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’can’t leave him to drown—’
Yoongi cracked open an eyelid in groggy disbelief. Who the fuck would call someone at. . .what time was it even? He squinted at the phone screen and swore. It wasn't even a number his phone recognized—just some random land line.
Just end the call, don't answer it, he told himself.
But what if it's an emergency and someone really needs help?
Yoongi groaned. He hated it when his conscience convinced him to do dumb, unnecessary things.
“It’s 3 am, asshole. This better be good.”
There was a pause and then a tired, young male voice said, “Hyung, can you help me?”
“What the fuck, Jimin? Dude, it's 3am. Can't this wait till morning?” Yoongi groaned in frustration.
“I could really use a friend right now,” His voice sounded so broken and so lost that Yoongi couldn't, in all honesty, say no.
“It's late. You have five minutes and then I'm hanging up.” He knew it was harsh but he didn't want any future late-night calls cockblocking his sleep. He got precious little as it was.
“I only need three,” Jimin said, his voice just a notch above a whisper. This was so unlike Jimin who was always so upbeat—the kind of guy who cheered people up and not the other way around.
“Start talking.” Yoongi said, his voice terse.
“What if you see someone wrecking their lives and you try to stop them—ask them to stop, but they tell you it's none of their business?”
“Well maybe it isn't. Any of your business, I mean? If they're an adult, there's only so much you can do,” Yoongi reasoned as he rubbed sleep-heavy eyes. “I mean adults have just as much right to screw up as kids do.”
“But if they're family, it's different right? Family should be in each other's business, shouldn't they? That's how you show you care. If they're drowning, you try to drag them out of the water, don't you?” He seemed to be looking for something, maybe affirmation? It was just too bad Yoongi wasn't the kind to offer it.
“Look, I don't know your family and I don't know their problems. I wish I could be more help, but I don't have any answers for you, kid.” Yoongi probably sounded too brusque but it was late. And he was tired. So fucking tired.
“He's in trouble. I can’t leave him to drown on his own.” And Yoongi could just hear it—the thread of desolation in his voice.
“If he wants to be left alone, maybe. . .well maybe you should listen to him, Jimin.”
“I can't do that. But anyway, thanks for listening, hyung.”
Then he hung up. Jimin was the one who'd asked all the questions but now it was Yoongi who lay in bed, his head swimming with questions.
What had upset Jimin so bad that he was calling him at ass o’clock to ramble on about his personal mess? Which member of his family had fucked up, and why had Jimin come to him of all people?
They hung out because of the band thing, sure. But Yoongi was not the advice guy. In their unit, that guy was Jin. Even Taehyung with his weirdness and boundless energy would have been a better option than Yoongi who didn’t know how to deal with anything remotely emotional. He just didn't get it.
What the hell happened, Jimin? And which older brother of yours do I have to beat up?
But the most confusing thing of all was why Jimin had rung him. Jin would have been a lot more sympathetic, and Taehyung might have cheered him up (but one was never sure with Taehyung). Surely he had other friends he was close to?
So many questions, and no answers. Plus, now that his head was buzzing with puzzles, there would be no sleep either, for him. Cussing frustratedly, Yoongi turned on his side and stared at the shadows on the wall.
’not enough coffee in the world—’
"Wow, that was SHITHOUSE. Truly." You could always count on Jin to get straight to the point. That was why they got along so well—neither one of them had much of a filter when it came to saying what they thought. It was easier that way. "We can do better than this, guys. WE HAVE TO do better than this, come on. Contest is in six weeks!"
"Tell us something we don't already know," Yoongi snorted as he unslung his guitar and placed it on its stand. "I'm taking a break," he said before walking over to the lounge—if you could even call it that. It was just a small space in the corner of the small warehouse where they rehearsed. A little corner they'd decorated with an upturned furniture crate, battered purple sofa that Taehyung had rescued from his grandma’s house, and a pickle jar stuffed with dried silver dollars that Jimin had nicked from home.
They’d been lucky to even have this place. It belonged to Jin’s uncle who’d given them the green light to use it till he could decide what to do with it. Bless the man, he’d been trying to “decide” for eight months, and in the meantime, Bulletproof had somewhere to rehearse.
Sighing, Yoongi sank onto the sofa, legs splayed. A few seconds later the sofa dipped a little more as someone joined him. In the background, Jin and Taehyung were talking, or at least Jin was. Taehyung was just strumming the opening chords from some song Yoongi didn’t know.
"Here." He heard the scraping of the thermos flask as Jimin pushed it across the crate. Unscrewing the top of the flask, he looked up at Jimin. The younger man looked tired too, with shadows under his eyes that looked like mauve-colored bruises. They made Jimin’s boyish face look even younger somehow.
What time did you sleep in the end, kid, Yoongi thought but didn't ask.
"Not enough coffee in the world to keep me awake today. But you look like you need this more than me,” Yoongi pushed the flask back to him.
“We can share,” Jimin said quietly.
“You. . .you okay? I mean, did you sleep after—?” Yoongi wanted to ask but he also didn't want to, and perhaps more importantly, he didn't know how to.
“Some. I slept some. Sorry I woke you. I shouldn't have.” Jimin leaned back against the sofa and Yoongi had never seen him look so drained, so done with life—and he’d known him. . .what? Two years now? Jimin was always so vibrant on stage, a ball of energy as he banged at his drums. Yoongi didn’t recognize this shell of a human being sitting beside him on the sofa. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but Yoongi knew that was only half of the story—if even that.
