Archive of Our Own ^beta

if he could have it any other way, yoongi thinks he’d like to meet jimin at an amusement park.

yoongi would be in college. has figured out what he wants to do with life, is producing music, and his grades would be decent. it wouldn’t matter that they aren’t stellar because he’s got fantastic friends when they’re not being annoying as fuck anyway, and he’d be living the life. free of parental supervision and free to have fun, but obviously stupid enough as to screw himself over.

it would be nice, and jimin has always wanted to have a first date there, so why not?

if he could have it any other way, yoongi would meet jimin on a sunny day in august when the heat isn’t cloying. maybe yoongi would be third wheeling for his group of friends, and maybe jimin would be doing the same.

maybe they end up next to each other in queue for the carousel because jeon fucking jeongguk liked things that shortened people’s lifespans by decades, and dragged taehyung onto the rollercoaster with him, which leaves yoongi free to do what he wants, for another thirty minutes or so, at least. maybe jimin’s somehow lost track of his pair of friends and it’s not like he’s particularly interested in seeing them flirt for the whole day, and he’s free to do whatever he wants, for another few hours or so.

at any rate, jimin and yoongi would talk to each other. they’d find out how much they have in common, how jimin’s into singing and dancing and jimin would be so fascinated when yoongi brings up the fact that he produces music.

as unlikely as it may seem, polar opposites even, with yoongi’s customary scowl and jimin’s bubbling enthusiasm, they’d be attached at the hip for the entire afternoon.

maybe it’ll be the start of a friendship, and something more.

- x - x -

there are an infinite number of maybes in the world, of what could have been and should have been, if only it had been.

so it doesn’t work out like that.

- x - x -

someone taps yoongi on the shoulder on a monday morning in february. it's too early to think, and it's too early for the effort needed to get snippy, so all yoongi does is blink groggily, wonders what he did this time for a living, breathing human to want to go within a five foot radius of the ring of empty desks around yoongi. what is there to torment over this time, what it is about his fists that the tormentors haven't learned?

"hi, can i sit next to you?” and the voice is high, bubbly, not the raspy drawls yoongi’s accustomed to getting. he glances up in mild confusion, because no one asks to sit next to min yoongi.

it’s a boy. a strange one. unfamiliar, and yoongi doesn’t like him one bit. yoongi gives the boy a once over, taking in the crescents for eyes, crinkled, and sheer friendliness that's being exuded. black hair falling haphazardly over one eye, child fat still clinging to cheeks, and for once, yoongi doesn't know how to answer—this has never happened before, this lack of disinterest and animosity.

yoongi levels a flat stare at person talking to him, and is completely unsettled by how disgruntled he is and how unaffected the stranger seems. it's meant to be cutting, and it's completely deflected, or undetected, in favour of a soft, "i'm park jimin! it's nice to meet you..." the boy trails off, looking at him inquisitively.

yoongi clears his throat. it's too loud, the sound echoing in his ears. "yeah." racks his brain for more—"same."

"usually people give me their name at this point,” the boy, no, jimin says. yoongi winces at the scrape of chair across the ground as jimin pulls it out. hasn’t he heard of lifting chairs? maybe?

yoongi shrugs. that’s nice. drawls, “cool.” maybe that’ll be enough to finally get him his space back again. maybe this jimin kid will get the signal and stop .

“are you not going to?” jimin sounds amused, and the crinkle of his eyes come back. his tone is light, teasing a little, yoongi will admit, but for some reason, it doesn’t grate on his nerves. jimin throws his backpack around the back of his seat.

yoongi narrows his eyes.

“didn’t say you could sit there.” yoongi crosses his arms and rests his chin on them, and turns away. he stares intently at the scratches of his wooden desk like it has birthed life, contains some sort of answer to why humans exist in the universe.

“well, you didn’t exactly say no, did you?”

yoongi scowls. “what if i mind?” he snaps, whirling around, only to find that park jimin has already found his seat, and is unpacking. yoongi takes back all claims of park jimin not getting on his nerves because what the fuck does the kid think he’s doing?

jimin leans forward, hands out—to grab at yoongi, to push him around, to punch him? it’s always the ones who seem the nicest that end up hurting the most and yoongi’s not stupid, he knows what fake smiles look like. the next second, jimin’s wrist is firmly caught in yoongi’s hand and yoongi squeezes it in warning, eyes hard.

back off.

jimin tugs his arm back, the action smooth and fluid, and with a surprisingly amount of strength. something indecipherable flashes across his eyes. “woah, sorry, i didn’t mean to startle you.”

yoongi grunts. didn’t mean to, his ass, what startle—

“you didn’t answer my original question, though.” jimin flashes a cheeky grin, and yoongi’s all the more unsettled by how quickly the other seems to brush the incident out of mind. it’s uncanny, just like yoongi’s first impression of him. “so can i sit here?” and tagged on at the end, an afterthought: “hyung?”

yoongi snorts. he doesn’t know what drives him to utter his next words—it must be the way park jimin is looking at him, looking through him, but in a way that doesn’t make yoongi want to claw through his own skin to escape for once. “well, like you said.” yoongi shrugs. “did you hear me say no?”

- x - x -

yoongi really doesn't know what to make of jimin. if he had a choice, yoongi doesn't think he'd be friends with jimin in the first place.

since when do boys with smiles more luminous than the sun, with laughs so light they feel like they belong with the soft clouds in the sky--since when have boys like park jimin given yoongi the time of day? it's no secret that yoongi's different, and not in the ways people gossip about ("oh my god, have you see her haircut? it makes her face look so fat!"). it's more that yoongi doesn't say much--doesn't raise his hand in class discussions, doesn't in with philosophy 101 like namjoon or crack jokes like taehyung and jeongguk. it's more that yoongi thinks--the swirls of thoughts that precipitate into letters and sentences except sometimes they don't spell out anything helpful and sometimes—

jimin is a transfer student. he transfers to yoongi’s school in eleventh grade and he’s a rarity in the area, in all the ways everyone seems to adore him, because there’s something so magnetic about trying to get closer to the sun, and jimin’s always so fucking selfless yoongi knows he’d sooner give away all his light than see a friend in pain.

there’s something about the effortless way he flirts with his eyes. jimin’s shameless in the respect, in the way that his eyes laugh at everything and there’s this understanding with everyone he catches the gaze of—like there’s this inside joke only they share.

park jimin makes everyone feel fucking special that yoongi has half a mind even strangers would sell their souls to see him smile. just one grin, in their way.

and it’s true, with the girls at least, isn’t it?

“what the fuck,” yoongi mutters to himself as half of the female population in the class are upon jimin as soon as the bell rings. there’s one girl who even has the nerve to try to approach jimin through getting yoongi to put in a word for her and yoongi’s done.

he stuffs his stuff in his bag, grabs it, and traverses to the door, shouldering it open none too gently. there’s something about the sight back in the class that bothers him so much, something bitter in the pit of his stomach, and he can’t place it for the life of him.

yoongi jerks, caught off guard, as he registers a hand on his shoulder, and seconds later, there’s a jimin who nearly bowls both of them over, clutching onto his right side like a lifeline.

“why did you run away?” jimin’s whining as yoongi takes him in, and although he’s not out of breath, it’s not hard to figure out that he’d made a quick escape.

yoongi ruffles jimin’s hair, finger’s caught up on a few strands, marveling at how soft it feels—clouds, yoongi thinks dazedly—before retracting his arm. jimin hooks an arm around yoongi’s neck, and for once, yoongi doesn’t feel compelled to move away.

they walk like that down the hall. “wasn’t running, idiot,” yoongi says sullenly, but without bite. “i literally walked out of class. at a leisure pace.”

jimin waves the comment off airily with his free hand. “wait for me next time then?”

yoongi takes in the easy smile, the laughter in his eyes—and yoongi can’t say no.

- x - x -

in grade seven, their homeroom teacher had read a picture book to the class. something about the importance of having a dream and yoongi doesn't remember the question now but he'd posed and question. what he does remember is the the barbed laughter. cruel, hooked. their teacher had sighed. told yoongi that that's not the point of the story, that it wasn't something yoongi needed to worry about. then there'd been last time in music theory, when all the dates and facts about dead white composers warred in his head, yoongi had tried to ask why they needed to know this in the first place. it had resulted in a curt glare from the professor, and henceforth yoongi learned to keep his mouth shut.

sometimes there's a question directed towards him in class for once, but the problem is yoongi doesn't think in the logical, linear way they do.

1. provide the two main character traits exemplified by the main female character from the book study, and support with examples.

blue and green, yoongi writes, blue in the way she pines away for her lover until she's like a speck of foam in the ocean--frothing, always on the move, but so, so transparent and so dull, faded into the background of a watery grave. green for the life that she breathed into being around her; her love of animals, of plants, of nurturing, and green for envy. the ugliness of her actions when she found the texts and the necklace, the relationship she ripped apart when she tore the threads lining the rift and all that remains is the glove of blood on her own two hands.

green in her naivety too, because she doesn't understand anything until it's too late.

the english teacher gives him a d+ for that. follow the essay structure, and use the sentence starters provided, had been her comment. colours do not count as traits.

