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It had been five weeks since Yoongi’s shoulder surgery—a procedure that had loomed over him for months. The injury had been an unwelcome companion throughout his career, always present in the back of his mind, weighing on his performances. When the surgery was finally scheduled, a mixture of relief and anxiety had settled over him. Now, in the midst of recovery, he found himself navigating the frustrations of a slower pace of life. Physical therapy was a necessity, but it wasn’t easy, physically or emotionally.
The lingering effects of the pandemic only made things harder. Isolation was something Yoongi thought he’d grown accustomed to, given his naturally introverted nature, but this was different. The familiar bustling world had quieted, and the absence of his members in the day-to-day had left an aching void. The walls of his apartment felt smaller, the hours longer. He had watched every performance the group had done in his absence, equal parts proud and longing. But there was one person whose absence had been harder to endure.
Jimin, who called him minutes before surgery with a voice so full of worry it almost made Yoongi feel guilty, had been relentless in checking in. But he still had the courage to say: “Hyung, it’ll be okay. Don’t worry too much.” Their texts and calls had been a source of comfort, but nothing compared to having Jimin beside him.
Last night, Jimin had landed in Seoul after a packed schedule abroad. And the first thing he did was calling his hyung, telling that today he’d dedicated his entire day to Yoongi. The thought of seeing Jimin again, of having him there for something as mundane as therapy, stirred something warm and bittersweet in Yoongi's chest.
The morning started quietly. Yoongi ate a light breakfast, his movements careful and measured, the sling on his arm a constant reminder of his current state. He was just setting his bowl in the sink when his phone buzzed: "I’m outside :)"
Yoongi made his way to the car, where Jimin was waiting, leaning casually against the side of it, his blond hair glowing softly in the morning sun. The sight of him was enough to make Yoongi’s breath hitch for a second. Jimin grinned as soon as he spotted him, eyes bright with an eagerness that sent a flicker of something tender through Yoongi.
“Morning, hyung,” Jimin said, opening the passenger door for him.
“Morning,” Yoongi mumbled, sliding in.
As Jimin started the car, Yoongi felt Jimin’s gaze flick toward his sling. It wasn’t the first time he’d caught Jimin looking like that—with quiet worry etched into his expression.
“You don’t have to stare,” Yoongi teased, though his voice was soft.
Jimin didn’t look away immediately, biting his lip. “I’m not staring. I’m… monitoring.”
“You’re worrying too much,” Yoongi said, raising an eyebrow. “What, afraid I’ll fall apart in the car?”
Jimin huffed. “Someone has to worry. If I don’t, who will?”
“Probably half the country,” Yoongi quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Jimin rolled his eyes but fought back a grin. The drive fell into a comfortable quiet after that, save for the soft hum of the radio. Still, Yoongi could feel Jimin’s glances every so often, as if to make sure he really was okay.
The rehabilitation center smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender. Yoongi had been here often enough to recognize the staff and the layout, but today felt different with Jimin at his side. His therapist, an older woman with kind eyes and a firm demeanor, greeted him warmly.
“How’s the shoulder today, Mr. Min?”
“It’s fine,” Yoongi said, his tone betraying his reluctance.
The therapist smiled knowingly, her gaze drifting to Jimin. “And you brought a helper today.”
“Oh, I’m not—” Jimin started, but Yoongi cut in.
“He’s just here to worry and hover.”
Jimin rolled his eyes but stayed silent, his focus already shifting to Yoongi.
Mrs. Choi chuckled, clearly used to such dynamics between patients and their companions. Then she turned her attention back to Yoongi. “Let’s start with some range-of-motion exercises. Remember, this is about controlled movements. Don’t push too hard; we’re building up strength and flexibility slowly.”
Yoongi nodded, already bracing himself.
Mrs. Choi began with passive stretches. She gently lifted Yoongi’s arm, supporting it beneath the elbow and wrist. “This first exercise helps maintain flexibility in the shoulder joint. It’s all about guiding the arm, not forcing it.”
Jimin stood to the side, watching closely as Mrs. Choi moved Yoongi’s arm in slow arcs. Yoongi’s face remained impassive, but the slight tightening of his jaw didn’t escape Jimin’s eyes.
“Pain level?” Mrs. Choi asked, pausing mid-movement.
“Four,” Yoongi replied, his voice clipped.
Next, Mrs. Choi guided Yoongi to a seated pulley system, where a rope ran through a mechanism above his head. Yoongi had to use his good arm to pull down one end of the rope, which in turn lifted his recovering arm.
