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Yoongi likes to go where his camera takes him. He traverses the city along the river, snapping shots of the grass as it sways to the breeze, of the sky when it turns a lilac orange shade. Sometimes when he finds the time, he likes to travel a bit farther into the countryside, where he will take pictures of the mud flats glistening in the afternoon sun, or the beads of condensation forming from a glass of cold beer out in the open.
His work is pretty flexible; being a photographer for hire has given him more than enough time to indulge in his quiet getaways. Sure, sometimes the lack of offers that he gets leaves him a little empty for the week, but what he lacks in cash he makes up for with hours at his hyung’s cafe, working on stocking the shelves in the back and cleaning the glasses in the sink (he won’t ever tell Seokjin-hyung, but he blesses the man for his existence).
Two years of saving up from his funds allows him a time to escape even farther from the usual busy streets of Seoul, and Yoongi finds himself buying a ticket to Japan in order to capture the season of cherry blossoms.
After a few days worth of mindless traveling and promises to bring back souvenirs filled, Yoongi finds himself in the coolness of a music shop in the early hours of the day, when most of the other stores have not been opened yet and the people are scarce. The lights in the store are bright and the shelves stacked with albums of different kinds. Most of the store, he notices, is covered with large posters of a group of three people, each the perfect definition of the term ‘pretty boy.’ Yoongi’s eyes catch on the middle one of the three, with a face that is innocent and sweet. His mouth holds no smile, but his disposition is soft, almost huggable, and Yoongi spends a few more seconds taking in the singer’s features before he wanders through the shelves.
It isn’t long until he happens along said group’s album, sitting on top of the others with an almost higher regard. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands to try and read whatever he can. Of course, everything is in Japanese, and Yoongi is shit at any language other than Korean (even then his tongue slips in a little of his native accent), so he is left staring intensely at the foreign back cover.
“Hello!” A voice rings out. That phrase is, undoubtedly, one of the few that he can understand, fortunately, and Yoongi whips his head up quickly in alarm. He really hopes it isn’t an employee trying to sell him anything--the last time that situation had happened was in one of the homemade candy stores along the many shopping streets of Japan, and had left both individuals in minor panic and embarrassment. Yoongi thinks he may have accidentally confessed to the poor lady while also insulting her hair in an attempt to speak any Japanese phrase he knew, and he really doesn’t want another retelling of that story.
What he sees, however, is not the pristine white and green shirt of the store employees, but a simple black hoodie that swamps the figure of the man looking back at him. His face is covered by a large pair of black sunglasses, but the smile the man gives off seems to radiate happiness by itself. Looking past the red beanie that sits atop the other’s head, Yoongi can see a bit of orange hair softly poking out, and he respects the man for the bold choice of color.
The man says something else in Japanese, and Yoongi has no idea what it means, but he hears the broken rendition of ‘album’ within it, and he assumes it has something to do with the CD currently in his hands.
“U-uhm,” he starts, not sure what to say. “Hello… Japanese... Uhm…” Shit, there isn’t any mirror but Yoongi’s pretty sure he looks as close to a terrified child as he possibly can right now.
The man tilts his head slightly, and Yoongi can almost see the wonder in the other’s smile, before the man slowly takes off his sunglasses, and Yoongi finds himself staring into those same, bright eyes as the ones on the poster.
Well, even more holy shit. Yoongi glances down at the CD in his hands. Undoubtedly, it is the man in front of him, eyes holding some sort of twinkle in them that Yoongi can’t seem to decipher.
“Are you a fan…?” The man asks in Japanese, albeit a little more carefully this time, more slowly, and the accentuation of each syllable allows Yoongi to make out what he tries to ask. Shit, he really should have studied Japanese before deciding to come here alone like an idiot. Jin-hyung’s never going to let him live this down.
“Ah, yes,” he says, and the idol’s (he was an idol, right? He sang, after all, and his face seemed too young to be anything else) smile grows wider. “Music… I like,” he says a little desperately, holding up the album as if in some sort of defense. “I will buy, thank you,” the sentence leaves his mouth a little rushed.
“Really?” The person says, a laugh slipping through his breath. “Thank you, then! Would you like a sign?” Truthfully, there were a few more sentences to this whole conversation (was it a conversation? He supposes it is; Yoongi has been answering the other, even if his vocabulary and understanding are both limited to twenty percent), but Yoongi can only make out these two coherently.
