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jimin first sees him in freshman year. he’s dragged to a university basketball game in the fifth week of classes by his roommate who has a crush on half the cheerleaders and at least two of the players. jimin sees him on the sidelines, next to the bench. he’s wearing a uniform, jersey baggy on his slim frame, eyes darting rapidly from hoop to hoop as he follows the game with impressive focus. jimin’s attention remains on the sidelines. someone scores, and the crowd roars in a mix of disappointment and pride. the ref blows his whistle and there’s a wave of argument. the game continues but jimin watches the unknown player exclusively. players switch out. they tap him on the shoulders, accept half-hearted high fives and inaudible compliments. one ruffles his hair, which annoys the boy greatly. more players change places. he doesn’t play for a single second.
jimin first meets him in sophomore year. his favorite professor doubles as the basketball coach and personally invites jimin (despite jimin’s lack of relevant knowledge) to act as the team manager. he lets the players introduce themselves. some of them are familiar, and tease jimin. the others greet him more politely, but equally warm. one hangs at the back, half-hidden by the other players clambering to talk to jimin. eventually, as they cycle through introductions, he’s in full view. the boy on the side lines. he scowls. he won’t look at jimin. he mutters “min yoongi” and leaves before jimin can say hello.
jimin first talks to him in junior year. yoongi carefully avoided him in every practice and eventually jimin decided it was easier to leave him alone. the most interaction they have for months is the dirty looks yoongi gives jimin whenever he gets caught staring. coach asks jimin to go early to set up drills, one saturday. they have the final game in their tournament coming up soon and the players are allowed to do three things and three things only: eat, sleep, and practice. when Jimin enters the gym, he finds yoongi already inside, alone. he’s situated at one end of the court, a ball in his lap. he doesn’t seem to hear jimin come in, or, he just pretends not to notice. instead, he pushes, hard, moving away from the wall at what jimin imagines to be a dangerous speed considering the low-friction flooring. he keeps pushing until he’s a third of the way across the court, where he releases his wheels to pick up the ball in his lap.
yoongi lets his wheelchair coast, lining up the shot. he throws the ball in a high arc at the exact moment he reaches half court.
he shoots. he scores.
jimin, by nature, is incapable of remaining calm. the gym door creaks and closes with a noisy thud. if that wasn’t enough to alert yoongi as he slows artfully to a stop a few feet away from the wall, jimin’s excited yell of “amazing!” and squealing shoes again linoleum would be.
his head whips in jimin’s direction, and the faint remains of a smile disappear into a scowl when he registers jimin’s intrusion. and then, yoongi speaks directly to him for the first time, calling “get the fuck out!” across the room. the sentence echoes through the empty court, bouncing off the high walls a little terrifyingly.
either he’s too impressed by the skill he’s newly learned yoongi possesses or he’s been desensitized to yoongi’s coarse attitude but the words don’t deter jimin.
“that was so cool!” jimin bounces happily in place. he wonders what yoongi would do if he asked for a replay before declaring, “that’s, like, the best thing i’ve ever seen!”
yoongi doesn’t seem to appreciate jimin’s onslaught of awed compliments, ignoring them in favor of maneuvering his chair back towards the locker room. even as jimin follows, singing his praises, yoongi won’t even smile. he frowns all the way to the door, braking suddenly to cause jimin to trip over his wheel where he’s trailing too closely.
“you didn’t see anything, okay?” yoongi commands, fixing a deadly stare on jimin that does a much better job of shutting him up than the earlier request to fuck off, “so just leave me alone.”
jimin just doesn’t understand.
jimin first messes up three days before the last game of the tournament, halfway through the early morning practice. he hasn’t stopped thinking about yoongi’s perfect half-court shot since the second he saw it, and he just can’t comprehend why he’s never seen yoongi play in a game before. after the first game, when he was fascinated with the boy on the sidelines, jimin hasn’t missed a match. even before becoming an assistant, jimin was there week after week. yoongi was consistently on the sidelines.
during practices, yoongi participates in weight lifting and passing, sometimes making a few close shots when he and a ball end up near the hoop at the same time. but, just like games, jimin watches him pushed to the sidelines play after play. seeing what yoongi can do, he doesn’t get it.
jimin doesn’t think he’s making a mistake when he, a few players loitering near the bench while the rest jump into warmups, asks the coach blatantly, “why don’t you put yoongi in?”
it, to him, seems to be a fair and necessary question. they have to know that yoongi is a talented player. he’s on the team, and jimin’s seen tryouts. no one gets on the team without a tryout, and the cuts are big. only the best come back for the first practice. if yoongi is that good, good enough to stay for three years, as good as jimin saw, he needs to be out on the court.