(but how does the teacher not see it--how does the teacher just not accept it when yoongi sees the hues bleed around the characters as they interact, the pretty shades of the earth or water or wind shift into muddled, cloudy green-browns and blue-greys?)

- x - x -

the beginning of tenth grade marks a new start for yoongi. and yoongi gets that his state--he's short, he's quiet, and he isn't popular--is sort of grounds for becoming a bully victim, and yoongi almost does laugh when it happens. one punch from him is all it takes to send them away though, is all it takes to land him in detention and people learn to stay away from min yoongi.

it's good that way, yoongi tells himself. this is what he wanted. wants.

it takes another year before jimin happens, and if it wasn't for the fact that jimin's so goddamn friendly with everyone, yoongi would chalk up jimin actually addressing a sentence towards him to being uninformed in school politics.

what yoongi can't wrap his head around is why jimin willingly spends hours on end around him. and yoongi's not the most talkative companion either. he's usually not a fan of awkward silence, but with jimin it's different. there's something about the air around jimin--to yoongi, he spells good things. the brightening of a room. the ability to grasp words again, when all the thoughts have flown out the window but they come back solely for the purpose of mapping out park jimin's smile. what is it like to tattoo someone's eyes, lips, hands, heart onto your very own? too messy, yoongi decides. not worth it over other human beings.

jimin's just, strange. that's the best word, and the closest yoongi's come to being able to describe jimin, to being able to describe the way something in yoongi's chest clenches whenever he hears jimin giggle, the way yoongi wants to break something or just lie in bed and never get up when jimin ignores him in favour of his other friends. or jimin's best rendition of ignoring anyway, which is mainly yoongi sulking and jimin being sending a million emoticons about being sorry that he missed yoongi's message, he was busy, and for some crazy reason yoongi knows it's sincere because it's jimin he's talking about.

jimin may have this habit of playing with the hair at the bottom on yoongi’s nape when they’re alone, when the world falls apart, away, and all that remains is the softness and the warm feeling of security, but it’s yoongi who has this habit of always forgiving him.

- x - x -

yoongi’s parents always make it a habit to have their heating set on the lowest possible freaking degree without yoongi’s ass physically freezing when it’s cold outside. so yes, he complains, but he can’t really make legit complaints.

yoongi’s house isn’t too far from the high school, and much to his own dismay, he’d somehow caved when jimin has insisted they had to work on their school project outside of class or else there’s no way they’d pass (they wouldn’t, considering how abysmal the planning’s gone so far, that part’s true). and now, he’s here to face the consequences of an wayward “yes.” as much as yoongi may not like interacting with people, he has morals, and he’s a man of his word.

yoongi’s still listening to music, a single earbud in, the other trapped under his fingers as he taps away on the table absent-mindedly, when the doorbell rings.

“coming!” he calls, as he throws his phone to the side and takes a deep breath. he’s got this under control. totally.

“i’m going to freeze my ass off,” is the first thing jimin mutters upon setting foot inside, and yeah, yoongi’s pretty inclined to agree, as if they’re not his own thoughts every winter.

“at least that’s one more pain out of mine,” yoongi retorts under his breath, and it isn’t entirely intended for jimin to hear but with the huff that jimin gives, it’s pretty obvious that the deed is done.

“i’m a guest. can’t you at least get me something warm?” and it’s only then that yoongi notices jimin’s teeth are chattering, because his words are coming out choppy and there’s none of the usual playfulness. all of a sudden yoongi feels like shit; this definitely wasn’t what he had in mind when he told himself he’d be relatively hospitable.

“i’ll get you a sweater, wait here,” he says, and he’s pretty certain he hears jimin snipe about not being able to move anyway with how he’s frozen solid (at least there’s still the attitude, yoongi thinks with a tinge of exasperation).

when he comes back with the thickest sweater he can find five minutes later, yoongi is a little shocked, to say the least, to find jimin fingering yoongi’s phone in curiosity, swiping this way and that. it’s only when yoongi’s closer that he finds the screen is opened to his library of music.

the shock fades just as quickly as it comes, and it’s replaced by a wave of anger—why the hell was jimin snooping through his personal things, his music is just as much a part of yoongi’s soul as any truth he’ll never spell out.

“what the fuck,” he snarls, as he comes and rips the device out of jimin’s hands, and it just infuriates him so much more that jimin looks so guilty . like he’s caught red-handed, like he knows it’s wrong but it doesn’t deter him one bit. “why are you snooping around? is the fucking phone yours?”

jimin shakes his head slowly. “i was just curious, i’m sorry—”

“sorry? of course that’s all you’d be, huh?” yoongi takes a shuddering breath.

“hyung.” jimin’s voice is more firm this time, but it doesn’t wash away the numb aftertaste of betrayal, before yoongi’s internal rant is halted right in its tracks by jimin’s next words. “i know i probably shouldn’t have looked in there, but it’s just, you always... hide, you know?”

yoongi frowns.

“yoongi-hyung,” jimin tries again. plaintive. cautious. “is it really so wrong to just want to know you? aren’t we friends?”

friends. it’s an odd label, one yoongi hasn’t heard used for him in forever. bastard, quiet kid, maybe. the loner, definitely. the weird one. but never friend, and there’s something so strange about the way the “f” sound trips over his tongue when he tries. “Friends?”

jimin tilts his head. “yeah? i was under the impression that’s what we were.”

being around jimin is like asking for surprise after surprise, and yoongi’s not sure if he loves it or hates it. maybe a bit of both. he’s silent for a long moment.

“just... ask next time, alright? i don’t like it when people go through my stuff.” yoongi runs a hand through his hair, snagging a few stray stands. twists his fingers, feeling the satisfying a grounding pain. “it’s private.”

jimin nods slowly.

“do you want to,” yoongi pauses. he clears his throat awkwardly, and swallows thickly, wondering why the saliva doesn’t seem to want to go down. he doesn’t know how to phrase it, but with the first part of the question already out there—“do you want to listen with me?”

this time, jimin’s smile is ten times as radiant as what yoongi’s used to, and yoongi hopes that this is the indication he’s asked the right thing, made the right choice. he’s still scared shitless even if he doesn’t admit—the mere thought of jimin going through the closest thing to his thoughts—

“hyung?” jimin asks, and he’s already going back to selecting something from yoongi’s album, and yoongi comes back.

“hmm?”

“what do the colours mean? you know, how you’ve labelled some of the songs as red, some as blue. and there’s some purple here too?”

private, yoongi almost wants the scream, the sound bubbling in his throat, silent resonations. but he needs to try, at least, doesn’t he? owes this much to jimin at least, even if the kid wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone.

especially since the kid wouldn’t leave him alone, and the thing about jimin is that he’s bright in the way he lights up his vicinity, and knows exactly what to say to do so. jimin knows how to read people, how to decipher people’s moods like the back of his hand and yoongi’s not sure if he’s loves jimin more or less for it.

(the first.)

yoongi picks up an earbud and jams it in his right ear, but shaking hands betray him. he has no reason to be so nervous, god damn it, when was the last time he’d cared about whether people liked what he did or not? “here.” he prays jimin doesn’t notice the tremble in his hand as he passes it to him. there’s nothing on jimin’s face that gives any indication. he still has on his default expression: soft, open, mildly amused, and so impossibly masked.

he plays the first song under the blue, the one he’s had on repeat for the past two days, swallowing thickly around his heart in his throat.

yoongi wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans hesitantly. they feel clammy. watches jimin’s face carefully, watches as jimin’s head bobs to the music in rhythm.

“how is it?” yoongi asks slowly, and he almost regrets it when the words hang heavy between them.

“not bad,” jimin says. his lips turn up at the corners. “not bad at all. why is it blue though? it’s kind of upbeat, to a certain extent, if you think about it. this, this is... desperate, i think. is desperation blue?”

yoongi’s silent for a long moment. “the loss and the melancholy is blue. but the desperation’s grey.”

jimin tilts his head. it’s bird-like, in its lightness and innocence, and yoongi wonders whether he’ll get it.

“desperation’s not,” yoongi allows, “pretty. it’s dark, it’s ugly, and it reveals the deepest parts of who you are. desperation brings out the black, but desperation is always tinged with some hope, isn’t it? if you’re desperate, that means you’re still holding out, that you know something’s out there. it’s not... close, or within grasp necessarily, but it’s the hope, the white, that causes the black.”

“and together, they’re grey?” jimin straightens up. “then what about the blue?”

yoongi pauses the song.

“is grey-blue blue, or is it grey?”

“both,” jimin says without pause.

(pitiful destiny, point your finger at me.)

- x - x -

the start of friendships are hard to pinpoint. the start of anything really, in yoongi’s mind, because there are pictures and concepts except how do you find the beginning of a circle?

so yoongi can’t really pin a start to the beginning of liking jimin. of thinking that maybe that’s just the way he was, the selflessness, the brightness. it’s so unusual, but unusual has always described jimin to a t—too naive and altruistic, too guarded but giving.

a living and walking contradiction, and yoongi’s only the fool who fell a little by little until he realized that he’s caught in the sun’s gravity and there’s no easy way out. there’s before jimin, jimin, and after jimin, and yoongi can’t fathom anything less than the second.

there’s no resolutions that’ll be painless anyway, and none where yoongi will make it out in one piece.