“Uhm, yes, yes. Please,” he replies, pointing at the counter with one hand. “I go now!” He really just wants to get out of this predicament. But the idol pouts this time, and points to the rest of the rack.
“Just that one?” He asks, and Yoongi makes to grab a few of the albums below where he recognizes the man’s face on the cover. The celebrity looks a little surprised at his action.
“All,” he says quickly, before he rushes to the counter, ignoring the call of ‘it was a joke!’ followed by a twinkling giggle behind him.
The cashier packs the CDs neatly into a plastic bag, and Yoongi almost curses at the number that shows up on the cash register, but suddenly there is a figure standing next to him, smile so wide Yoongi wonders how it doesn’t hurt, and he can’t find it in himself to take back his offer at buying those three CDs.
The cashier, a woman in her young twenties, perhaps, gasps visibly as her hand stills on his crumpled bill, and Yoongi waits in confusion before he realizes that right, the guy was famous, of course people would recognize him.
The two proceed to get into a small conversation (the lady is much more flustered on her part, and Yoongi can’t really blame her-- he would be flustered too, if any of the artists he listened to suddenly appeared in front of him), and Yoongi taps his foot in impatience as she refuses to put the money into the register and give him his change. With a huff, he quickly grabs the bag of albums (the money had been enough, and if he loses a few hundred yen then it wasn’t really a big problem anyways), his movement catching the attention of both individuals standing next to him.
“Ah, customer--!”
“Wait--” both call out at the same time, and Yoongi manages a half bow as he speed walks out of the store and into the empty streets. Apparently, his speed walking hadn’t been fast enough, because suddenly there is a hand grasping firmly onto his wrist and pulling him backwards, and Yoongi turns around with wide eyes.
It’s the orange-haired boy, eyes wide and breathing a little quicker than the norm. He releases his grip quickly, a flustered expression taking over as he apologizes profusely to the photographer.
“No…” Yoongi tries to tell him, waving his arms to try and get the message across. “I’m okay…” he says a little warily, and the other smiles at him shyly. Suddenly, he realizes that the boy was about his height (a feat he finds impressive, considering the fact that most of his friends have towered a few centimeters over him since high school), and the slight pink to his cheeks makes him seem even more endearing to look at.
Yoongi blinks, ridding the feeling from his chest as a feeling of confusion washes over him. That was weird. Yoongi’s never felt a sense of protection like that for anyone, not even for Hoseok when the other came crying into his apartment three years ago about a spider invasion in his house. No wonder this guy was famous.
“You forgot your money,” the man says, and Yoongi stares down at the other’s outstretched hand, holding a few wrinkled bills and a plethora of coins in his palm. When he makes no move to take it, the other reaches for his hand once again, and presses the change into his palm.
There is a small shock of electricity that Yoongi can’t really ignore, and by the small flinch on the other’s face he supposes the man feels it as well. He glances up and their eyes meet briefly, before the orange-haired man flickers his gaze down to the floor. His cheeks begin to blossom a cherry blossom shade of pink, but Yoongi supposes it must be the heat of the day (the breeze is very comfortable actually, but he’ll ignore that fact).
When the other looks up again, the uncertainty is gone from his eye and his face is brightened into a sweet smile again, and Yoongi dismisses the previous incident as static shock.
“I haven’t signed your albums yet,” the man says, and when Yoongi looks back at him with an almost blank expression his smiles seem to grow wider in affection, and he points to the white plastic bag in Yoongi’s hand. “If you give me them for a second, I can sign them. If you’d like, of course,” he says.
Yoongi blinks, looking at his albums, before he opens his mouth in a sort of ‘lightbulb’ moment (he misses another look of affection sent his way), and he holds them out towards the other man. Hey, if he had been conned into buying this Japanese idol’s albums, he may as well sell them off at a higher price, he reasons to himself.
The man takes them happily and frees the CDs from their wraps carefully, before pulling out a marker from one of his pockets, and he uncaps it with his mouth before he begins to sign. Yoongi looks around, realizing that most of the stores that had been closed were starting to open up. Sooner or later the street would begin to fill with people.
“--?” Yoongi snaps his head over to the sound of the other’s voice. “What is your name?” The man repeats with a smile, and Yoongi freezes.
“Ah--” he starts. Shit. was the other planning on writing his name in all of them? He wouldn’t be able to sell it, then. He debates against telling the other, but the curious look in the idol’s brown orbs has his mouth going slightly dry, and he feels his cheeks heating up.
