apple).
Soon enough, they’re all laughing—Seokjin’s laugh, reminiscent of someone furiously scrubbing on a glass window, only makes them laugh harder—and by the end of it, Taehyung is doubled up on his side, head resting on Namjoon’s lap.
They start to do damage control—Taehyung is wiping at Jungkook’s skin with a cloth Yoongi brought him, Seokjin and Hoseok are trying to salvage any food they can off the table while Namjoon holds it up until it’s been completely cleared off. Jimin got up from his seat saying he’ll get some cleaning supplies (maybe they can save the carpet and the mayo-smeared armchair) and bring Jungkook some clean clothes to change into.
Yoongi has no idea what possesses him to follow suit—a tug at his heart, maybe instinct—but when he reaches their bedroom he’s glad he did, because he can hear sniffling before he even steps inside.
“Jimin...” he starts, uncertainly, still standing in the doorframe.
In the dim lighting cast by a phone, he sees Jimin wipe at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I’m fine, just—having trouble finding clothes for Kookie.”
Yoongi sits down next to him on the bed and searches for his hand, gently enveloping it in his larger one when he finds it.
Jimin takes a deep, shaky breath after a few seconds pass. “It’s a disaster,” he croaks out, and Yoongi feels a pang in his chest when fresh tears start flowing down the curve of his cheeks.
(He wishes he was better at this—he wishes he could comfort Jimin the same way he comforted him after Yoongi (pink hair a mess, eyes heavy from sleepless nights, fingers twitching from an increased caffeine intake) when he broke down because none of his tracks are coming out the way he wants them to, he feels like a failure and at the rate he’s going there is no way he will ever amount to anything in life. Jimin took him into his arms and filled his ears with soothing words, refusing to stop until they got through Yoongi’s head and embedded themselves into his brain, like it was the most natural thing in the world before taking dragging the elder with him to the bed to get some much needed rest—it was probably the best sleep he got in his entire life).
“Hey, look at me,” he pleads, trying to make his voice sound as gentle as possible. When his boyfriend complies, he starts to wipe off the tears with his thumb and brushes some of Jimin’s fringe aside. “Why is this so important to you?”
(When it’s out of his mouth he realises that it almost sounds patronising, as if it’s stupid of Jimin to get upset over all his effort on the dinner going to waste. Which it’s not, and he’s annoyed with himself because for fuck’s sake—he writes songs, he should be better with words by now. It’s an earnest question, because he knows Jimin and he knows that if he’s crying, it’s for another reason than the fact that his salad is now residing on Jungkook’s shirt.)
Jimin bites his lip and for a second, the older of the two thinks he has majorly screwed up and that he should backpedal before this gets any worse, but then he opens his mouth to speak.
“I just, moving together is a huge step—and I know it’s been more than a week already,” his voice is slightly scratchy from crying and he hesitates, “but it’s the first time we’re having the others over so it just kind of felt like it will make the whole thing more official?”
(Jimin is playing with their interlaced fingers as he speaks, a nervous habit).
“So I kind of convinced myself that if we could pull this off—tonight—then we can really handle it. Living together,” and in light of this, Jimin’s behaviour throughout the day makes a lot more sense, and Yoongi wishes he’d caught onto it sooner, but he’s left to stare at him as he continues.
In the midst of talking, Jimin had let go of his hand so he could set both of his in his lap and wring them together, and Yoongi feels the absence of Jimin’s warmth on his now empty hand. “I know it doesn’t make much sense to put so much down to a dinner party, but I really wanted it to go well and—it’s stupid,” he finally blurts out, decisively looking down.
Yoongi sighs, “It’s not stupid.”
Jimin looks up at him and cracks a smile—small, but still there. “It is pretty stupid when you think about it—you were right about the salad, it was way too much.”
The elder is overcome by the resurfacing realisation of how incredibly fond he is of Jimin and honestly has half a mind to kiss him in that moment, just to show him exactly how much that is, but instead makes a grab for his hands—again, and both of them this time—and holds onto them tightly.
“You just wanted to do well, that’s not stupid,” he speaks with as much conviction as he can put into his voice, staring straight into the other’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter that it’s just a dinner party, you should never feel stupid for wanting to do well at something.”