But he wasn’t going to ask Jimin what was wrong. He wasn’t that kind of friend. Not to anyone. Not even to Jimin who shared his solitary penchant for vinyls and 90s noir films, when everyone else they knew couldn’t understand and found his hobbies weird as fuck. They didn’t need to know that they were all Yoongi had left of his dad—his collection of records and a bunch of DVDs that included David Fincher’s Se7en and Takashi Ishii’s Gonin. Maybe he’d tell Jimin about his dad. One day. Or not.
“Dude, you should sleep when we're done here,” Yoongi said as he nudged Jimin’s sneakered foot with his own. They both wore navy blue Chucks they'd bought on sale together a year ago. Jimin's were already twice as scruffy.
"If I did, I'd never get any sleep tonight. I mean, I might end up calling you at 3 am again," Jimin grinned. It wasn't quite the amount of sunshine Jimin could channel into a room on a normal day, but it was still hella lot better than sad and tired. Yoongi didn't like seeing Jimin sad and tired.
"Call me at 3 am again and you're buying me lunch for a week," Yoongi said in a threatening voice.
"I need company anyway and you can be fun when you're not pretending to be all tortured young artist." Cracks of sunshine were showing on Jimin's young face and relief washed over Yoongi.
"PARK JIMIN," Yoongi growled.
"How about if I call earlier? Like 1 am? Would that be cool?" Jimin bumped shoulders with him like he always did when he was trying to persuade Yoongi to do something dumb. It never ended well and it looked like today wouldn't be any different.
"Fine." Yoongi sounded grouchy as fuck but Jimin and the others were used to that. They would've been way more surprised if he'd been pleasant. "Just don't make a habit of doing it. You should sleep more."
"So should you," Jimin pointed out and he only looked slightly cheeky.
"BREAK'S OVER. And seriously, I wanna see more commitment, you guys. I don't give a fuck if you feel like roadkill today. We have SIX. WEEKS. We need to be perfect by then." Jin's voice could be loud and super penetrating when he wanted it to be. No one would ever think that handsome, innocent face harbored a slave driving demon.
"Perfection is overrated," Taehyung announced as he pulled at the ends of his overlong fringe. When Jin shot him the dirtiest look imaginable, he just shrugged and mumbled, "Just saying."
"Let's go. Before Jin starts yelling again." Rolling his eyes, Jimin patted Yoongi's knee and took his hand, pulling him up from the sofa. Jimin's hand was dry and warm and strong around his small one—Yoongi had always hated his too-small hands. They stood together now, side by side, and slowly, Jimin let go of his fingers, a half smile on his face. Then they were walking over to their instruments. The whole thing left Yoongi feeling just a little off balance. It had to be the lack of sleep.
And that's when it hit him. Oh for fuck's sake, we never even had any coffee in the end, Yoongi swore under his breath as he reached for his guitar.
’so. . .fucking. . .tired—’
It was 12.57 am and Yoongi's eyelids were heavy. He was dead tired from all the sleep he hadn't gotten the night before. It would be so easy to just close his eyes and drift off but a stubborn voice was keeping him awake. What if Jimin called at 1 am? He'd rather not be woken up mid-sleep. Like what if he really needed to talk and. . .yeah. He shouldn't sleep just yet.
But God, he was so. . .fucking. . .tired.
’the less people know—’
The room was flooded with light when Yoongi woke up. Abruptly, he sat up in bed. "Shit!" he hissed as he grabbed his phone. Had he missed Jimin's call? Anxiously, his eyes scanned the screen. . .no missed calls or new text messages. Thank fuck .
He hoped that meant Jimin had fallen asleep early. He must have had even less sleep than him the night before, Yoongi thought, as he bit his bottom lip. He really needed to talk to Jimin properly—find out what was going on. Find out who in his family was stressing him out. It was so not his M.O. when it came to friendships but well, this was Jimin, and he was hurting and Yoongi didn't like that at all.
There wasn't any rehearsal till Sunday afternoon. And if that didn't work out, there was always Monday. They could have lunch together on campus or something and maybe talk some.
Or you could just call him, duh.
In the end, the decision was taken out of his hands as his phone buzzed.
“You’re awake.” Jimin sounded. . .surprised. Yoongi couldn't blame him. He wasn’t exactly known for being an early riser and it wasn’t even ten yet. On a Saturday morning, no less.
“Well. Thirty-percent of my brain is, anyway. Can’t vouch for the rest of me. I hope you slept, kid.”
"Yeahhh, passed out around ten with Where They From playing on a loop," Jimin admitted, laughing. "My iPod batt was down to 7% this morning." Yoongi shook his head. Jimin must have been crazy tired to sleep through Missy Elliot all night long. Crazy tired.
"You feel better?" Yoongi asked in his laziest, not-quite-awake voice. At least he'd laughed. He'd never been so relieved to hear the sound of Jimin's laugh. That was the real Jimin, wasn't it? Not the sad kid who'd called him up two nights ago, and the tired one who'd sat beside him on the couch yesterday, like a wraith.
"I dunno. But I slept, anyway. Listen, hyung,"
"Hmm?"
"Can I hang out with you today? I mean if you haven't got any plans? I don't want to stay at home and I need someone's company that isn't my own. If that makes any sense." Jimin sounded almost apologetic—like he was imposing. Yoongi frowned.
"Wouldn't Tae be better company? Like cheer you up more? I'm not much good at that kind of thing. Y'know?" Yoongi laid his head back on the pillow and shut his eyes.
"Tae—Tae doesn't know about this and I. . .I kinda want to keep it that way. The less people know—" he let his words trail off, heavy with the unsaid.
"As long as you don't mind one other person hanging with us."