“Min…” he starts, but drifts off, and the other nods slowly.
“Min-san, right? Or Min-kun?”
Yoongi babbles something incoherent, and the other laughs melodiously, eyes crinkling together in delight. Yoongi doesn’t really know what he had just said, but he doesn’t really mind if it makes the other laugh so happily, he realizes.
“Well then, Min-san, thank you for supporting me,” the man says as he takes the bag hanging from Yoongi’s hands to slip the albums inside. His fingers brush along his skin as he does so, and Yoongi can’t help but notice the small jolt that shoots up his spine.
‘Static,’ he tells himself, pressing his lips together. The other pulls back slightly, and for a minute the two stand silently, staring back at each other, before the celebrity smiles again, and Yoongi speaks automatically.
“Photo,” he says, and the man’s eyes widen slightly, before he nods.
“Okay,” he replies, and Yoongi scrambles for his camera before he realizes, shit, he hadn’t cleared his memory yet from yesterday’s visit to the park, and a small part of dread fills him knowing that he can’t capture the warmth that is radiating from the other man.
But then the orange-haired idol is holding up a phone, pressing himself into the side of Yoongi, and the latter belatedly realizes that he might have given off the wrong idea about what kind of photo he actually wanted. Either way, his lips curl automatically at the sight of his own face staring back at him, and not a second later there is a small click as the phone shutters the single moment into memory.
“Tha--” Yoongi makes to say a little dazedly, but a small squeal coming from behind him cuts him off, and he turns around to see a couple of girls holding their hands to their mouths as they point in his direction. He turns around to see the same charming smile on the other’s face as the people begin to swarm him, and he is pushed backwards.
Suddenly, the street seems five times busier than it was a few seconds ago, and Yoongi manages to meet eyes with the man for another split second. He sees a look of alarm, and maybe disappointment in the other’s gaze, before their paths are effectively blocked by another swarm of girls noticing the noise in the area.
Looking down at his albums, Yoongi lets out a small breath of air and swallows the small pang of disappointment in his chest. He turns around to begin his way back to the hotel, deciding to move the stored pictures in his camera onto his hard drive before he goes back out for his last day in Japan.
That night, as he looks through one of the CDs gingerly, not able to decipher the Japanese on it at all, he pauses on his way to set it down, eyes catching on a familiar logo printed at the corner of the back cover.
‘Big Hit,’ it says, and maybe there exists another Big Hit in Japan, but Yoongi can swear on Namjoon’s next mixtape that that logo is the exact same one as the entertainment company they have in Korea (which he conveniently passes by sometimes on his way to and from various job offers in the area).
“What the--”
--
“Hey,” Yoongi calls out from the couch of his friend’s apartment, and Seokjin’s hum rings out from the kitchen. Hoseok turns to him in the midst of his constant channel surfing, signalling that he is listening. Right next to him, Namjoon pays no attention, still in the process of scrolling through his phone. Bastard. Yoongi shoves his foot into the other’s space for fair measure.
“Hyung,” Namjoon calls out, an offended tone in his voice.
“Do you guys know Park Jimin of Bangtan?” he asks. He doesn’t know what he expects to come from them, but the variety of replies that he receives aren’t it, he supposes.
“Uh, duh?”
“I’m surprised you do? I would’ve believed you to be living in a rock all these years?”
“Oh my god, hyung, I love him, why?”
Yoongi blinks in surprise, before his face turns into a scowl and his foot shoves itself even further into Namjoon’s space.
“Hyung, what the heck?” Namjoon scowls before he slides off the sofa completely, going to rest on the floor next to Hoseok, who is still looking back at him with excited eyes. And oh no, he knows those eyes. Those were the same eyes Hoseok had when he heard Red Velvet’s new song playing on the radio before he proceeded to make it his theme song for the next month.
“Jiminie is the sun to my shine, hyung, the glow to my moon, the air to my Earth. He’s such a sweet angel, and he sings so well! Gosh, I wanna meet him someday,” Hoseok says with a smile, before his expression turns a little confused. “Not to take Namjoonie’s side though, but I am pretty surprised you know him. Even if he’s popular, you--uh, you haven’t really been too informed about the entertainment industry, hyung.”
Yoongi shrugs. “I didn’t. Until I went to Japan, I guess.”