He then releases one of his hands so he can reach out and cup his cheek and smiles when Jimin leans into the touch.
“But, Jimin—babe, I just want you to remember that we met while I was half naked and tackling Hoseok for a slice of pizza,” the memory makes Jimin giggle, his face moving against Yoongi’s palm, “and we’re still together and going strong a year after that. I think we can handle living together—and one disastrous dinner party is not gonna change that, okay?”
Jimin is smiling at him, eyes still glassy but not looking even remotely as miserable as he had when Yoongi had followed him into the bedroom, as he breaths out a barely audible “Okay, hyung.”
And that’s when Yoongi lets go of his other hand, properly takes a hold of Jimin’s face and pulls him in for a kiss, which the younger eagerly reciprocates.
(A little too eagerly because when Yoongi pulls away after hearing Taehyung yelling, asking if they were still alive in there and something about aliens, his boyfriend looks at him with a pout that only becomes more pronounced at the suggestion that they should probably go back to the living room).
“Alright, everyone listen to me—new plan,” Yoongi calls once he’s back into the dining room and everyone (including a slightly cleaner Jungkook, who to his displeasure still smelled of mayonnaise) turns to look at him. “We’re all going out for dinner.”
Jimin stares at him, befuddled, as he’s handing Jungkook clothes to change into—and so do the others, really, until Hoseok smiles and says “I know a good place and they’re probably open.”
(Yoongi’s wallet cries as he nods and instructs the others to go get their coats—a still confused Jimin is dragged away by a very enthusiastic Taehyung, who is already listing off the things he wants to eat).
“Doesn’t going out defeat the purpose of having a housewarming party?” is Jungkook’s snarky question once he’s changed into one of Jimin’s shirts and a pair of pants that are too short on him.
Yoongi directs a glare his way—and it must have been a good one because Jungkook goes to get his coat with slightly more enthusiasm than necessary.
Which brings them all here, sitting around a table overflowing with food and chatting among each other as they watch the beef ever-so-slowly cooking on the grill. Jimin is pressed to his side, occasionally bringing his chopsticks close to Yoongi’s face to feed him bits of food and every time, without exception, Taehyung makes a show of gagging at how ‘gross and lovey-dovey’ it is (which is probably what prompts Jimin to keep doing it).
(When they had ordered, Seokjin assured Yoongi that the five of them would split the bill, sparing him and Jimin of any cost “as a housewarming gift”.
At that, Hoseok and Jungkook go rigid, and Taehyung turns to them.
“I told you we were forgetting something!”)
The evening had not gone according to plan at all, the carpet in their living room might be dead for good and the moment they get home, Yoongi swears to God he is going to smash that wretched table to bits. But there and then, in the small restaurant, surrounded by his closest friends and his boyfriend, he feels at peace.
He turns his gaze towards Jimin, who is busily wrapping a piece of beef, and thinks—he thinks about how Jimin is the person he—Min Yoongi, textbook definition of pragmatic—could comfortably call the love of his life, how happy he is that they’re living together and how he can see himself doing this for the rest of his life: waking up next to Jimin, cuddling up to him for lazy movie nights, chasing him around the apartment because he smeared sauce on his nose, growing old with him and loving him for as long as he possibly can. And it’s surprising to him that the gravity of his thoughts doesn’t even scare him—he feels like it should terrify him, to love someone so strongly that he can’t imagine a future they’re not in, and before he met Park Jimin it certainly would have, but he finds it’s too hard to convince himself to put his walls up, to be scared of falling in too deep and getting hurt because if there is anyone on Earth he would ever trust with his heart, it’s the man sitting next to him.
He knows he’ll keep his thoughts to himself for a while—even though just looking at Jimin makes the words want to flow out of him until he’s used them all up—because they’ve only just moved into their modest apartment and Jimin had just had a breakdown worrying about it. And he’s fine with it, he decides, as his hand finds Jimin’s under the table and he gives it a squeeze that Jimin returns with equal intensity and emotion (he didn’t keep track of how many times he had held his hand today, but it doesn’t matter because he feels like he could to it forever and never get tired of it).
Worrying about the future will have to wait for another time, because Yoongi is too busy being a lovesick fool in the present—only for that, he has all the time in the world and more.