"Is it anyone I know?" Was that disappointment he heard in Jimin's voice? But Yoongi must have imagined it because this was Jimin. He loved meeting people and knew all the best ways to make them feel like they were welcome. All the things Yoongi sucked at, basically.
"Just Seulgi. I pick her up from the dojang on Saturday mornings."
"I haven't seen her since Christmas. She must be all grown up now!"
"I guess. Tell her that. She'll be so obnoxious about it," Yoongi said chuckling.
"I will!" Jimin said, and for the first time in two days, his voice was tinged with excitement. It made Yoongi smile.
’sometimes you just gotta have what you want right away—’
"Are you sure you're in college, Jimin-oppa? You look wayyy too young to be in college," Seulgi said, giving Jimin a suspicious look as she took a bite of the honey hotteok Yoongi had bought from a nearby shop. She was probably wishing she hadn't taken such a big bite as she made regretful, puffing noises.
"Of course, I am! I'm a year younger than your oppa but I'm definitely in college. Wanna see my student ID?" Jimin said, flashing one of his crowd-pleaser grins.
"Is he legit?" she side-eyed Yoongi.
"Yeah, he goes to my college—even if he does look like a ten year-old,” Yoongi confirmed with a smirk.
“Hey!” Jimin protested, insisting he was about as college student as a college student could get.
“I don’t care what either of you say. Jimin-oppa looks like a high school student,” Seulgi declared stubbornly as she bit off another sizeable chunk of the hotteok. She began yelping almost immediately.
“You know the hotteok always burns your mouth. Why you always gotta take such big bites?” Yoongi sighed as he swiped his knuckle over her chin.
“Because sometimes you just gotta have what you want right away, oppa. You can’t always wait for the things you want,” Seulgi gave him an impatient look which reeked of, don’t you know anything, you silly oppa?
"But when you have to wait for things, you enjoy them even more when you finally get them," Yoongi argued.
"And sometimes you wait and you wait. . .and nothing ever happens. So maybe Seulgi has a point. You just gotta burn your mouth sometimes." Jimin's voice was serious—uncharacteristically so, and Yoongi had the feeling Jimin wasn't talking about hotteok at all. But what was he talking about? Was this about his brother?
Yoongi watched Jimin, lower lip caught between his teeth, considering. But before he could come to any kind of conclusion, Seulgi piped up, "Oppa, my legs hurt. Coach really killed us today. So! Many! High! Kicks! Like I could not walk another step." Her ponytail was all messy as it hung between her shoulderblades, and her lanky body looked tiny, and more than a little exhausted in her white taekwondo gym tee and white pants.
"Nope." Yoongi used his firmest voice even though he knew it would have exactly zero effect when it came to putting his little sister off.
"PLEEEEEASE, OPPA?" Seulgi pleaded, giving him the puppy-dog-eyes look he could never say no to.
"There's nothing wrong with your legs, brat!"
"We had to run twenty laps and do six bajillion kicks and please don't make me crawl the rest of the way home, oppa." She was bouncing lightly on her heels now, like she'd already won the battle. She could probably smell the blood in the water. His sister was a damn shark.
"This is the absolute last time you con me into giving you a ride," he said in his most disgruntled voice as Seulgi squealed and hugged him, a string of happy thank yous flowing from her mouth. Then he got into a half squat so she could climb onto his back. As he straightened his body and looped his arms beneath Seulgi's cotton-clad thighs, Yoongi looked up and to find Jimin watching him.
"You're just a big marshmallow, Min Yoongi," Jimin said quietly, his eyes softer than usual.
"I am not," Yoongi snorted as he adjusted his passenger more comfortably on his back.
"Oppa is the BIGGEST marshmallow I know," Seulgi said cheerfully.
"Say one more word about me being a marshmallow and you're walking home, kid."
"Okay, okay! I'll be good now," she promised, giving his arm a squeeze which was more sass than reassurance.
"Just a big marshmallow," Jimin said again, a ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.
"Stop," Yoongi said, glaring. To his relief, Jimin didn't say anything more about him being a pushover. If Jin and Taehyung ever heard about this. . .they could never hear about this. He had a tough guy image to maintain and if they ever found out about this—well, they'd just better not find out. If Jimin told them, he would just have to kill him. It was as simple as that.
"Jimin-oppa, do you like marshmallows?"
"Marshmallows are my favorite," Jimin laughed.
"WILL Y'ALL STOP WITH THE MARSHMALLOWS?"
’I don't know how to be a friend—’
After they’d dropped Seulgi off at home, they'd just walked around aimlessly for an hour—talking about random shit. It was spring, but the weather was still chillier than Yoongi liked and he wished he'd worn an extra layer that morning.
The plum trees that lined the streets were heavy with young leaves and flower buds, and the place would be exploding with color in about a week. He'd never admit to it, but Yoongi loved the way plum blossoms looked. Everyone made such a big deal about cherry blossoms but they just looked washed out to him. The rich pinks and reds of cheongchun were so much more beautiful.
Vibrant—
"Cherry or plum?" Yoongi pondered aloud.
"Huh?" Jimin stopped walking to give him a curious look.
"Which do you like better? Cherry or plum blossoms?"
"Plum. Is that a trick question?" Jimin asked as he blinked against the sunlight. He was smiling again and the dimple in his right cheek was showing. Yoongi wished he didn't always find that dimple quite so distracting.
"No!" Yoongi said, chuckling. But he was ridiculously pleased that Jimin preferred plum blossoms too. Just like he was pleased that Jimin was into vinyls and the same kind of 90s noir films Yoongi was passionate about in the deepest kind of way.