“Ahh, yeah, I heard they were promoting in Japan right now, right, Hoseokie?” Seokjin says as he comes out holding a giant bowl of japchae. Yoongi knows it’ll be gone before the night is over, however. Hoseok nods, his eyes now shifting over to land on the japchae (along with everyone else’s). “Why, did you become a fan overnight or something?”
“No,” Yoongi spats quickly, and Seokjin gives him these judgemental eyes that has him sinking back into the couch. “I mean, I listened to some of their songs, and they’re pretty okay, I guess, but most are not really my style. A little too poppy for me.”
“Oh? So what about him then?”
Yoongi stays quiet for a bit before he goes to reach for his bag. He pulls out the three albums and places them on the table in front of his friends. The three of them seem to share a look before Hoseok breaks out into a shit-eating grin, slamming one hand on the table.
“I call bullshit, hyung. You’re trash for them. Or him, at least”
“Wha--”
“Who else buys all of their albums in one go?” Namjoon adds through a mouthful of noodles, and Yoongi almost laughs at Seokjin’s disgusted expression aimed towards him, but there are more important issues at hand.
“No, that’s not true, I had a reason--”
“You can’t be meaning to tell me that you bought it because of the aesthetics of the album, then,” Seokjin deadpans, and Yoongi bristles.
“No, I’m saying I met the guy in a music store, and he started speed talking to me in Japanese because he thought I was Japanese or something, so I got roped into buying his albums!”
There is a slight pause in the atmosphere, before Namjoon stabs his chopsticks into the bowl with a snort of laughter. “Okay, I call bullshit on that one,” he says, and Yoongi wants to slam his face into the noodles before he remembers that Seokjin had spent quite a bit of effort on them and would probably slice him alive if he did so.
“You’re bullshit,” he snaps back.
“Actually though, hyung, like Park Jimin is too busy to be ‘wandering the streets of Japan’ and happening upon unsuspecting fans like you,” Hoseok adds, ignoring Yoongi’s cries about how he is not a fan, thank you very much. “He’s in the middle of promotion, hyung. He’s probably too dead tired all the time to be wandering around anywhere where people might be able to find him.”
“It’s true,” Yoongi says, suddenly feeling defensive. He flips open one of his CDs, where the glittering silver marker shines on top of the rest of the pages of the photobook. The picture is one of Jimin, hands raised in the air and face tilted to the side as he blends into the background of black and white stripes.
It’s a little interesting, how Jimin is able to pull of such an intense expression even though he was nothing more than soft contours and warm smiles in real life. Yoongi’s eyes linger of the photo a bit longer before he clears his throat a little and turns the album over to show the others. “Look, he even signed it,” he says.
“It could have been someone else,” Hoseok says. “I don’t know, another fan trying to scam another poor person into buying their idol’s albums to support them.”
“Who has time for that these days?” Yoongi scowls, but at this time, Namjoon takes the CD from him and scans the page with a focused expression.
“Well,” he says with a sigh after a few seconds. “Whoever it was, it definitely wasn’t Park Jimin. I don’t think he’s allowed to blatantly flirt with his fans in their photobooks.”
At this, Yoongi’s eyes widen, and he splutters as both Hoseok and Seokjin dive for the CD. Namjoon falls backwards with a shout of alarm, and then proceeds to groan under the two bodies that are splayed out on top of him. “Guys, get off,” he calls. “I just inhaled a plate of japchae and I want to eat another before I throw up on you all.”
“What does it say?!” Hoseok says excitedly. “I never thought anyone would find Yoongi-hyung attractive in my life!”
“Want to die tonight, Jung Hoseok,” Yoongi scowls, and he makes to reach for the CD back before Seokjin pulls it away from his reach.
“Well, I don’t know, Hobi, Yoongi is pretty darn adorable, despite what he wants to seem like,” he says, and the scowl on Yoongi’s face only seems to darken. Hoseok looks at him before he shrugs, making a noise of approval.
“Namjoon-ah, what does it say?” Seokjin asks, and Yoongi looks over to see that his oh so great of a friend has already flipped through the other two albums, and there is an increasing look of amusement in his smile as he flips through the rest of the photobook.
“Well,” he says as Yoongi throws himself off the couch to snatch the albums from the other’s hands. “I can definitely tell the order this imposter Park Jimin wrote them in, seeing as how he got bolder and bolder in each one,” Namjoon finishes while wiggling his eyebrows, and Yoongi feels his cheeks heating up as he digs his feet into the other’s side.