Yoongi gripped the pulley handles, his movements slow and cautious. The rope creaked softly as he pulled, his left arm lifting. Jimin hovered nearby, watching every wince and grimace. But then Yoongi’s face tightened during a particularly difficult stretch. He kept his jaw tight, determined to push through, but his focus wavered when Jimin’s voice cut through the air.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt, hyung?” Jimin’s voice was quiet but insistent, his brow furrowed, eyes scanning Yoongi like he might break.
“It’s fine,” Yoongi muttered, though the sweat beading on his temple betrayed him. “I'm fine.”
Jimin’s frown deepened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he inched closer. “You don’t have to act tough, hyung,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of worry and frustration.
“I’m not,” Yoongi shot back, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
“Still…” Jimin muttered, his hand twitching as though he wanted to help but didn’t know how.
The therapist, noticing this, smiled. “Would you like to learn how to assist him at home? It could be helpful for his recovery.”
Jimin hesitated, glancing at Yoongi. “Can I?”
“You don’t have to,” Yoongi mumbled, a faint flush creeping up his neck as nerves twisted in his chest. The thought of Jimin seeing him like this—vulnerable, needing help—made his heart race.
“I want to,” Jimin said firmly, his gaze steady and resolute.
The therapist demonstrated a series of movements Jimin could assist with—gentle resistance exercises and stretches that required another person. Jimin listened intently, nodding along, though his hands trembled slightly when he first placed them on Yoongi’s arm.
“It’s normal for Yoongi-ssi to feel some discomfort, but sharp pain is a sign to stop. Jimin, you can help by steadying his arm if it starts to tremble.” She demonstrated briefly, placing a firm but gentle hand just above Yoongi’s elbow.
“Like this?” Jimin asked, his voice tentative as he mirrored her movements.
“Exactly,” Mrs. Choi said with a smile.
When Jimin’s hand settled on his arm, warm and steady, Yoongi’s breath caught for a moment. The touch was careful, almost reverent, yet it sent a wave of awareness through him. He tried to focus on the exercise, but his thoughts betrayed him.
Through the mirror, Yoongi caught a glimpse of Jimin, his golden hair glowing in the sunlight, his expression tender and focused.
He’s so handsome, Yoongi thought, his chest tightening, and he’s right here, touching me.
The realization hit him like a sudden gust of wind—Jimin was too close, his presence overwhelming in the best way. The faint scent of his cologne hung in the air, something crisp and citrusy that made Yoongi’s heart race.
Yoongi side-eyed Jimin again, trying to hide his true feelings. “You’re hovering again.”
“Shut up and let me help you,” Jimin retorted, though his hands were impossibly gentle as they steadied Yoongi’s arm.
The therapist’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Mr. Min, you’re tensing up. Relax your shoulder. Let it move naturally.”
Jimin leaned in closer, his hands steadying Yoongi’s other arm. “Hyung, listen to her,” he said, his voice gentle but teasing. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep being stubborn.”
Yoongi exhaled sharply, focusing on the motion instead of the way Jimin’s fingers brushed against him. “I am listening.”
After that, they moved to resistance training with a stretch band. Mrs. Choi handed Yoongi a light resistance band, demonstrating how to loop it around a stable pole. Yoongi took the band, his movements slow and controlled as he pulled. His brow furrowed deeper with each repetition, and by the fifth pull, his arm trembled visibly.
Jimin was at his side in an instant. “Hyung, you’re shaking—shouldn’t we stop?”
Yoongi shook his head, his voice tight. “It’s supposed to burn a little.”
Mrs. Choi nodded in agreement. “That’s true, but you can pause to rest between sets. Don’t overdo it.” She turned to Jimin again. “If you’re going to help him, it’s important to recognize when he’s pushing too hard. Let’s go over how you can spot that.”
Jimin listened intently as Mrs. Choi demonstrated how to support Yoongi’s arm during resistance exercises, ensuring the band’s tension was evenly distributed. His hands were hesitant at first, trembling slightly as he adjusted Yoongi’s grip again.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jimin whispered as he guided Yoongi’s arm into position.
“You’re not going to hurt me,” Yoongi assured him, though the gentleness in Jimin’s touch made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with his shoulder.
They worked through the exercises, Jimin growing more confident with each movement. But the tension between them never quite eased.
When the session ended, Mrs. Choi handed Jimin a printout of the exercises. “You’ve got the hang of it, but feel free to call if you have any questions while helping him at home. He’s lucky to have someone so dedicated.”
Jimin blushed faintly but didn’t comment, too busy ensuring Yoongi was comfortable as they made their way back to the car.
“You’ve gotten heavier,” Jimin teased, adjusting his grip as he helped Yoongi into the passenger seat.
Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “No, you’ve just gotten weaker. All those skipped gym sessions catching up to you now, Jimin-ah?”
Jimin huffed, fastening Yoongi’s seatbelt before climbing into the driver’s side. “Well, hurry up and get better so we can train together again.”
“You’re just eager to lose to me again,” Yoongi quipped, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.
“Please,” Jimin shot back, though his grin betrayed him. “I’m going to destroy you once you’re healed.”
Yoongi let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and warm. “We’ll see about that.”
Their bickering felt natural, but underneath the teasing, there was an unspoken tenderness neither of them acknowledged. Yoongi glanced at him, his heart stuttering at the sight of Jimin driving him home as he let his head rest against the seat with a small smile on his lips.
The sun hung low in the winter sky as they returned to Yoongi’s apartment. The familiar scent of cedarwood and the faint hum of the heater greeted them as they stepped inside. Jimin immediately moved to set their things down, his movements natural and at home in Yoongi’s space.
“You sit,” Jimin said, pointing at the couch. “I’ll take care of the food.”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. His shoulder ached faintly, a dull reminder of the session, and the couch looked far too inviting to resist. He lowered himself onto it carefully, watching as Jimin rummaged through the bags of takeout he’d ordered earlier.
Minutes later, Jimin joined him with two steaming bowls of ramen and a small tray of side dishes. He set everything on the coffee table and plopped down beside Yoongi, just close enough that their knees brushed.
“Eat up, hyung,” Jimin said, offering him a pair of chopsticks.
Yoongi accepted them with his good hand, giving Jimin a soft, grateful smile. The warmth of the broth spread through him as he took his first bite, easing the tension that had settled in his body during therapy.
The room was quiet except for the sound of their eating, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that felt safe, like an unspoken understanding between them.
Jimin was the first to break it, his voice soft. “I put everything I had into every performance while we were abroad.”
Yoongi glanced at him, his chopsticks pausing mid-air. “Yeah?”
Jimin nodded, setting his bowl down. “Yes. But then I watched them all again and…” He hesitated, his eyes dropping to the table before meeting Yoongi’s gaze again. “It wasn’t the same without you. I missed you so much, hyung.”
Yoongi’s chest tightened at the admission, his throat suddenly dry. He looked away, focusing on the steam rising from his bowl. “I missed you too,” he said quietly, his voice almost swallowed by the room.
“For you, it must’ve been harder,” Jimin continued, his words tumbling out now. “Being alone, not being able to join us, watching instead of performing. I kept thinking about how much you’d hate that.”
“It was hard,” Yoongi admitted, his gaze fixed on the table. “But it was harder knowing you were all out there, working so hard while I was just… here. I wanted to be there with you. For you.”
Jimin’s breath caught, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he slid closer, reaching out hesitantly before wrapping his arms around Yoongi.
The hug was sudden and fierce, and Yoongi stiffened at first, his senses overwhelmed by the closeness. Jimin’s scent wrapped around him. He relaxed slowly, leaning into the embrace.
Jimin’s heartbeat thudded against his chest, fast and steady, and Yoongi closed his eyes, letting himself feel it. The warmth of Jimin’s body seeped into him, chasing away the lingering chill of the day.
“You scared me, you know,” Jimin whispered against his shoulder. “The surgery, everything. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I—” He broke off, holding Yoongi tighter, as if afraid he might disappear.
Yoongi swallowed hard, his own heart pounding now. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words tangled in his throat. Instead, he raised his good arm, awkwardly draping it around Jimin’s back.
The hug lingered, and in that moment, Yoongi felt something shift inside him. He wanted to say it—to confess how much Jimin meant to him, how his absence had been unbearable, how his presence now made Yoongi’s world feel whole.
But he didn’t.
Not yet.
Instead, he let himself savor the moment, the warmth of Jimin’s body against his, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He thought about how much he loved having Jimin like this—here, in his home, just the two of them. He wanted this forever.
“You’re going to crush my bad shoulder,” Yoongi murmured finally, his voice teasing but low.
Jimin pulled back instantly, his eyes wide with worry. “Oh my God, did I—”
Yoongi cut him off with a soft laugh. “I’m kidding, Jiminie.”
Jimin narrowed his eyes, clearly torn between relief and annoyance. “You’re such a jerk sometimes.”
“You love it,” Yoongi said, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying his playful tone.
Jimin laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and Yoongi felt his chest ache—not from pain, but from how much he wanted to keep this moment.
As the evening stretched on, they stayed close, their banter filling the apartment with a warmth that had been missing for too long. Yoongi didn’t confess that night, but in his heart, he knew.
Jimin was already part of his life.