- x - x -

(if yoongi had to pick one instance though, one star among the millions—

pretty bow-shaped lips on a prettier face. all the light in the universe caught up in jimin’s smiling eyes, and jimin’s looking at him, at yoongi, straight. not bad, jimin says. not bad at all.)

- x - x -

yoongi receives the text on a saturday morning.

the beginning of the end comes on a saturday morning.

it's one line. simple. from one park jimin.

grab your coat hyung!!~ meet me outside the amusement park close to my house in thirty minutes (* ≧ ω ≦ *)

his feet move in the direction of his coat before his brain even finishes registering the request. it’s routine. regular. a path he’s taken so many times before that yoongi almost wants to laugh, cry, or do both at the same time.

- x - x -

two months ago, in the dead heat of summer, yoongi had been working on a music composition assignment when jimin had called. told him to meet him at some obscure cafe a few blocks away from jimin’s house. he doesn’t even question it at this point, merely finishes the measure before throwing open the door, yelling that he’s going out to meet a friend when his mother asks from the kitchen.

“do you really have nothing to do?” jimin teases when yoongi gets there ten minutes later. “it’s as if you always drop everything the moment you get my messages.” and yoongi wants to say no, except the truth is yes, and it hurts because yoongi knows it’s meant as a joke, like jimin takes it for granted that yoongi is just somehow always there. “do you really like me that much?” jimin adds with a small laugh, hiding his smile behind his hand.

yoongi thinks back on the assignment he’s got due in two days’ time, the chores around the house that haven’t been attended to yet, the part-time job he has to pick up in three hours, and shrugs.

“you just call whenever i’m free.”

“do you do anything other than sleep?”

yoongi shrugs again. rests his head in the pillow of his arms. thinks, yeah, there’s a lot yoongi does other than sleep, and there’s a lot he’d like to do other than sleep: composing, listening to the sound of rain, listening to music, and lately seeking out the warmth of jimin’s company, jimin, who’s wormed so far down into yoongi’s heart that he doesn’t think he can let go without it physically hurting anymore.

there’s a lot he can say, yoongi thinks, as he merely watches jimin talk with such animated motions that the smile slips onto his lips before he can help it.

- x - x -

for some reason, yoongi is inexplicably nervous about going out. in all technicality, it’s just a normal meeting. it’s not unlike jimin to make him come out randomly at times, but yoongi spends a good ten minutes trying to tidy up like he isn’t running on three hours of sleep.

jimin is there by the time yoongi arrives. it’s weird, because jimin can be late or on time, but he’s never early on purpose. yoongi taps him from behind, watches with a slight smile as jimin jumps ten feet into the air.

“hey,” yoongi says, waving leisurely, and the grin jimin sends back is blinding. “so. what gives?”

“hey yourself.” jimin socks him in the arm, huffing in mock indignation. the smile refuses to melt off.“what do you mean, what gives? can’t i just see you? can’t you just be happy that i put up with your face? that wow, i might actually like seeing your face?”

yoongi levels a flat stare. blinks. “sure.” stares harder. “right.”

“no, but seriously! i’m just making good on a promise from earlier,” jimin says with a short nod.

yoongi’s lost.

“you said you’d take me to one sometime,” jimin practically sings as he walks ahead, not noticing as yoongi slows. “you know, i really do want my first date to be at a park like this. maybe this one, even! yoongi?” jimin asks, when he doesn’t find him following, and yoongi shakes his head, jogging to catch up. “hyung, if i bring a girl here in the future, do you think she’d like it?”

and the words leave him as cold as walking outside with a t-shirt and shorts in the middle of winter. he feels his blood turn to ice. “it’s a nice place,” yoongi allows past his teeth, and he can’t work up the same enthusiasm he had minutes ago, try as he might.

- x - x -

“yeah, and let me guess where you’d want to have a first date.” yoongi snorts, shoving jimin on the shoulder none too gently. jimin goes down without a fight, giggling as he tips backwards into his bed, legs dangling off the edge. “what, a picnic under the stars? romantic poetry?” yoongi shudders. “oh god, my heart bleeds for whoever has to read that. or listen to it.”

jimin huffs, kicks out; yoongi’s not anywhere near his range. the thud of his heel making contact with the bed frame again sounds like it hurt.

“dropping your cynicism for a few seconds won’t kill you, hyung, i swear.”

yoongi makes a vague noise, picking at the covers, pale fingers ghosting over the expanse.

“well, fine. if you really insist on killing the party, i’ll forgo the poetry. going to an amusement park would still be nice though,” jimin says thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling.

“right,” yoongi remarks drily, casting his eyes skyward. “remind me to take you there next time.”

the silence that ensues surprises him, because it’s rare that jimin doesn’t have anything immediate to say. but it’s been a long day, it’s dismal and grey outside, so yoongi’s going to rack it up to that.

jimin stares at him for the longest time, and jimin’s always been an open book to read so when his gaze, so hooded, indecipherable, is turned upon yoongi, he’s at a loss for what to do. it’s always been yoongi who could read jimin, not as much the other way around, but now—

yoongi counts the seconds with the too loud beats of his heart, and he’s certain jimin can hear it.

jimin laughs, and slaps a hand on yoongi’s forearm.

“as a friend, right?”

jimin’s close, too close. close enough that yoongi can count the individual eyelashes dipping down to cast shadows on his cheeks, the three moles on his forehead. he’s practically pressed against yoongi at this point and it isn’t something that hasn’t happened a hundred times before, but this time yoongi’s hypersensitive and if he just leans forward a bit—

yoongi doesn’t talk about how close the remark had actually hit to home and the way he’s feeling uncomfortable is inexplicable because jimin is a friend and yoongi’s been so careful in shoving people into these categories that he’s created by himself so he knows how to feel about everyone.

he takes a deep breath; works past the shudder when the air hits his throat.

there’s nothing wrong with valuing a friend, and jimin is a friend.

“yeah,” yoongi says at last, wondering why it tastes like defeat. there isn’t anything to be disappointed over, because yoongi shouldn’t expect in the first place. “as a friend.”

- x - x -

the first indication of anything wrong is probably jimin’s back turned towards yoongi when he arrives at the amusement park, fiddling with the edge of his beanie, uncharacteristically fidgety.

jimin’s there. waiting. with a girl.

yoongi had not been warned beforehand, and judging from the thinly veiled, and poorly masked surprise on the girl’s face, she hadn’t been either.

“hey, hyung, you’re finally here!” jimin says, latching onto his side immediately, and yoongi’s tempted to push jimin off except there’s a strange pair of eyes and he can’t bring himself to shove like he usually would. “say hi. this is subin, my classmate, and subin, this is yoongi-hyung.”

“ah, nice to meet you,” the girl says, and yoongi immediately is put off. she’s dressed to impress, stylish blouse and skirt with a peacoat thrown on top. lips tinged lightly pink, hair caught in a ponytail, and if the glint in her eyes is anything to go by, she doesn’t think it’s very nice to meet yoongi.

that’s no problem, because yoongi may just agree with her sentiment and what the hell is park jimin thinking, anyway?

“subin thought it would be nice to go to the amusement park today. i’d say so too.” jimin glances up at the sky. it’s blue, clear, and honestly beautiful if yoongi could give a shit about it. it still doesn’t explain why jimin randomly dragged the two of them along, or as the tale seems to go, why jimin would drag yoongi along when only jimin seemed to have been invited.

“can we head in?” subin asks as she adjusts her hair, and jimin unravels his arm from around yoongi’s to catch up to her. it’s hard not to feel out of place when subin leans into jimin every chance she gets, a nails dragging down his arm one second, hand brushing against his the next. chasing the wind, yoongi wants to scoff, jimin’s flighty and he’s here one minute and gone the next. he’s light and carefree and beautiful and—

maybe that’s cutting into dangerous territory, because logically there’s nothing... wrong if jimin wants to take time out of his day to entertain subin. the eagerness to stay close and the way her hands don’t quite leave jimin bothers yoongi to no end though.

yoongi knows jimin, knows that while he loves having friends, he also needs personal space. and that’s what’s so confusing about all this, because on one hand, jimin basically brought yoongi along on to purposefully third wheel on a date (there must be a reason, right?), and on the other hand, he seems pretty comfortable and happy.

“i wanna try the roller coaster,” is one of the first things that fall out of jimin’s mouth when they set foot inside the park, and yoongi stares at the ride, looks at jimin, and glances back a few times. there’s no way jimin’s going to touch the thing with a ten foot pole and yoongi voices exactly that thought.

“come on, that was last time,” jimin whines, clutching at the sleeve of yoongi’s sweater. he’s going to stretch the sweater out of shape and then jimin’s going to fucking pay for it, because god help him, yoongi had spent a good two weeks saving up for the thing and—

“i want to go on the roller coaster too,” subin cuts in shortly.

jimin puffs up, looking at yoongi from under his eyelashes, bright, smug.

“ha, majority rules,” jimin singsongs as he makes off, and yoongi can’t, for the life of him, decide why jimin’s so excited to meet his self-proclaimed death.

