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“I love you,” Jimin says, suddenly.
It’s entirely too loud around him, the valentine’s day party some senior decided to throw going into full swing approaching midnight. There is simply too much going on, couples everywhere he turns to look. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Namjoon spilling his drink from jumping in his spot with Seokjin’s arm around his shoulder, Yoongi and Hoseok on the couch next to them, immersed in hushed conversation. He hasn’t seen Jungkook at all since they lost him upon arrival.
But before him stands Taehyung, his best friend. Sweet, kind, sunshine smile Taehyung. The one person Jimin has grown to know whom he simply cannot lose, no matter what. Over the past ten months, three changes in seasons ago, nearly a whole year, Jimin has realised this.
That he might lose Taehyung if he ever finds out this secret Jimin is harbouring.
Jimin’s eyes widen a fraction, panic glinting off the glassy surface from the flashing strobes in the room. He shouldn’t have said that out loud. It’s the alcohol that he’s been mindlessly consuming all night, free and light and easy.
And Taehyung. He’s been watching the other boy, flitting between groups of people, laughing and dancing and biting his lip, in that effortless way to look playful but still so goddamn attractive. That’s Taehyung, who loves people, and whom people simply adore, drawing them to him in waves like moths to a blinding light.
Jimin is one of those stupid bugs, so powerless, oblivious that he’s been burnt by the flames long since, licking dangerously up the sides of his heart, until it’s completely consumed. Now it’s merely an organ that burns for his best friend in muted yearning.
But he’s messed that up because of his stupid loose mouth. Maybe he didn’t hear me, he frantically prays, taking comfort in the thought that he could barely hear his own heart thumping against his ribs matching the loud bass from the speakers. It’s too loud to hear anything, anyways.
He licks his lips hastily, deciding to play it off and pull up a smile so that the brief moment they had would be swept away by more alcohol and careless laughter. Taehyung had looked at him, eyebrows raising in question like he does when he’s asking someone to repeat what they said.
So, Jimin is going to try to repeat what he said, just, not what he really said.
“I said,” he shouts over the music, a little too loudly since he’s leaned closer, “you want another?” He even gestures towards the nearly empty cup in Taehyung’s hand.
He expected a noncommittal shrug after which he could turn his back and slink away shamefully to the kitchen counter with all the booze, but Taehyung just steps closer, between two people who were about to dance plastered up to each other, into Jimin’s space. The silly frames Taehyung is wearing looks extra stupid up close, so close Jimin could see his lower lashes behind the cheap plastic.
“That’s not what you said.”
Jimin’s heart drops into the depths of his gut, his mouth going dry in seconds. This isn’t happening.
“What do you mean,” he tries, half chuckling, “I can’t hear you, Tae.” Feigning ignorance is his next go to defense.
“Jimin,” Jimin closes his eyes at the low baritone pronouncing his name, dreading the serious edge to it, “Jimin, that’s not what you said,” Taehyung’s got long fingers wrapped tightly around Jimin’s thin wrist now. Not like it was even needed. Jimin feels too weak in his knees to even think about running away.
When Jimin chances open his eyes, he sees a frown etch its way between Taehyung’s pretty brows, making Jimin mirror it on his own face. With a huff, Taehyung is tugging on his hand, pulling him between tightly packed bodies out into the middle of the dance floor. Near the outer ring, they were sufficiently separated, but here, inside, Jimin has nowhere to escape, pressed almost nose-to-nose with Taehyung, who has discarded the silly frames and their plastic cups along the way.
Here, he’s struggling on where to place his hands, because they’re squeezed right up next to his chest, nearly touching Taehyung’s, their torsos pushed together and embarrassingly, Jimin realises, their hips and legs moulded to each other. Taehyung saves him the suffering by intertwining their fingers for a brief moment, before guiding Jimin’s arms around the back of his neck, all the while schooling a smile onto his lips, almost wild under the flashing lights.
Jimin can’t hear the music, nor the pickup in the tempo around them. All he can feel is the rush of blood pumping from his chest, up to his brain, making him almost lightheaded at the mere intimacy of practically grinding up against his best friend. And Taehyung looks positively sinful with the light playing off his dark hair, shining in his eyes dangerously, his lips spit slicked and the lower one tugged between his teeth. Jimin startles when he feels Taehyung’s bigger hands trail down his sides to rest first on his hips, before wandering further to just underneath his ass, pulling at his thighs closer.