"I'm confused as fuck right now, but okay." The breeze suddenly picked up—leaving Jimin's bangs in disarray and Yoongi had this sudden urge to brush them out of the way, so his hair wouldn't be poking his eyes anymore. But that would be weird, he thought and he stopped himself, jamming his hands deeper into his pockets.
"Are you. . .how are things with—ahhh, I can't do this. I don't know how to be a friend." Yoongi made a frustrated noise as he dragged a hand through his windswept, peroxide blond hair.
"But you do. You always have," Jimin said quietly as he draped his arm around Yoongi's shoulders. His body was warm and helped keep the spring chill away. Yoongi didn't mind the way his arm felt, wrapped around him. This wasn't the first time Jimin had done this and Yoongi was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last. They were almost the same height so their bodies were a nice fit. They were all like this—Jin, Taehyung and Jimin. They were all comfortable with pats on the back and thigh, quick hugs, shoulder hugs, fist bumps. All the casual bro touches.
Yoongi was the only one who held back with this kind of thing. He’d learned to tolerate and even welcome the touching after a few months of hanging out with them, but he almost never initiated physical contact. It wasn't something that came naturally to him. It was okay, though, after a while, when the others made brief touches. But today, everything felt. . .different. Jimin's touch lingered, felt more intimate—but in a good way. And he leaned into his friend’s body just a little.
Yoongi waited for Jimin to say something, anything, about his family crisis, but he seemed content to just walk in silence. He felt like he should be helping him more or offering bites of wisdom instead of just walking around. But then again, this was probably a good thing. It wasn't like Yoongi knew fuck all about giving anyone advice, anyway. Jimin didn't remove his arm till they entered the diner with cheap meal deals along Jenner Street, and Yoongi missed the warm weight of it the whole time they were eating their lunch.
nothing to worry about
Jimin didn't call that night. Not at 11, and not at 3 am. But he'd spent most of the day with Yoongi anyway. What else was there to say?
Nothing, really.
There was nothing to worry about or get upset over. It was good that Jimin hadn’t called because it meant that he was okay, didn’t it? Yoongi finally fell asleep an hour later at midnight, only to wake up at three for whatever reason. A toilet break was a good reason as any, he supposed. But there was no hello hyung at 3am either and Yoongi finally fell into a fitful sleep at half past the hour.
he could only hope he wasn’t one of the thieves
Yoongi's fingers were sore from an hour of working the strings, but the band had done much better today than they’d done on Friday, so it was a satisfying kind of ache. Jin had actually been smiling and upbeat today, his fingers flowing effortlessly over black and white keys.
And Jimin—Yoongi’s stomach did a funny little flip as he flashed back to Jimin twirling his drumsticks and grinning. When they managed to find their groove several minutes after they began rehearsing, Jimin had gone from focused to almost euphoric—just letting the music seep into his bones and flow out his fingers.
I wish I could let go the way you do, kid.
As for Taehyung. . .well, Taehyung was Taehyung. He was always pretty much the same. When there was music, he was lost to it. It didn't matter whether they were having a good practice day or an off one. Taehyung often looked like his soul was adrift when he was playing his Fender—his eyes closed like he wasn't quite in the room with you. But you knew his soul was anchored to the music from the way the notes streamed forth from his strings. Soulful and electric and perfect.
Yoongi wondered how he looked to others when he was playing his bass guitar. Was he joyful and passionate like Jin and Jimin? Or kinda disconnected like Taehyung? They sometimes watched videos of themselves performing—well, the others watched anyway. Yoongi usually just folded his arms and shut his eyes because he couldn't do it. It was just weird.
"That was pretty good, guys. If we can just keep things at this level, we'll be almost perfect by showtime!" Jin’s voice brimmed over with positivity as he sat down beside him, stretching his arms over his head. He looked tired but happy.
“We didn’t suck, I guess,” Yoongi said, deadpan.
"Friday practice had me worried as fuck, not gonna lie," Jin said just before he rested his head on Yoongi's shoulder. Normal Jin behavior. He'd always been a toucher. It had lowkey freaked Yoongi out at first, till he realized that Jin wasn't trying to come on to him. It was just how he was with friends. Yoongi had accepted it after a while even though he didn’t like people touching him as a rule. He wondered if Jimin would make use of his other shoulder. He was the one most likely to do so.
Where was Jimin, anyway? He’d lost track of him somewhere between his drum set and the sofa and he looked around, his eyes sweeping the room for a shock of auburn hair. When he finally located him, it was to find Jimin sitting on the floor, back against the wall, watching him.
Jimin had looked like his soul was on fire earlier, energy and life flowing through his drumsticks. He’d been practically incandescent during rehearsal, but now he just looked tired—all traces of the earlier passion and excitement gone. Yoongi wished he knew what had stolen his joy, and he could only hope he hadn't been one of the thieves.
’Life sucks.’
At 12.54 am, his phone rang.
“Hyung,” Jimin had uttered only the one word, but it was more than enough.
“Tell me what happened,” Yoongi said in a calm, firm voice even though he was filled with dread and worry for his friend.
“Jisoo, he—” Jimin’s words broke off.
“Did he hurt you?” Yoongi gripped his phone hard. He would beat the crap out of Jimin’s older brother if he’d done anything to him. The loser had four to five inches of height advantage on him but he’d find a way.
“More like he hurt himself,” Jimin said, giving a pained sigh.
“Is it drugs? Is he running with a gang? What?” It didn’t matter that Yoongi usually didn’t want to know anything about other’s problems. He was making an exception for Jimin. He just wanted to get to the root of whatever was making him sad and just rip it out—just fix things so Jimin would stop feeling sad. Fix things so he and Jimin could start sleeping through the night again. He was so done with this worrying about other people shit. Who had time for that?