“I thought I saw the letters for cute, if I’m correct about what my apron says,” Seokjin claims, and Namjoon laughs.
“Not wrong, hyung,” he says.
“You guys are jackasses,” Yoongi sighs in irritation, before he looks down at the CD in his hands.
“Too bad imposter Park Jimin didn’t leave a number in here though,” Namjoon says with a shrug, and Seokjin laughs.
“Now that would’ve been unallowed, for sure.”
“Look, guys, he wasn’t--he couldn’t have been--” Yoongi splutters as he tries to find any sort of evidence to prove his words. His eyes roam the room on instinct, and he almost scoffs at his own actions when his eyes fall to his camera, placed carefully on the drawer near the kitchen (Yoongi had dubbed it his camera’s resting place ever since finding out that Seokjin had forbidden Namjoon from going anywhere near his kitchen. He even placed a pillow under it for good measure, to his hyung’s annoyance, but hey. You had to be careful with important things in a room with Kim Namjoon).
Yoongi stares at it almost dumbly, before the wide smile of the orange haired boy pops up in his mind and he scrambles for his phone. “Wait--wait guys I have a picture,” he says with a rushed voice, and that statement serves to get their attention.
However, a few minutes pass as he scrolls manically throughout his galleries (which, sadly are a little empty, since everything is usually saved onto his camera. He even manages to reach the files he’s taken years ago, when Namjoon’s hair was still black and the guy still called him hyung with respect. Yoongi shudders at the photo), and the steadily growing confusion on his face serves nothing but to increase the doubt in the room.
“Ah,” he finally says his third time into his photos. “It’s not on my phone.”
The three of them stare at him, unimpressed, before the three of them make for their chopsticks again.
“Hurry up and eat, hyung, or it’ll be all gone, and you’re kind of skinny,” Hoseok says as he chews, and Yoongi almost lets out a whine of frustration.
“I’m not kidding! I swear!”
“Yeah, because your little selca would oh so conveniently not be in your phone, right? I know now how much you love the guy, okay, hyung? We can fanboy together later, maybe in the darkness of a closet if you want, I don’t really mind. Let’s just eat, okay?” Hoseok asks with a pitying smile, and the patronizing tone he takes on makes Yoongi chuck a few strands of the glass noodles in his face (this in turn leads to a small spat which is quickly averted when Seokjin snaps at them not to waste his food).
He chews almost angrily (although not really because he is kind of hungry. And hey, Seokjin’s noodles are pretty darn good, no matter how much he pretends to judge them), eyeing the albums in distaste. See, this is why he doesn’t go anywhere without his camera anymore.
One missed moment, and it may have well been just a dream.
--
(Closer than one would think, less than an hour away by car, a smartphone is open to the very picture Yoongi had been talking about, with two smiling men and bright, bright hair staring into the camera.
“Bangtan, you’re on in ten!”
The hand holding the phone makes to exit the screen. Not a second later the phone darkens, and Jimin places the phone down on the waiting room table as his other hand runs through his hair from habit.
“Okay!” He calls as he gets up from his seat, fingers fidgeting with the attached microphone and earbuds.)
--
“I’m heading over right now, okay?” Yoongi says, cheek pressed uncomfortably close to his shoulder as he tries to keep his phone pressed to his ear, one hand clamped around his coffee and another digging for the crumpled piece of paper inside of his pockets.
“I can’t believe you forgot about today, hyung--I made sure to write like fifty post-it notes in your apartment and you still--”
“And that’s why I’m coming right now okay? Look, Hoseok, I really appreciate your tendency to steal my spare keys and stick neon colors around my bathroom but if you don’t hang up then I will be even later than--Shit!” Yoongi shouts into the phone as someone bumps into him, causing the coffee in his cup to spill onto his hand.
Yoongi hisses, hanging up as he inspects the damage done. His hand is slightly red, but other than that it doesn’t look too serious, and he throws the cup out into the nearest trash with a click of his tongue. The coffee from that cafe tastes like crap, anyways.
He arrives with a frazzled expression and five missed calls on his phone, and manages to meet with Hoseok as the people are filing into a small, auditorium sort of room.
“You’re such an ass, hyung, I’m doing this for your sake too, you know?” That statement cause Yoongi to freeze in his actions, hand paused through his inspection of the camera dangling from his neck.
“My sake?” He asks with a grimace. “What is for my sake?”