(maybe he’s trying to impress her, his traitorous brain supplies. maybe you don’t even know the real him.)

they’re walking by a photobooth when subin finally seems to realize yoongi’s even there.

“hey, yoongi?”

yoongi grunts, yeah, he’s listening.

“it’d be cool if we could take a photo together right? to preserve the memories?”

it’s a bunch of overpriced bullshit made for fucking five year olds who don’t know that you can just bring a goddamn camera and take a better photo. at least, the point is, yoongi can, although it’s not like he’s going to say it to her face.

“do you want to check the price? i think it’d be a really nice touch to today,” she says with a smile. she looks at jimin, as if for support. jimin nods an enthusiastic affirmation, but when yoongi’s back with “it’s fucking three thousand won just for two pictures” ready to burst out of his lips, the words are lost. a wave of anger swamps over, swallows yoongi; there’s no doubt what the girl’s trying to do and it’s not like yoongi asked to be stuck here. hell, jimin asked.

subin and jimin are walking together up ahead. evidently, they merely want yoongi out of their hair and yoongi stalks behind sullen. for a moment, he really doesn’t understand why he’s braving the chill outside, listening to a girl chat jimin’s ear off and getting the cold shoulder from both of them, instead of relaxing before his computer at home and oh yeah— it’s park fucking jimin. of course.

(park jimin does explain a lot of the choices yoongi has had to make in his short, dreary life. he cannot safely say he doesn’t regret half of them.)

there’s not much he can do other than walk behind the happy couple, counting the stones on the worn path.

they go on roller coaster and jimin drags subin beside him, which leaves yoongi to be pushed to take the row behind, and the metre distance couldn’t feel more vast, staring at the back of their heads. the two of them are laughing as they head up the slope, jimin yelling something about going to be sick and honestly wasn’t the yoongi’s point in the first place?

“if it’s too high, you can hold my hand,” subin throws back teasingly, and jimin half turns in his seat until he catches yoongi’s eyes and it’s then that yoongi feels sick, like his lunch is rushing up every time the coaster drops, except yoongi hasn’t touched a bite of food since breakfast.

yoongi returns home feeling drained; with butterflies in his stomach that crawl up to burrow their way into his chest and his lungs. the incessant ache refuses to let him sleep that night.

- x - x -

that afternoon, subin excused herself to go to the washroom for god knows what reason—yoongi thinks he’d heard her complaining about her eyeliner smudging but she looks fine to him so he’s not sure what she’s on. maybe she just needed to go the the washroom for actual washroom reasons. he doesn’t judge. the thing is, the nearest washroom is nearly halfway across the park and with a short plea for two of them to not leave the area, she’s gone.

then it’s just jimin and yoongi.

“what now?” jimin asks, slipping an arm to link with yoongi’s.

yoongi snorts. “i dunno, wait for your girlfriend?” yoongi snipes back, his voice all too bitter to his ears.

jimin raises an eyebrow, eyes scanning over yoongi’s face. searching for something, but yoongi doesn’t know what, and he doesn’t think he can find it himself, even. “she’s not a girlfriend, hyung, she’s just a friend.

yoongi’s quiet for the longest moment. “what about her then?” he asks, and jimin looks so confused.

“what about her?”

“does she know that?”

and it’s jimin’s turn to fall silent. “well, she’s nice. i’m not sure about what she knows and what she wants, but. she’s nice, if that counts.”

“nice?” yoongi asks, and hates how derisive he sounds; thin, incredulous.

“what? hyung, i really don’t want to talk about this,” jimin says finally, and yoongi gives in, just like everything else he does for jimin.

it’s one of the things yoongi doesn’t get, doesn’t understand, just like how much this feels like a date, just the two of them—so much like what he yearns—yet there’s no meaning. without feelings does it still matter?

no, it doesn’t, yoongi supposes. if yoongi were to rip out his heart in a fucking platonic sense and send it in an envelope to jimin—vacuum sealed so it remains pristine and beautiful and pure. so not a drop of blood slips through, and if yoongi gives his life away, does it mean jimin will understand?

jimin is smart, but is he smart enough to search for things he doesn’t want to find?

jimin is smart, so jimin wouldn’t, shouldn’t, be searching for them in the first place. what you won’t know won’t hurt you, and the last thing yoongi wants is for jimin to leave.

so yoongi revels in the warmth of jimin’s hand in his, knowing it means nothing, knowing he means nothing. knowing he means nothing is still better than being nothing.

it’s enough.

he stares in something akin to wonder when jimin laces their fingers together. yoongi has always liked touching—it serves as a physical reminder, a constant. min yoongi is here, min yoongi is alive, and he has control. he’s never thought much of connections, but right now it feels so heavy, like there’s lead attached to the tips of his fingertips.

yoongi wonders too. wonders why he’s so sensitive, like jimin is his only source of warmth and why he feels so high yet so close to crashing—

wonders why someone has drained his veins to the last dredges, leaving him light headed and so disoriented, only to replace it with liquid fire, molten and alive.

“come on, let’s take a picture together,” jimin says as he leads yoongi, and yoongi can’t do anything other than nod and smile, entranced by the curve of jimin’s lips, the shine in his eyes. “with the rollercoaster in the background.”

yoongi stares questioningly.

“hey, hey! look, i conquered my fears today, it’s been a momentous occasion.”

“you can’t be serious—” he groans, as jimin claps his other hand over his mouth.

“no complaints! i'm completely, a hundred and twenty percent serious. humour me, hyung?” jimin pouts.

and that, right there, is foul play because they’d discussed this before and jimin needs to put that face away.

“goddamnit,” yoongi mutters, slapping jimin’s hand away, “stop trying to make your face more ugly and i’ll think about it.”

jimin only pouts more.

“your bottom lip’s gonna fall out at this rate. and how do you propose we take this picture? don’t suppose you’re gonna pull a selfie stick outta your ass, are you?”

jimin crinkles his nose. “why do we need to pull a selfie stick out of anyone’s ass when we can just ask a friendly, benevolent stranger?”

they end up flagging down a lady, who looks like she’s in her mid-twenties, who looks relatively lost as she browses the map. jimin turns on the charm, and it’s a matter of seconds before she’s stuffing the paper in her bag to take the phone jimin thrusts at her.

“could you take a picture of us with the rollercoaster in the background?” jimin asks, all smiles, and she nods quickly.

jimin steps back, until he’s in line with yoongi and then leans in. smiles, jabs yoongi in the side when he doesn’t. he smiles, is mildly surprised when he doesn’t have to force it. the lady counts down, and the whole thing’s over in two, three seconds, but it feels like eternity.

(jimin by his side.)

“thank you so much!” jimin bows slightly, and yoongi realizes belatedly that maybe he should as well when the woman speaks up.

“ah, it’s no problem at all. are the two of you...?”

jimin frowns. he’s still leaning into yoongi, the weight alien, but comfortable. warm. “pardon?”

“are you guys together?”

and jimin jumps away like he’s been shocked, refusals falling from his lips like slivers of rain from the sky. “what no!” it’s cold, freezing. it hurts. yoongi looks down at the ground.

“we’re just friends, did you think we were—how could you even,” jimin’s sputtering, and with every word yoongi feels more distant. floating, like he’s not here. jimin’s not saying that, jimin is nice, jimin is perfect. it’s not happening.

jimin wouldn’t hurt yoongi.

and it’s like jimin can’t even say the word, like it disgusts him that much and he carefully puts more space between the two of them.

the lady’s quick to apologize, flushing. “ah, i’m so sorry about that, i just assumed because you two kind of act like my brother and his boyfriend, and usually two guys wouldn’t be here together, and earlier, i just thought that the two of you guys were really close so—”

she bows hurriedly. “i’m so so sorry about that, forgive me.”

and the striking thing about jimin is he’s able to put all of this out of his head, and half an hour later, when subin’s back and they fall into the same two in front, one in back formation, jimin’s... normal.

subin’s wandered off a few metres, and yoongi takes that chance to tap jimin. “hey, about earlier when we were taking the picture,” he tries, watching jimin’s face carefully, and his heart falls in response. nothing, except for the damned smile.

“you don’t need to justify anything to me,” jimin says with a laugh. “no misunderstandings, we’re good?”

yoongi laughs, pats jimin’s shoulder, and helps sweep everything—this mess, his feelings—under the rug.

- x - x -

jimin sounds so enthusiastic when he calls the next day that yoongi can’t help but return with one of his own when he answers. they can put yesterday behind them. everything will be fine. jimin and yoongi will be fine.

“hyung!”

“yeah, brat? what now?” and it’s hard to keep the adoration from slipping into his voice, but it’s only a tiny bit, so that’s fine, yoongi tells himself. a tiny bit won’t hurt anyone.

yoongi’s brain shuts down before jimin’s completely finished his next sentence somewhere between “asked” and “out”.