“He’s been hanging out with Kim Namjoon and his crew, so I dunno, probably a bit of both. I’ve tried asking but he just tells me to fuck off. He looks wrong though—like his eyes are always bloodshot and his hands shake a lot. I don’t think he even bathes regularly. Umma yells at him to shower all the time but he ignores her mostly. I just. . .I don't know what to do, hyung.”
“Maybe you just gotta let him be. He's a grown up. He’s responsible for himself.” Yoongi repeated things he'd heard other people say—on tv and in real life. He really didn't know the first thing about telling people how to solve their problems.
"He gets angry real easy and he. . .we used to do shit together but now he blows me off. He’s skipping classes too because some of his friends have been texting me—asking me where he’s been and why they haven’t seen him on campus in weeks. Like is he sick?" Frustration clung to each word and Yoongi hated that he was powerless to help.
"Sounds like he's screwing up big time."
"Totally, yeah. But he doesn't give a fuck at this point and tells me to leave him the hell alone when I try to talk to him about it.”
“He’s not a kid anymore. He’s not your problem. You gotta let him make his own mistakes, Jimin.”
“I wish—I wish I could, hyung. It would make things so much easier. But I feel like he'll drown if I don't help him so I have to keep throwing him a rope even if he keeps ignoring it. I just want things to be the way they used to be, y’know? I want him to be okay again."
"I'm sure he will be," Yoongi lied. He didn't know much about Park Jisoo, to be honest. They just kind of grunted and nodded their heads sullenly at each other in some vague form of acknowledgement on the rare occasions they crossed paths. For what he'd done to Jimin, though, Yoongi disliked him on principle.
“Who even knows? But anyway, I don't want to talk about about my brother anymore.”
“Okay.”
"I should try to sleep. . .but I know I won’t be able to, so I’m going to selfish and talk to you some more. Is that cool, hyung?” There was that hint of sadness again.
“I’m not going to bed yet anyway,” Yoongi said, his fingers playing with the corner of his spare pillow.
“I’ll take that a yes,” Jimin laughed but there was no humor in the sound. “So what do you want to be next time? Like what's your dream? We've been friends for a few years now. Why haven't we ever talked about this shit?"
"Fuck, what do I wanna be? Well I'm doing Industrial Design so I guess I'm going to be a designer of some kind."
"But that doesn't sound like a dream, hyung. I mean what do you want to do more than anything? Not what people expect you to do, but what you actually legit want to do. No boundaries, y'know what I mean?"
"Hmm," Yoongi worried his bottom lip between his teeth. The answer was easy. Even if he'd never said it aloud. "I want to write songs, I guess? But that won't pay the bills so—"
"Still a dream though. Dreams are important."
"I guess they are," Yoongi agreed reluctantly. "What's yours?"
"Professional gamer," he admitted with an embarrassed chuckle.
"Nothing wrong with that."
"But it won't pay the bills either," Jimin sighed.
"Man. Life sucks."
"I know right?" Jimin groaned but he didn't sound like he was sad anymore and that gave Yoongi some measure of relief.
"We might as well talk about our worst nightmares while we're at it," Yoongi suggested because why not?
"Well," Jimin began and Yoongi settled back into his pillow and mattress, a reluctant half smile on his lips.
’I should just kiss him one day—’
Jimin and Yoongi established a routine after that 1 am phone call. They’d talk for fifteen to twenty minutes every night, and while it was always Jimin who called, it wasn't like Yoongi didn't count the seconds till the phone rang. With every anecdote, every bit of BS, every melancholy incident involving Jisoo, more and more tendrils wrapped around Yoongi’s heart—binding him more and more permanently to Jimin.
Things with Jisoo were still fucked up but Jimin seemed to gain some comfort from Yoongi’s company, and he was happy to be there for him in what little way he could. That wasn’t something he usually did for anyone but he was past the stage of pretending that his feelings for Jimin were platonic. He felt a rush every time Jimin called, and hearing his voice close to his ear, in the dark, tugged at something deep in his chest.
They didn’t mention their late-night conversations in front of Jin and Taehyung. It was like their own thing they didn’t want anyone else to know about. Something secret. Something maybe just a little bit special. And if Jimin touched him a little more than he used to, Yoongi didn’t complain or draw attention to it. Sometimes, Jimin would drape his arm around his shoulder, wrap his hand around his knee, and other times he’d offer him bites of food or even give him stealth back hugs when he wasn’t expecting them.
If Jimin had done all this weeks ago, when he’d been that cheeky, teasing ray of light he used to be, Yoongi might have reacted differently. He might have shoved him away some of the time, or made sarcastic remarks about how if he touched him any more than he was doing, Yoongi would think Jimin was coming on to him. How ironic that there were times Yoongi actually wished Jimin would come on to him instead of just being subtle or whatever it was he was doing. Flirting? Leaning on him? They talked about everything except how they felt for each other.
I should just kiss him one day and then I’ll know for sure what he wants from me.
But that wasn’t Yoongi’s style. It wasn’t his style at all.
But maybe it should be, Yoongi pondered, frowning.
remember how to breathe
It was 1.15 am. Why hadn’t Jimin called, what the fuck? Yoongi waited another five minutes before texting him:
whr r u? u safe? call me
He waited but there was no call, no voice in his ear, no hello hyung. He tried to get back to writing music on his guitar, telling himself he was being stupid. That Jimin had probably just fallen asleep. Just because he’d called him every night for the past two weeks didn’t mean he couldn’t miss one night.