He hopes the squeak he releases gets drowned out by the music, though from the dark chuckling coming from Taehyung, he’s in no such luck.
“What are you doing, Tae?”
He tries to keep his voice under some sort of control. This isn’t entirely too unusual. They were close enough friends that skinship is a norm, but it’s different this time. Jimin feels the sparks from where their bodies are touching, even through the thin layer of clothing they both have on.
Suddenly, Taehyung swoops down the space between them, slotting his lips right next to Jimin’s ear and breathes, “tell me what you said, Jiminie.”
“I said,” Jimin shivers, his whole body shaking in Taehyung’s hold, his arms tightening around Taehyung’s neck, trying to ground himself. Some burst of courage urges him to just go for it, “I said I-I said I love you, you fucker.”
“Like in a bro way?” Taehyung continues casually, even though there is absolutely nothing casual in his actions currently. He’s properly grinding against Jimin now, hips moving in small circles to the music, his palms more daringly grabbing handfuls of Jimin’s ass. “Or like, in a let’s fuck way?” He licks a hot stripe right up the side of his neck, taking an earring in his mouth and relishing in the surprised yelp.
“You’re an asshole,” Jimin grits through his teeth, then under his breath, “I take it back, you can go fuck yourself.”
When Taehyung laughs, it’s loud and unhindered. Taehyung isn’t missing anything tonight, ears tuned specifically to everything Jimin says. It has Jimin burning with embarrassment on the one hand, and frantic with panic on the other. Taehyung is fucking with him, he knows, all the telltale signs of his friend when he’s up to mischief are there. It’s twisting Jimin’s gut into unrecognizable shapes, sick to his stomach that Taehyung is playing with him because Jimin is so serious, so fucking serious.
“Taehyung, I’m not in the mood,” Jimin says barely above the music, arms unwinding around Taehyung’s neck to slide down his chest, ready to push himself off Taehyung’s hold. He’s taken enough blows to his ego tonight. It’s time to make a strategic retreat.
“You can’t just leave me hanging after a confession, Jiminie, and on valentine’s day too,” Taehyung’s hands squeeze at Jimin’s ass one last time before he’s tightening his arms around Jimin’s waist, effectively slamming their bodies together again. And then suddenly, his eyes soften, the light reflecting off them seem to dim in uncertainty.
Jimin stops struggling, sensing the change, and frowns, “what?”
“What if,” Taehyung continues after releasing his bottom lip from the past minute of abuse by his own teeth, “what if I say I’m not letting you go until you give me a valentine’s day kiss-”
“I’d tell you to fuck off-,” Jimin cuts in, almost growling.
“-because I’m in love with you too,” Taehyung finishes, eyes wide, wavering with anticipation and a tiny hint of fear.
Jimin’s mouth is stuck in a little ‘o’ shape state of shock, trying to convince himself, and his rapidly beating heart, that he hasn’t misheard what Taehyung just said.
“Taehyung,” he hates that his voice already sounds watery, his palms still on Taehyung’s chest curl into fists, “stop joking around, man. I don’t like this game anymore.”
Because it couldn’t be true. The secret feelings Jimin has hidden from his best friend for so long, and beyond his fear of being rejected, the fear of Taehyung being completely disgusted, that fear is what’s at the forefront of his mind right now.
“I’m not playing,” Jimin looks up at Taehyung’s tone, completely serious.
The speakers are crooning the stupidest club remix of Justin Bieber’s Boyfriend, but Jimin hears none of it, everything around him narrowing down to the feeling of Taehyung’s hands cupping his cheeks, Taehyung’s fringe tickling his forehead, Taehyung’s lips pressing against his parted mouth, his upper lip catching on Jimin’s lower one when he moves, slowly, languidly.
When Taehyung pulls away and his surroundings bleed back in, Jimin is still staring at his best friend, (his moon and star, his compass, his anchor). And Taehyung is staring back at him with eyes that are filled with longing that Jimin recognises.
Finally, Jimin’s fingers tug at the front of Taehyung’s shirt, pulling him down, simultaneously reaching up on his toes, slotting their lips back together just so he could taste the promises on Taehyung’s tongue, again and again.
Finally.