“should i say yes, hyung?” jimin’s whining, high, nasal, and yoongi can almost imagine; see, the way his feet are kicking against the covers. “is she worth it?”

yoongi’s choked up for the first few seconds and nothing comes out. she. right, subin.

all he can see is jimin and subin’s hands tangled together as they walk side by side. the way their laughter would mingle and it sounds so fucking perfect and the way her eyes just light up when jimin comes around and his arms wrap around her waist (it’s a joke, just a joke, they broke apart immediately after but they both seemed so happy. happy, happy, so damn happy ).

like it just falls into place there, north finding south, moon finding stars, sky finding earth. they both look so comfortable.

so unlike how panicked jimin had been when the lady had asked about the two of them; the possibility that they might be a thing, like that’s the last thing jimin had ever wanted, like jimin would never in a million years entertain a thought like that. it corrodes away at the pit of yoongi’s stomach, and it’s the same feeling as on the roller coaster yesterday except yoongi can’t pin the blame on the coaster anymore—

“she asked me out,” echoes again and yoongi feels so light, hanging a million miles above the conversation; what does park jimin mean to him, what does he mean to park jimin, what does park jimin mean to the girl—

and what does she mean to him?

so yoongi just nods, it’s the only thing he trusts himself with doing at the moment. yeah, they’d make a good pair, but he can’t get the words out—

“well?” jimin asks, and he sounds so eager. excited. “you know i can’t see whether you’re nodding or shaking your head or planning to murder me right now, right? you gotta give me more to work with—”

and what spills out instead is a curt, “i don’t know!”

yoongi’s caught jimin off guard, has caught even himself off guard, with the way that jimin sucks in a breath and doesn’t speak for the longest second.

“why do you say that? how can you just have no opinion on someone, hyung?”

the bile rises up in yoongi’s throat, like a wave that has no sign of cresting and god he thinks he’s going to be sick. no opinion? fuck, if only yoongi had anything but an opinion. even if he had no thoughts on the girl, it would be better than this obnoxious and incessant bitterness that sits at the pit of his stomach every time jimin even mentions her name.

subin. refined elegance, isn’t that what she is?

“dunno,” yoongi mutters as he falls back into his bed, tamping down on the cold, queasy, feeling. he groans—his head doesn’t particularly agree with the hard impact. he feels so disconnected yet heavy, like nothing’s real yet his body’s grounding him down. objectivity. he needs to go for objectivity. “i mean, yeah, she’s not bad, but...”

“but what?” jimin says slowly, the sound cracking up over the line, as if he’s apprehensive and why the hell is jimin even asking yoongi this anyway? what does yoongi have to do with this, have to do with jimin getting a fucking girlfriend?

i don’t think she’s right for you, yoongi wants to say, but it’s not his place, not when this is park jimin asking him for advice. the same park jimin who picked him up from nothing, when yoongi had no friends and only knew how to confide troubles to himself. jimin’s so good at listening whenever yoongi has any complaints and doesn’t yoongi at least owe jimin this; this happiness—

“do you like her?” yoongi asks at last. wishes he could take back how his voice cracks up minutely when he gets to the ‘like’ because goddamnit, he can do this, for jimin if not anything else.

“i really do like her, hyung. i definitely do, and she’s so nice and funny but...” jimin says but it’s hesitant and now the irritation within yoongi’s rising too, because can’t jimin just make up his mind and get it over with?

“how the fuck do you add a but to that? do you? or do you not?”

“do you like her, hyung?”

something in him snaps. yoongi scoffs, and when he speaks, his voice comes out ugly and unrecognizable. “what does it matter if i like her or not? if you date her, she’ll be your girlfriend, not mine.” it’s a trainwreck and yoongi can’t do anything to stop it. “what is it to you, seriously, jimin? what do you want me to say? she’s nice?”

jimin makes a faint noise of confusion on the other end. “what...?” and dimly yoongi knows that there’s no reason for him to snap, that jimin hasn’t done anything to deserve this outpour. but the dam’s broken, and the words don’t stop.

“goddamnit, why do you need to ask me everything?” yoongi can hear the flinch on the other side from the dead silence. immediately he knows he’s crossed a line, should take it back, doesn’t know what came over him, but the words falling out of his mouth haven’t dried up yet. won’t dry up. “can’t you just figure it out yourself for once? i mean, i get if it’s something small but this is your fucking girlfriend so if you like her just fucking date her already and stop bothering me!”

the static crackles. yoongi can’t see jimin but from how quiet he’s being, he can hear the inaudible and oh so familiar way he always swallows when he gets ready to put himself down.

and with the words out, yoongi feels a lot more sober; this isn’t what he was trying to do, this isn’t what’s going to be the thing that drives the rift between them, not when yoongi and jimin have been best friends forever and ever.

jimin is his forever and god yoongi’s fucked this up hasn’t he, he—

“jimin,” yoongi tries softly, molding his voice carefully, gentle in a way he hasn’t attempted in a long time. he’s never had a reason to be anything other than brusque before but jimin—

“i-it’s ok.” jimin cuts him off.

his tone sounds so bright, light reflecting off of plastic, and shit, yoongi’s fucked up. he knows that much, because that’s the way jimin sounds when he’s about to cry but can’t. not yet. “i, just, i’ll stop bothering you?"

in true jimin fashion, ending it with a question.

and if yoongi doesn’t feel like utter shit before, he does now.

he sighs. “you’re not bothering me,” he tries to say, but jimin merely interjects again.

“yeah, sorry hyung, bye.”

and hours later, if yoongi doesn’t feel any motivation to get off the bed, to move. and if hours later, yoongi’s still thinking of a million ways to apologize, and a million texts he’s written than erased, no one has to know.

- x - x -

don’t get yoongi, wrong, he doesn’t go out of his way to avoid jimin after that. it’s more that it just happens and jimin, well, jimin lets him. because as it stands, their high school isn’t huge and with the fact that yoongi shares two classes as well as lunch with jimin, if jimin wanted to, cornering him wouldn’t be difficult at all.

so when news comes out that jimin’s dating the subin (“god, they’re such a cute couple!”), yoongi doesn’t find out firsthand from jimin, as his best friend. yoongi doesn’t even find out from hoseok or taehyung; it’s just two random girl’s offhandedly discussing the hottest gossip in their school in the middle of the hall. and the way that they gush about jimin and the girl like they’ve been an item since the beginning of time and that they belong together, like it’s a universally accepted fact, just rubs yoongi the wrong way.

“shut up and move, you’re in the middle of the hall,” yoongi snarls before he catches himself—why had he done that; the girls weren’t even taking up as much room as yoongi did sometimes, with his projects and all.

during lunch, yoongi goes to sulk in the music office, where his presence isn’t a goddamn burden on everyone in his vicinity, and he can actually be useful. so he doesn’t have to deal with questioning glances (jung hoseok) and accusations burning in eyes (kim taehyung) as they wonder what happened between him and jimin, because obviously jimin can’t do anything wrong and they’re... right. because it’s not jimin.

jimin and yoongi, they’re just on a break. just like how winter always turns to spring, somehow it’ll work out, yoongi tells himself. maybe one day, when jimin stops putting up with yoongi’s crap like this and yoongi can unlearn how to depend on someone. how to prevent your life from orbiting around someone like this.

namjoon’s already there by the time yoongi gets there.

“not eating with your friends today?” namjoon raises an eyebrow as yoongi unpacks, slapping down a huge package of music theory on the desk haphazardly.

yoongi glares at the scores, scowls. “what, are you not a fucking friend?”

namjoon back pedals quickly, waving a hand in the air. “no i mean, like, why are you eating here, in the music room. with me?”

“am i not allowed to set foot in the music room now? are you really kicking out the person who invited you in?” because it had been yoongi who’d dragged namjoon here at the beginning of the year, perhaps a few weeks after jimin happened and suddenly yoongi had a group of ten or so people who he could now call acquaintances or friends, introduced via jimin. back then, this had been half of yoongi’s home. he likes to think namjoon is emulating in his footsteps, because hey, yoongi was here first. “your sole benefactor?”

namjoon’s eyes go comically wide, and he nearly trips over his words when he responds. “no! i mean, like, why are you in here with me? no, wait, trying again— i mean, what i’m trying to say is you usually sit with jimin and hoseok and taehyung in the cafeteria.”

yoongi goes still at the mention, but namjoon goes on like he doesn’t notice. hell, maybe he doesn’t.

“and you haven’t been here in months. when’s the last time we met up on purpose? not that i don’t like spending time with you, it’s just. what brought about the change?” namjoon gestures around the office, and maybe if namjoon didn’t look so damn curious about the whole spectacle, yoongi could actually work up his temper over the whole thing.

yoongi turns in his chair, looking straight at namjoon, dead serious. “hey, look. do you want me to leave?”

“what, no!”

yoongi rolls his neck back, staring straight up at the ceiling, unblinking. “then. do i have to justify all of my actions?”

namjoon shrugs. “no, but if you want to share the reason.”

he pauses, and hopes that namjoon can’t see him contemplating. “well no, i don’t,” yoongi snaps, spinning around until he can only barely see the other out of the corner of his eye.

(yoongi gets one too many questioning glances from namjoon that day, but it’s something he wants to shove to the back of his mind and just forget about.)

- x - x -

yoongi eats with namjoon again the next day, and he has barely set foot inside the office before namjoon interrogates him this time.