Hoseok’s grin turns wide at this (Yoongi thinks he’s seen it too often these days. His overwhelming urge to punch it off of his friend is slightly concerning) and he gestures around to the rest of the room. “Where do you think we are, hyung? We’re at a fanmeeting, of course!”
--
“Jimin-oppa, you have a really nice smile!” The girl says with a shy smile as she places a small set of stickers on the table in front of him. Jimin looks up from the midst of writing his message with a smile.
“Thank you, it’s because of you, you know?” he says, watching with a fond smile as the girl lights up in happiness at the remark. Jimin chuckles lightly as he finishes his signature, adding a small bunny at the end. The ear looks a little lopsided, but there isn’t much he can do to fix it without ruining the whole page as well, and so he adds a little note of apology on the side before he closes the album and proceeds to look at the stickers.
They’re adorable, small bunnies and cute emoticons of different expressions, and Jimin peels one of a bunny pulling a shocked expression before he sticks it onto the cheek of the man sitting next to him.
The person turns to him with a shocked expression himself, and Jimin bursts out laughing as he turns to the giggling girl in front of him. “Looks like him, right?” He asks, and she nods enthusiastically.
“That’s why I chose it,” she says, seeming to get over her previous uneasiness. The boy peels the sticker off his face and examines it for a second, before he proceeds to try and imitate the expression on the animal.
“Am I doing it right?” He asks, a smile threatening to break through, and the fan in front of him nods.
“Your teeth looks similar,” she responds, and Jimin bursts out into a loud laugh.
“Kookie-bunny!” he coos, trying to wrap his arms around the other, and Jungkook pushes him off with a faked scowl of irritation. He’s too busy laughing at the adorableness that makes up the maknae of his group that when it’s already time for the people to move ahead, he allows the girl to grab onto his hand out of guilt for not paying her more attention. She takes the offer easily, if the flush that blooms on her cheeks is any indication.
His focus has been significantly distracted enough in making his goodbye to said girl worth remembering that when he turns back to look his new fan in the eye, he nearly does a double take. There, bending in front of him, with the same memorable look of uncertainty as he last remembered, is the shy Japanese male fan he had the luck of meeting during the end of their Japan promotions, and Jimin is surprised at how fast the words slip out of his mouth next.
“Min-san!” He says with a happiness that even he is surprised to feel. Sure, he appreciates all of his fans and is always happy to see a new or familiar face pop up in front of him, but this time it seems as if the breath almost leaves him completely with the overwhelming feeling of fondness that latches onto his heart.
“I’m so happy to see you again! How are you? Thank you for coming to see us!” He says, hoping that his grammar has come out coherently enough. He tends to slip up a lot during on-the-fly conversations like the one he is having right now, and the look the man in front of him is sporting doesn’t really serve to boost his confidence, but at this point Jimin is a little too excited to care.
“It must’ve been far! How is your stay in Korea? My--” and then, faltering a little in his smile, Jimin bites his lip before continuing. “My messages, did you read them?” he asks, suddenly feeling a small heat gathering on his face.
The other stares at him with an unreadable blank expression, before he quickly blurts something out in response. “I’m Korean,” he says in a language too familiar to Jimin’s ears.
“Huh?” Jimin finds himself responding a little dumbly.
“And I have no idea what you just said,” the other adds, face looking a little more flustered than before.
Jimin opens and closes his mouth a few times in shock. “You… you’re Korean?” He finally repeats, and the other nods apologetically.
“Yeah, sorry,” he says, “I only went on Japan for a small vacation and I didn’t know you were Korean too, so I…” he trails off with a small grimace, and Jimin leans back slightly.
“You said… you were a fan?” At the other’s sheepish expression and slight shake of the head, Jimin feels a small pang of disappointment building inside him. “Ah... “ he muses, before attempting a smile. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t come out quite as happy as he would like, however. “Well, all that matters is that you’re a fan now, right?”
“What the-- hyung! You weren’t kidding about meeting Park Jimin?” Another voice cuts their conversation, and Jimin’s eyes flit over next to him, where another male is leaning over with curious eyes.
“Get back to your own idol, Jung,” the man snaps, before seeming to remember where he is and clearing his throat awkwardly. Jimin smiles fondly at the gesture as he proceeds to open the man’s album. He’s seen his manager’s eyes probing him to hurry on with his pace. Luckily, both Jungkook and Taehyung still seem to be quite invested in their signing.