After ten more minutes of telling himself he wasn’t worried, Yoongi flung the guitar on his bed. He couldn’t concentrate at all. This was bullshit. Where the fuck was the kid? Was he drunk at some party with his friends? Was he out with some girl? Had something bad happened? An accident? Was Jimin lying in a ditch somewhere—the broken remnants of his motorbike scattered around him?
As images of a bleeding Jimin flashed through his head like a macabre kaleidoscope, there was a blow to Yoongi's chest so intense that he doubled over, gasping. Where the fuck are you, he shouted on the inside as his body landed on the mattress. Curled up, knees to chest, Yoongi tried to remember how to breathe.
He’s fine. Get a grip. Nothing is wrong. That asswipe is probably snoring away while you lie here losing your shit.
Yoongi chanted in his head: inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale, as he took in lungful after lungful of air.
He's just asleep, Min Yoongi. Just chill.
Stretching out his limbs in an effort to calm himself, Yoongi tried to anchor his cartwheeling mind to the mattress that lay beneath his back.
Jimin is fine. Just fucking chill.
It took all of eight seconds before he grabbed his phone and speed dialled Jimin. The phone rang and rang till the voice mail kicked in. Why wasn’t he picking up? Heart hammering and hands cold, Yoongi called Jimin again. And again. And again.
’why didn’t you pick up?’
The engine roared, sounding somehow louder tonight—the noise hurting his ears as he sped through the streets. His face was going numb as the night wind pricked at his skin, icy needles that stung and burnt. Leather gloves and jacket protected his hands and body from the worst of it, but his denim-clad legs were really feeling the bite.
This was, without a doubt, the dumbest thing he’d ever done, but Yoongi wasn’t in the mood to analyze the insane recklessness of riding over to Jimin’s house at 2 am. The chances of him even being at home were next to nil, but he had to try. And calling the house at 2am was out of the question—even if he had saved Jimin’s home telephone number that first night, which he hadn’t.
So he'd ridden out into the night, hoping against hope that the only reason Jimin wasn’t answering his calls was because he’d fallen asleep with Missy Elliot on repeat on his iPod. He definitely wouldn’t have heard his phone with the driving beats of that song drowning out everything else.
After ten minutes of weaving in and out of desultory traffic, Yoongi reached the street where Jimin’s family lived. Killing the engine just as he turned onto the street, he let his motorbike coast along as quietly as possible. He’d only been to Jimin’s house a handful of times in the past couple of years, but Yoongi had always had a good memory for places—it was people he struggled with.
Ringing the doorbell at 2.15am was probably not going to go down well with Jimin’s parents so Yoongi went straight to locating Jimin's bedroom window. It was a lucky thing his room was on the ground floor, but he couldn't see inside because the blinds were drawn. After a few missed calls and a few seconds of indecision, Yoongi rapped on the glass.
He waited but. . .nothing. No one slid up the glass panel and no one parted the blinds to look out the window, and Yoongi made a noise of frustration. He'd be mad that he'd wasted a trip here if he hadn't been so worried that Jimin might be in some kind of trouble.
Dammit, where are you, Jimin?
He tried calling him one more time but like before, the phone went to voicemail.
"Ahhh. . ." Yoongi groaned as he slid to the ground. The lawn was damp and the concrete wall, cold and hard. It wasn't the most comfortable waiting area but he'd be stuck here for a while.
He started scrolling through the texts he and Jimin had exchanged in the last few days. Trying to find something. Anything to explain his absence. He knew he was grasping at straws but he couldn't be calm even though chances were high the kid was just out with friends or something. It was no big deal that he didn't call him tonight. They weren't even dating, for fuck's sake. Why was he making this into such a big deal? Also, it was fucking cold and he wasn't sure how much longer he could take being out here.
In a fit of desperation, he’d even called Taehyung.
“Hyung, it’s almost 3 am, man. What the everloving fuck?” In typical Taehyung fashion, even when the words should have been angry ones, they just sounded deadpan.
“Who’s calling this late? What the hell?” Jin’s voice—sleepy and perplexed. Well, that was unexpected. Were they. . .? Yoongi hadn’t picked up on anything but it was 3 am and they both sounded like they’d been roused from sleep. A mystery to unravel—but on another day. He had no interest tonight in figuring out whether his bandmates were dating or fuck buddies or whatever.
“Did you talk to Jimin tonight? Do you know where he is?”
“Jimin?” Taehyung sounded extremely confused.
“Jimin! Where is he?” Yoongi was bristling with frustrated impatience by now.
“We grabbed a quick dinner after our last lecture but I haven’t seen or heard from him since. Hyung, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”
“Yoongi, are you in trouble? You need help?” It was Jin on the phone now. He was in efficient leader mode now—all traces of sleepiness gone.
“I’m not. I’m just. . .trying to find Jimin,” Yoongi answered awkwardly. How did you even explain freaking out this badly over someone you weren’t even in a relationship with?
“Dude, it’s 3 am, can’t you wait till morning? He’s probably just fallen asleep with his headphones on. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. Get some sleep. Call him in the morning,” Jin suggested. Everything he said made sense but Yoongi knew he wouldn’t be able to leave it till morning—not without trying his best to find him first.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that. Go back to sleep. Sorry, I woke you guys.”
“G’night. Just sleep for now, man,” Jin instructed groggily before hanging up.
Fucking call, Park Jimin. I just want to know you're not dead in a ditch somewhere, you asshole.
Yoongi was roiling in so much regret now that he'd ever left himself open, that he'd let the kid into his heart. He should have kept to his policy of not getting involved with anyone, should have kept Jimin out and kept himself safe. Because all this worry and not knowing just fricking sucked.
Ten minutes later, he decided he'd had enough of this shit and was getting into standing position when his phone buzzed in his pocket. His movements impatient and jerky, Yoongi grabbed his phone. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst its walls.