“hey, yoongi.” namjoon says, cocking his head as yoongi studiously avoids his gaze.

“what?”

“what’s going on with jimin?” namjoon asks, ever straight to the point.

yoongi shrugs. there’s nothing for namjoon to know, and it’s not like namjoon knows what’s happening. he’d be dreaming if he thinks yoongi would suddenly open up all of his life’s sorrows to him with just one question.

“look you’re a cool dude and all but even having known you kinda well for just one year or so, you’re not the type to randomly try to get to know people better. not to say you’re not a great person,” namjoon trails off, his turn to shrug lightly. “but yeah.”

“people,” yoongi mutters, by way of explanation.

“you might have to be a tiny bit more specific. just a tiny bit.”

“people of the fairer sex, alright?” yoongi bites out, and namjoon blinks incredulously.

“so, you’re trying to tell me it’s about a girl?”

yoongi glares at the desk, and when namjoon laughs, he looks up in surprise, before eyes narrowing. how is this funny?

“wait, wait, hold up. you’re jerking with me. seriously? it’s actually about a girl? i thought those things only happened in movies!”

“does this look like a movie to you?” yoongi snaps, flicking through his backpack for some goddamn paper in case namjoon won’t quit.

“alright, but we’re talking jimin?” namjoon seems to have a hold of himself by then, laughs subsided. “what’s wrong? what happened?”

“nothing happened, okay? okay.” yoongi’s done. he doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, doesn’t want anything to do with namjoon laughing at his problems like they’re a fucking joke—

“yoongi.”

namjoon doesn’t deserve a response. the ass.

“yoongi. yoongi-hyung?”

yoongi sighs. glances up, from the theory sheets. “what?”

“look, i’m sorry about laughing. that was out of place. i shouldn’t have done it.” good riddance, yoongi’s about to spit, but namjoon’s not finished. “you, on the other hand. holding in the problem won’t help you, and it definitely won’t help what’s going on between you and jimin.”

“i know,” yoongi says at last. he’s not stupid.

“then, what’s the problem? what do you think the problem is?” namjoon asks quietly.

“there’s a girl,” yoongi admits slowly, and hates how he feels naked, peeling back the layers of his skin. he’s never liked confessing. namjoon nods. “and she. well, jimin’s dating her.”

“but that’s not the problem here, is it?” namjoon says. and god, yoongi has to give that namjoon’s smart when it counts, and as emotionally constipated as he can be, he’s a pretty good voice on the logistics of a dilemma. “you described the situation. what’s the problem. what about them dating is the problem?”

when yoongi answers, it’s soft. barely audible. “i don’t know.”

“or you don’t want to know,” namjoon cuts in above him. yoongi stops shuffling the papers, and the resulting silence is deafening. “what happened? do both of you like her or something?”

a laugh bubbles its way out of yoongi’s throat.

and the thing is, yoongi doesn’t like her at all yet he can’t explain why; subin seems nice enough and she’s smart and she’s pretty. she should be perfect and yoongi should be happy for jimin, because jimin obviously seems happy enough when she comes around, and jimin deserves nothing less than someone perfect.

(“human beings aren’t perfect, that’s what makes them human,” namjoon would probably tell him, but to yoongi, jimin is everthing human and everything beyond. hell, maybe to jimin, subin was that pers—

1. yoongi doesn’t want to think about it.)

“no, not that then,” namjoon says softly.

“no.”

“tell me about it then.”

and so yoongi does: he tells namjoon about the day at the amusement park, how subin has invited jimin and how jimin had invited him and what purpose was that supposed to serve anyway? yoongi tells namjoon about how jimin had come to ask him as to whether he should date her and yoongi doesn’t know what came over him. the next thing he knows, jimin’s pulling away.

namjoon merely nods after yoongi’s done, and there’s a flare of irritation that rises from within yoongi; what right does he have to look so composed after yoongi feels like he’s just run a marathon, and how does namjoon pull off the condescending vibe without trying?

“i know subin from one of my classes, she’s pretty nice,” namjoon says with a tilt of his head. if yoongi didn’t want to strangle him earlier, well, he does now. why is even namjoon against him, he doesn’t understand, isn’t namjoon supposed to be logical? the voice of reason? is the reason that “she’s nice” because what the fuck is that?

realistically, the thing, the rift is probably there because yoongi was acting stupid for whatever dumb reason, but it’s so difficult to let down his pride and admit it was him who got them into this situation.

“you said you couldn’t give a definite answer,” namjoon says, folding his hands together.

“and you’re trying to act like a fucking therapist,” yoongi shoots back, bristling. he never asked namjoon to meddle; doesn’t want him to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.

“you need a fucking therapist right now, if you’re acting like this. why couldn’t you say whether you liked her or not?”

because yoongi should be able to say yes but he couldn’t. “because when we were there she was giving me the cold shoulder the whole time. she’s a two faced bitch.”

namjoon shrugs. “if you say that it was basically a date, wouldn’t you be bitchy to someone who’s interrupting your date as well?”

yoongi hates it when namjoon makes sense, which honestly is most of the times.

“i didn’t know it was a date at first, and she didn’t tell jimin either, so jimin invited me and i there was no reason not to go,” yoongi mutters.

namjoon raises an eyebrow at this. “so you couldn’t say yes because she was bitchy the whole time? to you?”

yoongi nods and it strikes him then how petulant he sounds but it’s just because he doesn’t want jimin to date someone who isn’t good enough for him.

“why was that?” namjoon asks and yoongi hates how probing the question sounds, like namjoon’s some fucking psychiatrist and yoongi is both a toddler and has fucking problems.

two of the three are kinda true, but yoongi doesn’t want to think about which two they are, and most of all, he doesn’t want to think.

“why was what what? why was she a bitch? how am i supposed to know, why don’t you ask her?”

“calm down, don’t bite anyone’s head off. it’s just a question, i’m on your side, alright?” yoongi snorts. “i’m on your side.”

and that strikes yoongi as hilarious. on his side, right. since when were people on his side? “well, you could say that. you know, she was fine when we first arrived.” she’d smiled at him, introduced herself when jimin was getting the tickets. “she was pretty civil and even pretty nice, and then gradually she just froze over. by the end, it was just her walking beside jimin and flirting.”

namjoon gestures for him to keep going as he digs out his phone. yoongi sniffs; couldn’t namjoon at least wait until he’s finished speaking, but he carries on: shouldn’t she at least be civil to yoongi? yoongi doesn’t expect everyone to like him, hell, he doesn’t expect many people at all, but at least since yoongi’s jimin’s best friend—or one of his best friends—shouldn’t she be on good terms? shouldn’t she respect him?

and namjoon just nods as he finishes tapping around on his phone and when he shoves it in yoongi’s face.

“what the fuck, namjoon,” yoongi exclaims, trying to move namjoon’s arm out of the way, but namjoon just moves it back a centimetre or two and it’s the photo of jimin and yoongi at the amusement park. “it’s a picture that a lady took. jimin’s idea.” tries not to think of how jimin had reacted when she asked the question, and tries to ignore the way namjoon’s looking at him funny. “what?”

“say you’re on a date with your crush. say you’re on a date with someone you really like,” namjoon says.

“what does that have to do with this?”

“no, just listen. how would you feel if someone was tagging along on your date, taking attention that your crush should be giving you?”

yoongi pauses. “well, pissed as hell, i guess, but that’s not what happened, is it? it’s not like i’m competition. it’s not like jimin brought a girl along.”

and yoongi just keeps remembering the way jimin had panicked when that lady had brought them up, them as a possibility—“what no!”—no chance, keep dreaming.

except namjoon’s floored, mouth open, and yoongi feels like he’s getting mocked except he’s not even sure over what, so he just glares as a default response.

“are you hearing yourself?”

disgruntled, yoongi nods. “i think i know what’s coming out of my fucking mouth, alright?”

namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. turns his face skyward. “have you never taken a look at yourself when you’re with jimin? i mean, of course you haven’t because you can’t be omnipresent and thank god you don’t carry a mirror everywhere but—you guys are just alone in your own world when it’s the two of you together. even when the whole gang goes out to eat, even if jimin and tae mess around, jimin always drops everything when you try to talk to him or get his attention.”

yoongi’s still for the longest moment. honestly, he wishes what namjoon said were true, that yoongi was special, that yoongi’s what namjoon’s hinting he is to jimin—an exception. more than a friend, perhaps.

and yoongi wants it so hard except if he has hopes it’ll just be him who’ll be crushed in the end.

“jimin loves every fucking body,” he mutters. it’s true. personification of love, if you will, if you took all the warmth the world had to offer and crammed it in one tiny body.

namjoon snorts. “he doesn’t look at anyone else the way he does with you. he just goes soft. or more soft than usual, anyway.” pauses. “if you want my opinion—”

“i don’t,” yoongi says under his breath, but no bite.

“if you guys are anything like how you are when we go out, then i’d say jimin was paying more attention to you than the girl,” namjoon holds up his phone meaningfully and yoongi fights down the childish urge to grab it out of his hands, feeling chastised and indignant at the same time. “i think the girl was jealous.”

and it’s an alien concept to yoongi. jealous? what did she have to be jealous over? she’s dating jimin. yoongi remembers the way jimin laughed when she talked, the way they walked side by side like they were made for each other.