“Well then, Min-ssi--”
“Yoongi,” the other interrupts, and Jimin looks up again.
“Yoongi?”
“Min Yoongi. Is my full name,” he says with a shrug, and Jimin nods in response, wondering what to write. There is a short silence between the two of them, made less uncomfortable by the bustling of the crowd and the clicking of cameras below the stage.
“Uhh, was I supposed to bring a present for you..?” Yoongi asks hesitantly as he notices all the gifts behind the other’s chair, and Jimin smiles up at him.
“Just you being here is a present in itself,” he replies, and he watches the other man’s eyes widen slightly at the remark, before breaking eye contact and nodding slowly. It’s something that he’s practiced on other fans so many times, but this particular time Jimin finds himself a little surprised by how genuinely it falls from his lips. As he finishes his message, a small thought pops into his mind.
“Yoongi-ssi, then,” he says, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. “Then you must not have understood the messages I wrote?”
At this, Jimin hears no response, and he feels his heart sink slightly, but when he gathers the courage to raise his gaze he finds the other frozen with a red tint traveling as far as to the tips of his ears, and suddenly he finds his heart beginning to stutter a bit too as he looks back down and messily doodles a random cat onto the page.
“I--ah,” the other splutters, and Jimin lets out a shaky laugh at the inner turmoil going on through the others head. A loud voice, however, snaps him out of his conversation.
“Jiminie-hyung is taking a while! Should I bother him?” Jungkook asks into the microphone, and Jimin hears the squeals of agreement coming from the fans in reply. Scowling at the maknae, Jimin takes this as his warning cue to end the conversation.
“Well then, Yoongi-ssi, I suppose I’ll be seeing you around?” he asks hopefully, and the other looks a little frazzled.
“I mean--yeah, I guess--if I have time,” he breaks into a mumble, and Jimin smiles what he hopes is the warmest he can muster as he watches the man scoot over next to him.
“I’ll take that as a promise,” he says, and he vaguely registers the pink on the other’s ears as he turns back to the front, where Yoongi’s friend stares back at him with a slightly concerning smile.
“Uhm... “ Jimin says a little nervously, before remembering his manners. “Hello!” He tries again, putting on another smile.
“He does have a beautiful smile, doesn’t he?” The man in front of him asks, and Jimin’s smile falters as his cheeks turn pink. Oh god, of course this friend of Yoongi’s would have read them, too.
“A-and so do you! May I please have your name?” Jimin congratulates himself for the good save, and he finds that this statement is not technically false when the man in front of him smiles back brightly, the teasing now gone from his eyes.
“Thank you,” he says, “my name is Hoseok. You can just write Hobi, I’d prefer that nickname more.”
Jimin nods, and he finds that conversation with Hoseok flows easily, with the man being almost similar to Taehyung in energy and happiness. When it comes time to leave, Hoseok slides over a folded piece of paper that Jimin had seen him fiddling with during their conversation.
“A fan letter of thanks,” he says, and Jimin nods in gratitude as he holds it close to him. He’ll read the fan letters later when he has time, since he knows some of them to be quite long. He doesn’t want to waste their efforts by reading them with a distracted focus.
The rest of the fanmeeting goes off without a hitch, and it’s slightly disappointing how fast the event ends (Jimin won’t admit it out loud, but he’s a little sad that he couldn’t catch a glimpse of Yoongi and Hoseok in the crowd as they stood around during photo time), but the end is cheerful and the three of them leave from the stage with thankful hearts and minds.
Back in the van, as they proceed to drive to the next location, Jimin chooses to look through all of his fan letters (he notices Taehyung and Jungkook doing the same, although the former will probably succumb to carsickness pretty soon), reading each one with utmost concentration. The letters are encouraging, some deep, others light, and with every letter Jimin gets shocked with just how observant and giving his fans are. Every word of thanks just works to increase his own gratitude towards his fans, and he vows to work harder in the future to be a man they can be proud of.
When he gets to the slip of white paper, standing out in its simplicity amongst the cutely designed cards and elaborate colors, the content is as he expected. It is sunny and happy, but what catches his eye is the little scribble down at the bottom, written in much messier handwriting than the rest of the letter, almost rushed. Jimin’s eyes widen, but he composes himself quickly and folds the paper back with a carefully blank expression, tucking it deep into his bag along with the rest of his letters.
‘Hyung’s number -
XXX-XXX-XXXX’
--
END