"Where the fuck are you!" He came as close to yelling as he was capable of.
"You called me," Jimin said, sounding exhausted and disorientated and proud, all at the same time. What the hell was going on, even?
"Why didn't you pick up, goddammit? I thought something bad happened to you. You're not allowed to pull that shit with me—I don't give a fuck what you're doing, you fucking answer when I call you!" Yoongi’s voice was loud and broken with emotion and this never happened to him. He never allowed himself to lose control like this.
"I would have if I'd heard. I swear, hyung. And I’m kinda calling you now. I know I’m late but I am,” Jimin explained apologetically.
“Why didn’t you answer earlier, you jerk?” Yoongi wasn’t quite yelling anymore and all the anger had drained out of his body, replaced by a bone-deep relief that Jimin wasn’t lying unconscious in some ditch somewhere.
“I couldn't answer the call because. . .it's a long story.”
“I thought you were in trouble or hurt or—fuck, you’d better have a good reason for scaring the crap out of me! Where the hell are you and what were you doing that you couldn’t answer a single one of my eight phone calls. You made me feel like a stalker and I’m not a fucking stalker and YOU’D BETTER HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR THIS BS, PARK JIMIN!” Yoongi knew he was being ridiculous and unreasonable, not to mention invasive, but for once, he didn't even care. He really, really needed to know Jimin was safe.
“I’m at home,” Jimin finally said, his voice quiet and full of secrets.
“Why didn’t you come to the window when I knocked?”
“I didn’t hear you, I didn’t know.”
“I thought you said you were at home,” Yoongi said, suddenly feeling very tired. Was Jimin dicking him around? Maybe he’d lied. Maybe he wasn’t even at home.
“I am. And I wasn’t in my room earlier but I am now. Wait, you knocked on my window? You came all the way to my house?” Jimin sounded almost happy. Almost. And then he sounded sad again, “I’m sorry I missed you, hyung. I really needed to see you tonight, y’know?”
“Just open the fucking window, Jimin. My ass is blue from how cold it is out here,” Yoongi bit out impatiently and then a curtain was being pulled to the side and a silhouette appeared in the window. Then there was a grating noise as the bedroom window was pushed open hastily.
“Oh my God. You’re still here—”
“Are you going to let me in or what?” Yoongi growled and Jimin stepped aside so he could climb through. It was dark in the room so he couldn’t even see Jimin’s face clearly, but he could see well enough to pull him into an awkward hug.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again, you dumbass,” Yoongi scolded, burying his face in Jimin’s shoulder. He smelt comforting—like faded soap and sleep and Yoongi felt all his fears of the past two hours melt away as Jimin linked his arms tightly around his back.
“It wasn’t on purpose. I never meant to worry you, hyung.” Jimin said softly, his breath warm against Yoongi’s scalp.
“What the hell happened that you couldn’t even answer a single one of my calls,” Yoongi asked finally—sounding hella surly. But it was an improvement on panicked anger so Jimin could just fucking deal with it.
“I was keeping my mom company in her room and we both fell asleep. I just woke up and came here to get my phone. My phone’s been here all night, on silent. I’m sorry I didn’t check earlier but things have been a little nuts around here,” Jimin’s voice was quiet and sad, so very sad as he sank further into Yoongi’s arms—seeking solace or warmth or forgiveness? He couldn’t even tell. Why hadn’t he noticed how sad Jimin sounded?
“Did Jisoo get into some shit—? Is he okay?”
“Well, as okay as he’s gonna be in hospital,” Jimin said with a laugh that was hollow and devoid of all humor. “My dad’s there with him now. Mom didn’t want to leave but I brought her home, anyway. She just kept crying. And I kept trying to tell her that he’d be okay, that it was just a broken collarbone but I guess she had to get it out of her system. Jisoo's had her worried for months. I just stayed with her and let her cry until she slept. I must've been real tired from all the drama, I guess, because I fell asleep too.”
“Damn,” Yoongi said because he didn’t know what else to say. His right hand reached up and cupped Jimin’s jaw gently, his fingertips stroking his cheek. He wished he knew the right words to say but maybe. . .maybe Jimin wasn’t in the mood for words, anyway. Maybe he just needed someone to listen.
"He was with Kim Namjoon and two other punks, Hoseok and Jungkook. They got into some turf fight with some other gang. It didn't go so well for my hyung and Namjoon. They got banged up so bad they had to be admitted to the ER. They have to stay overnight at least. Namjoon has a concussion, I think."
"That's so messed up," Yoongi said as he wiped a tear from his cheek with his knuckles. It was still too dark to see Jimin's face but he had felt the moisture on his cheeks. The only time he'd seen Jimin cry was when Bulletproof had won the Battle of the Bands on campus last year. But those had been tears of happiness. Today's tears were just. . .they just made his chest ache in the worst way.
"I really hope my hyung opens his eyes soon and stops all this bullshit. Like I mean if he's determined to wreck his life, there's only so much I can do about that. But it's killing my mom and that's not okay. It's just not." That was when Jimin finally stopped trying to hold things in and just cried in Yoongi's embrace—his body wracked by sobs.
"I know," Yoongi muttered in what he hoped was a soothing manner as he stroked Jimin's hair and back. "I know," he whispered even though he wasn't sure he did. Whatever happened though, he would try to be there for Jimin, and whatever he didn't know, he'd try and figure out along the way. Because the only thing that mattered in the end, was Jimin.
like exploring a whole new planet
It had seemed like the most natural thing for them to end up lying on Jimin's bed. It was a single, though, so it was a bit of a tight fit—not that either of them minded as they curled comfortably into each other. They were still in jeans and t-shirts and socks as they huddled under Jimin's Avengers quilt. The bedside lamp cast a warm golden glow on everything and Jimin's eyes were soft, lashes still a little wet from the earlier crying session. He looked tired and sad and beautiful, so beautiful. He'd never looked more beautiful to Yoongi than he did now, their bodies pressed up against each other in bed.