“what does she have to be jealous over? she’s fucking dating him,” yoongi grumbles, the thought bubbling up like acid tearing through his throat.

“just, please, for god’s sake. go find jimin,” namjoon says at last. “he’s been moping the past few days and there’s only so much puppy eyes i can take before i’m at my limit, ok?”

bullshit.

- x - x -

yoongi manages to avoid jimin for another two weeks or so before he breaks and manages to corner jimin before he leaves school. he asks jimin if he wants to come over on friday afternoon and jimin’s response is wary, but it’s still a “sure,” no matter how hesitant.

that’s not bad, it means that the basic trust is still there, does it?

it’s pure nostalgia, when jimin walks through the doors just as nervous as the first time, and yoongi would laugh if it’s in any other circumstance.

“hey, find a seat,” yoongi says from behind jimin, and jimin positively jolts. “it’s fine, it’s not like he’s gonna break anything.” and jimin laughs, genuine but so tight, so restrained.

“do you want a drink?” yoongi asks, wondering if there’s any way to diffuse the tension.

jimin shakes his head hurriedly, before the question’s even out of yoongi’s mouth really, and yoongi blinks at him slowly.

“do you want a drink?” he repeats, staring at jimin intently.

jimin shrugs, half helpless, half hesitant. yoongi goes and fetches a glass of orange juice anyway, jimin did always like it best; he’d drank the apple before but it was with a grimace and when yoongi had asked why he just didn’t say no, jimin explained it would be rude to turn it down when yoongi already got it. honestly, yoongi’s not sure what to do with jimin sometimes. he sets the glass down before jimin, who’s presently worrying his shirt with his hands, and yoongi bites back a wince at the loud clink when he does so.

jimin doesn’t touch it.

“thanks,” he says slowly, eyes watching the trail of condensation slip down the side, as if he can’t stand to look at yoongi.

yoongi clears his throat, swallows past the lump in his throat clogging up the words that threaten to spill over, brushing past teeth and dripping over lips.

“jimin, i—” he’s at a loss. the words don’t come up in a line. it’s a messed up jumble of ideas and more apologies, but there’s no way to decipher them, not with the way jimin jolts and snaps his gaze to and then away from yoongi so quickly like he’s been burned by—

by him, yoongi thinks, with sinking clarity.

“jimin, about last time—”

“oh,” jimin jumps in too quick, once again. laughs once, but the sound breaks at the end. “it’s alright.”

“i mean, i just wanted to say, fuck, i want to say that,” yoongi breaks off, running a hand through his hair; jimin makes apologies seem effortless when they’re not. “i didn’t mean to yell at you.”

jimin smiles, and it’s such a sad lift of the lips that yoongi doesn’t comprehend, for a moment.

“why don’t you like subin though, hyung?”

it’s like the conversation with namjoon all over again, except worse, because jimin brings out the best and the worst in him. “she’s not good enough for you,” yoongi mutters through clenched teeth.

“if you say so, then who is?”

and yoongi’s not sure how to respond.

“seriously, hyung, what’s wrong if i want to date someone?” jimin asks, running a hand through his hair roughly, like he’s the one desperate; the one who doesn’t understand. “so what if i want to date someone? why do you seriously think i shouldn’t date?”

yoongi grits his teeth, glaring at jimin. stand down, he wants to say. “shut the fuck up, you don’t know what’s going on on my end, don’t you dare try to shove words down my throat.”

jimin lets out an incredulous peal of laughter. “then what am i supposed to do?”

“you’re not even listening to me, i never said any of that!”

“you’re not saying anything, how am i supposed to know what’s wrong?” it feels like a slap to the face. jimin’s never angry like this, never confrontational.

“then just stop dating her!” there, it’s out, and yoongi feels like he’s run a marathon with how hard he’s breathing.

jimin’s eyes shutter and he’s still for several long seconds. “so this whole month of avoiding me is just because i’m seeing her?”

“of course not, what the fuck—”

“because that’s what you’ve been saying; that’s the only thing that’s been coming out of your mouth.”

“what, no—”

“yoongi-hyung,” jimin says, and he just seems so done. “hyung. you keep on telling me no, but you don’t tell me why. is this what you called me over for? just to yell at me to break up with her again?”

yoongi shakes his head, shocked—at what jimin’s accusing him of, and just how much he’d done precisely what jimin claims he had. “no, it’s not... that.”

“if it’s not that, then what is it? what’s so hard to accept about us dating? do you just not like seeing us together?”

“she’s not good enough for you,” yoongi tries again. he sees the way her eyes light up when jimin comes around, and the way jimin seems to glow in turn, and if that doesn’t make him so inexplicably uncomfortable, he doesn’t know what does. it’s wrong, that’s why.

jimin’s lips tremble when he speaks, and his eyes are glassy. he looks so so small. “but if i’m happy with her, then isn’t it enough, hyung? what else would you ask for?”

and it steals all of yoongi’s breath in one fell swoop, because that’s all yoongi’s every wanted to do for jimin except now he’s the one who’s standing between jimin and the very thing.

why can’t yoongi just be happy for them for once?

“nevermind, it’s just,” jimin says, swallowing hard, “it’s never been my intention to make this your problem.”

it’s so childish, what spills out of his mouth next. “you made it my problem the moment you called me,” he says flatly.

“i thought you’d be happy for me too!” jimin screams, but the end of his sentence catches like he can’t find enough air. he turns away, and yoongi’s horrified to see his shoulders shake as he gets up and makes for the door in the flash of an eye.

with his back to yoongi, he wipes a sleeve across his eyes hastily. “sorry.”

- x - x -

yoongi has a talent for making people cry, as it so appears.

he’s eight when he knocks this girl in his school’s tower down, not quite comprehending as the wooden blocks find the ground like long lost friends. she’s devastated because she’d spent the whole afternoon making the masterpiece and really yoongi didn’t mean it at all, so he offers to help, but by then she’s gone. up and at a teacher on the other side of the sea of tiles and if her waterworks were more than enough to drag an entire ten minutes’ worth of scolding from the woman.

“sorry,” yoongi mutters. it tastes of cinder and dirt in his mouth.

he leaves her alone, and she leaves him alone. it works.

yoongi’s fourteen when feelings really hit the people at his school. there’s small skirmishes over crushes, attempts at hand holding when people don’t think anyone’s watching. it’s kinda funny, if yoongi isn’t caught up in it too. there’s this girl, soyeong, who is nice and even quieter than yoongi, if possible—she catches him outside in the courtyard after school one day, when he’s getting ready to walk home. in her hands is a light pink envelope, crushed from how hard she’s clutching on to it, and as soon as yoongi sees her, she blushes and looks away.

he makes to leave, but someone taps him on the shoulder a few minutes later. it’s soyeong, he realizes with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“yoongi-ssi,” she says as she bows and pushes the letter out at him. “please accept this.”

yoongi had thought love letters were all but a living art form, and he’s dumbstruck for the longest second. “sorry, but i don’t,” he says, and pauses, at a loss for words. he pushes the letter away gently. “i really think you’re better off with someone else,” he attempts at last, and it sounds flimsy, even to him.

and she looks downright crestfallen, as though she wants to sink right through the floor. nods, bravely. “ah, i understand. i thought it would at least be worth a try.”

“sorry,” yoongi murmurs, and it’s all he can offer.

seventeen creeps upon yoongi faster than he can blink, and it comes with the disappointing crushing weight of poor marks. his parents are rarely home at a godly hour now, and inspiration and motivation don’t strike at opportune times either.

he gets a fourty-three on a music assignment. jimin takes one look at it over lunch, and somehow knows.

“was it your best work?” jimin asks, and yoongi shakes his head with a self-depreciating snort. if only it had been. “and you know that it doesn’t display what you’re capable of.”

it hits home, and yoongi’s forced to nod reluctantly. “it’s still shit though,” he grouses. “it’s not like i didn’t work on it and i did put thought into it; more than half of my classmates. they just slap notes onto the page and i—”

and what does yoongi do? slap notes onto a page and pray that somehow the fact that he does it with feeling will make it better than the others?

when jimin asks why, yoongi couldn’t put in the extra hours and fuck, like jimin will understand , with the extra hours yoongi has had to put into english and studying so he doesn’t fail, and then coming home to a dark and empty house and needing to tidy up and clean and upkeep because if he doesn’t then who will?

“do you want to come over to my place after school today?” jimin suggests when yoongi carefully divulges, and his head snaps up in surprise. go over to jimin’s house? it’s a novel thing, and honestly, not one that yoongi’s never wondered about before.

he tilts his head. “you sure you want me over?”

and jimin laughs, with his lips and with his eyes. it’s beautiful, breathtaking. “you sure you want to come?”

like that, yoongi’s sold. like that, they somehow fall into a routine. every tuesday and thursday afternoon, it’s jimin’s house, and eventually jimin’s parents are so used to him going over that they don’t bat an eye; merely ask if he wants anything to eat.

it’s more than he can ask for.

later, when they’re sitting on jimin’s bed watching the latest season of attack on titan, yoongi turns to jimin. clears his throat nervously, not sure how to breach the topic, and jimin immediately drags his eyes off the screen, flickering to meet yoongi’s in confusion. “yeah?”

“about earlier, venting to you and everything.”

jimin doesn’t seem to get it. “what?”

“the assignment. wanted to say sorry about putting you through that shit,” yoongi expands, voice coming gruff. he’s not used to apologizing and wanting people to accept it. he’s never needed their acceptance before.

“oh, that!” jimin waves him off with a smile. “don’t worry about it at all. i’m totally happy to listen if you need someone.”

- x - x -

(yoongi tries to do the same, but yoongi also apparently does not have a talent for comforting and listening.

so when jimin’s frustrated with him for not being able to give and reason and even yoongi’s beginning to get annoyed with himself—he can see what warranted that anger, he’s not blind—it unravels into jimin apologizing for his happiness and it’s a phrase that haunts yoongi. jimin stole it out of his mouth; jimin shouldn’t be the one who has to say that, and yoongi doesn’t understand why jimin would want to say it:

“sorry,” jimin says and yoongi can’t see him. can’t see his face.

sorry.)

- x - x -

yoongi falls sick on a friday, and he’s absolutely certain death himself is coming for him.

(maybe it’s retribution for what’s going on with jimin; jimin hasn’t spoken to him since, because now it’s jimin who’s ignoring yoongi, and no, the idea of divine retribution is stupid, fuck that.)

he calls namjoon. it’s not hard to employ some theatrics and by the end of a twenty minutes, it’s been arranged that namjoon will tell the teacher yoongi’s sick, and namjoon will take notes for him.

“if i don’t make it, you gotta write the exam for me, joon-ah,” he moans, and somewhere between sitting beside each other for lunch, namjoon working on actual shit and yoongi working on actual shit as well as hiding from his demons, they grew closer.

namjoon’s fully skeptical. “why would you need it if you’re dead?”

“you can’t see me, but i’m giving you the middle finger. also just to send to my parents, that’d be nice,” is yoongi’s faint reply. “i’ll see you on the other side,” he says, and hangs up, before promptly sneezing four times in a row. “that’s it, i’m not gonna make it.”

yoongi sniffles sadly, as he drifts off to sleep; miserable, stuffy-nosed.

he’s not sure how much time elapses before he wakes up, and for a second he’s convinced he somehow passed away in his sleep, because someone who looks like jimin’s there, looking every bit like an angel. that would explain a lot of things—like how jimin’s even there in the first place, after everything yoongi’s done. jimin’s a bit red in the face, looking wind blown but ethereal none the less, which yoongi registers past the wool clouding his brain.

“how’d you get in here?” he slurs, trying to lift an arm to point at the blurry figure.

“you told me where the spare key was, hyung,” comes jimin’s reply, faded, but it rings in yoongi’s ears.

it still doesn’t make sense to yoongi. “but why? and how, like, how did you know? to come?” and fuck it if it turns out to be a dream, but even if it’s a dream, yoongi might just make the most out of it.

“a friend might have spilled,” jimin allows, and is alarmed when yoongi makes to get up.

“kim fucking namjoon, help me murder this guy, jimin-ah,” but try as he might, his arms don’t hold up when he tries to rise.

“shhh, you can murder him when you feel better, alright?” jimin says placatingly, and yoongi nods slowly, dumbly.

“yeah, sounds good.”

yoongi’s groggy, so so tired, and his voice is hoarse. past the feeling of having gotten run over by a train and then swallowed sandpaper while someone’s playing a drumset in his head, yoongi can’t find it in himself to question why jimin’s there.

jimin has just stepped in, tucked a wet towel around yoongi’s forehead and a fucking siren splits through the silence and yoongi tries to roll over.

“what the hell, get it away from me,” yoongi’s muttering as he tries to tug the covers up over his head, and jimin hastily stands up to let him do so. “please either throw it out the window or get your car and run it over.”

“i don’t have a car, hyung.” jimin doesn’t? yoongi could’ve sworn he did—wasn’t it blue, or wait, maybe orange, goddamnit, or maybe pink—

not important. “don’t care. buy one, then run it over.” it’s a simple solution, yoongi thinks, as he curls himself further into a ball. anything to get away from the sound.

jimin laughs, choked, incredulous, but it’s genuine and it isn’t thin, which is the only thing yoongi’s been able to associate with jimin’s laughs for the longest time.

“sorry, that’s my phone, let me get it,” jimin says, moving away from the bed, but stops when yoongi’s hands find their way around his wrist.

“don’t leave,” yoongi murmurs, and by then his eyes are closed; there’s a pool of black, so comforting, waiting for him at the end of the drop, waiting for him to let go but he can’t, not yet. “don’t leave again, jimin-ah.”

jimin looks concerned, eyebrows crinkled, mouth turned down. “yoongi-hyung? i’m not leaving. i just need to answer the phone.” yoongi’s hand only winds tighter at that.

“sorry,” yoongi says into the pillow, the covers. “i’m so sorry, sorry, jimin-ah, so sorry. sorry sorry sorry .”

jimin stands still, seemingly torn, before he takes his seat again, gently, by the foot of yoongi’s bed. “hyung?”

“sorry, i’m sorry, i said i’m sorry,” yoongi’s saying, the litany slipping from his lips, and it’s his only prayer in keeping jimin there; to prevent him from deserting him yet again.

jimin’s just watching him for the longest moment—what the hell does he see, why is he looking?—before he shushes him quietly. “it’s okay, i’m here.” the dreaded sound finally subsides, the wailing of the sirens, and jimin slips a hand into yoongi’s grasp, so yoongi uses that opportunity to intertwine their fingers.

jimin’s hand is a nice fit in his, like puzzle pieces finding each other and they just click and lock. yoongi never wants to let go. jimin is warm, safe. yoongi tugs on their linked hands experimentally, watching as jimin glances down at him in question, ever so attentive immediately.

yoongi watches the way his arm links to his hand, the way his hand links to jimin’s. and there’s nothing that’s stopping him in the moment, is there? there’s nothing that says he can’t. and it won’t matter, in the end, if it’s a dream anyway, because it would’ve been a very nice dream and then yoongi can sulk in peace by himself. “need to tell you something,” yoongi whispers under his breath, pulling jimin closer.

jimin takes the phone away from his ear for a second, eyes wide, leaning in until his ear is right beside yoongi’s mouth. “yeah?”

“sorry,” yoongi tries again, and this time rises slightly to press a kiss to jimin’s cheek, watching as jimin jerks back in surprise, and he finds himself giggling under his breath. he feels happy, warm, nice, for once. if this is a dream, then he might as well get it over with, since he doesn’t think he’ll get another chance like this. it’ll be something off his conscience, at any rate. “the answer to your question. i don’t like subin,” yoongi admits. “i don’t like your girlfriend. i don’t like how you give her more attention than me. i like you more than she does.” there’s more, so much more he wants to say but the cloud of black is closing in, welcoming him with open arms.

- x - x -

in the morning, the room smells faintly of jimin but there’s nothing else that indicates he was even there except for the wet towel beside the bed.

must be ghosts, or angels visiting.

- x - x -

two days later and somewhat functional again, the first thing yoongi does is charge and check his phone—he’s got a million notifications lying in wait, the first of which is a series of messages and missed calls from namjoon.

the second, oddly, is from jimin.

did you mean it?

it’s four cryptic words and yoongi stares at it for a good five minutes before robotically shifting fingers over the screen, wracking his brain for what he possibly could have done for jimin to send a message like that; how he possibly could have fucked up.

there’s options, none of which he particularly wants to bring up. how is he supposed to tell jimin if it turns out to be a dream? yeah, i meant what i said and i do want to kiss you, but wait, i just confused that with what happened in my imagination?

what

yesterday
when i was over

and yoongi’s heart is caught up in his throat, because does jimin mean yesterday as in what yoongi thinks he did and shit what if he fucked everything up already and jimin’s just testing the waters. all of a sudden he feels so small and he wishes he could just undo what happened on friday, wonders why he couldn’t have just gone to sleep.

instead of kissing jimin, which was a nice dream, except now it turns out it might not be a dream.

fuck, yoongi’s screwed up, and jimin seems to remember it from the way he’s probing, and if anything—

maybe

jimin doesn’t respond for the longest second, before the grey typing bubble pops up. it’s the longest wait in yoongi’s life.

we’re not
together you know
she’s not my girlfriend

and yoongi doesn’t comprehend for a moment, the implications, or why jimin’s sending it to him, of all people.

wait what
why
weren’t you happy with her

for a second, he’s terrified that he’s overstepped his boundaries again, but jimin’s next reply comes seconds later.

hyung she asked me out
i said no
i was going to tell you before
nevermind
who told you we were dating

yoongi doesn’t understand.

hyung, i was never with her
look, i talked to namjoon-hyung and he told me what was going on
i was confused becuase i didn’t understand why you were mad at me
so let’s try this again—
grab your coat hyung!!~ meet me outside the amusement park close to my house in thirty minutes (* ≧ ω ≦ *)

there’s something bubbling up in his chest, and in the first time in forever, it’s not heavy.