This wasn't something Yoongi had ever done with anyone—lying in bed, talking. It was the kind of thing that had always seemed too intimate for him to ever be a part of, and his past relationships had been mostly physical. There hadn't been much talking at all so this whole thing with Jimin was just so far out of his comfort zone, it was like exploring a whole new planet. It was a good thing Jimin seemed to have all the maps so maybe he'd stick with it a while.
“So what did you do tonight? Other than stalk me and yell at me?” Jimin asked, a shadow of a grin haunting his features.
"I did not stalk you, please. If you'd only answered the first call, that would have been the only call!"
"if you say so," Jimin chuckled. "Seriously though, what did you do? I need to not think about the sorry ass situation with my bro so distract me, please?"
“Well, I was working on a song—” Yoongi admitted self-consciously.
“I'm listening?” Jimin's face had lit up and Yoongi could suddenly see the flashes of sunshine that had gone missing in the past couple of weeks. He didn't know how much he'd missed Jimin's warmth and joy until he'd glimpsed it again.
“I kinda—”
“Yeah?”
“I kinda wrote it for you, I guess. Sort of. So singing it to you would be kinda fucking weird?”
“You can’t tell me you wrote a song for me and not sing it to me. What the hell, hyung! Also, isn't that the point? To serenade someone when you've written a song for them?”
“We’re crammed into a single bed and I haven't got my guitar, and you want me to serenade you. Which part of this scenario isn’t screwed up, Park Jimin?”
“I just want to hear you voice, hyung. Talking is good but singing would be. . .you singing to me would be whole other kind of special. Y’know?”
Their heads lay on the same pillow, their noses barely an inch apart. Sighing, Jimin reached his hand out and dragged the tip of his index finger over Yoongi's bottom lip, and Yoongi's eyelids shut at the light, butterfly caress. One moment he was feeling the slightly coarse texture of Jimin's fingertip and the next moment, soft lips were moving over his own. Letting out a small moan, Yoongi pressed closer and kissed him back. And kissing Jimin was so much more than he'd ever imagined. The scent and texture of him as their tongues teased each other—Jimin's right palm curved around his nape and his left palm a subtle pressure on his waist.
"Was that okay?" Jimin asked after a minute or two of kissing. "Was it okay that I kissed you? I mean I didn't ask if I could and. . .I'm sorry I didn't ask but I'm not sorry I kissed you." Yoongi had to laugh at that. He’d always liked the fact that Jimin believed in being brutally honest—they were like each other in that sense.
"I'm not sorry either." Yoongi smiled just before he leant forward to give Jimin a quick kiss.
"Does this mean—" Looking like his heart was in his throat, Jimin shifted his body closer, "Does this mean you might like me almost as much as I like you?"
"Maybe," Yoongi answered in a noncommittal tone.
"That's all? Maybe you like me?" Jimin sounded disappointed.
"OF COURSE I DO, YOU DUMBASS! Why would I write you a song and drive over to your place at 3 am if I didn't like you. I swear to God!"
"Well, there's that, I guess." Jimin said with a smile that was all kinds of smug. "I'm still waiting for that song though. For all I know, you didn't even write it."
"OF COURSE I DID," Yoongi glared.
"What's it called?" Jimin asked as he threaded their fingers together.
"Butterfly."
"It sounds beautiful."
"It's not finished," Yoongi warned and Jimin ignored him, settling his cheek against Yoongi's chest. He wondered if he could hear his heart beating beneath him, just a little too fast.
"Sing it anyway," Jimin said, his voice sleepy, but no longer sad. And because Jimin had had a shitty day and because Yoongi wanted to make it better, he began to hum the melody he'd been working on all week.
“See? I knew it would be beautiful," Jimin muttered. "I knew it would be," he said before letting off a series of yawns.
"Shhh, just go to sleep." Awkwardly, Yoongi stroked his back.
"Sing to me."
"Fine. But just a few lines, okay?” he said in a firm voice and Jimin nodded, too tired to protest. His chest heavy with emotions he couldn’t explain, Yoongi began to sing softly:
Don’t think about anything
Don’t say anything
Just give me a smile
I still cannot believe this
All of this feels like a dream
Don’t disappear
Is it true? Is it true?
You, you
You’re so beautiful that I’m afraid
By the time Yoongi was silent again, there was no sound in the room other than the faint, gentle rhythms of Jimin’s snoring. It was a comforting sound, and Yoongi was suddenly reminded of how it was past 4 am now, and how bone tired he was. As Jimin’s snores lulled him to sleep, Yoongi decided that he could really get used to falling asleep together with Jimin and doing all kinds of stuff with him. It could be cool.
He would try to help Jimin through this thing with his brother, and he would finish writing Butterfly for him. And they would rehearse so hard that Bulletproof would win the Battle of the Bands a second year running. And somewhere in between all that, they would hold hands and lie in bed and talk and kiss and other things.
It could be cool. Really cool, Yoongi thought, smiling as he drifted to sleep.
a/n: if you've made it to the end of this, thank you for reading my first completed bangtan fic! Also the first time I've written YoonMin and I hope it went okay? If you enjoyed it, I hope you'll leave a comment and/or a kudo. Bless ♡ Come talk to me on twitter or curiouscat.