instead, he’s reduced to nothing but a grouchy cheerleader and occasional play maker. he’s a better assistant coach than jimin is. the only difference is yoongi wears a jersey and looks at the court with a desperate longing while jimin has a polo and stands near the bench in a constant state of only vague understanding. what he lacks in knowledge he makes up for with enthusiasm.
an awkward silence that jimin understands less than the quick movements of players and subsequent reactions of the audience falls over the nearby team members. the coach shifts uncomfortably under the apparent weight of jimin’s question, a weight he didn’t expect it to have.
jimin thinks he hears someone call him an idiot under their breath, but he doesn’t get the chance to look for who because suddenly there is a heavy, actual weight on his foot and excruciating pain spreading through three of his toes. the fact that yoongi just literally ran over his foot takes several seconds to settle in, jimin’s shock shared by the witnesses.
“park jimin, i told you to mind your own fucking business,” yoongi bites out the words with such force that jimin feels himself crumble and it’s not from the possibly broken toes. he sees the embarrassed flush spreading like wild fire up yoongi’s neck and onto his cheeks, misreads it as anger, physically shrinks back, “you don’t know anything, idiot.” so that’s who it was.
no one speaks. yoongi leaves. jimin looks warily up at the coach’s pinched expression. he doesn’t learn his lesson, presses further, “you know he’s good, right?”
this time, the answer is immediate, contrite, “it’s more complicated than that.”
jimin doesn’t get it. he doesn’t get what’s complicated about a game. he doesn’t get what could be more simple than boy is good at game, boy plays game. he doesn’t get the silence. he doesn’t get yoongi’s rage.
maybe he really doesn’t know anything.
jimin first has a conversation with him the day of their finale. yoongi, shockingly, starts it off by saying, “you’re cruel, park jimin,” when jimin settles in next to him behind the driver on the bus taking them to the opposing team’s arena. his chair is folded up and stashed in the leg space of the seat across the aisle, where jimin had originally planned to sit.
“what does that mean?” jimin asks. normally, he has to say at least one sentence before people start insulting him. he’s got a new record going, with yoongi. people tend not to get annoyed by him until at least the fourth conversation, when they realize that the uncontrollable energy and laughable naivety and goofy demeanor are not a result of too much caffeine and too little sleep but jimin’s default.
“you know i can’t go anywhere, asshole,” yoongi explains dryly, gesturing with a wide swing of his arm to both the buckle that is keeping him strapped against the back rest of the seat and his paralyzed legs. the notion of force makes jimin squirm uncomfortably. it’s the first thing he’s ever done to make yoongi smile, if you can even call the triumphant sneer his lips curl into a smile.
“i just wanted to ask you something,” jimin defends. yoongi rolls his eyes and heaves a tired sigh, one heavy and drawn out, as if he knows exactly what jimin’s going to say and he’s already bored. he continues, “if you want me to leave, i will. there’s plenty of other seats.”
waving a hand vaguely, yoongi tells him, “you’re only going to get more annoying if i leave it up to your imagination. ask away.”
jimin bites his tongue against a caustic retort about yoongi really creating a comfortable atmosphere. partially because he’s not the type for sarcasm; mostly because he knows yoongi won’t care.
there is a long beat of silence while yoongi waits and jimin struggles for the right words. yoongi breaks it first, exasperated, “just ask me!”
he already looks ready to answer, without jimin speaking, but once jimin finally says, “why do you stay on the team if the coach won’t put you in?” it’s yoongi who can’t decide what to say. the smallest of changes happens, so miniscule that jimin doesn’t even recognize it until laster, when yoongi’s response is repeating through his mind like a broken record. it’s just a tiny shift in mood. yoonig’s not happy, but the defensive rage disappears. instead, he just seems tired. that harsh edge softens into an almost bored monotone.
“it’s too complicated,” he declares. there’s nothing jimin hates more than being treated like a child.
“then un-complicate it,” jimin demands, his pout not doing anything for his wish to be treated maturely.
“i’m the only player in a wheelchair,” yoongi begins his explanation and for the first time, it crosses jimin’s mind that yoongi’s wheelchair may be a factor. it’s not as if jimin doesn’t know yoongi’s confined to the chair. it’s fairly obvious – something hard to miss. it just never occurred to him that it would stop someone like yoongi from doing anything. he’s on the team, he’s a skilled player, what does the wheelchair have to do with anything? apparently, jimin learns, it’s everything, “it’s bulky and dangerous,” jimin’s foot throbs with the reminder, “team members are worried about running into me. the other teams are more against it than mine. they don’t know how to play against me. and then, if they win, they’re insensitive for going too hard against the cripple.”
jimin cringes at the way it sounds – like yoongi didn’t come up with it on his own. yoongi doesn’t notice, “or they lose and they’re pathetic. or, we win, but suddenly they turn it into a grand sacrifice. they accuse us of using me to guilt them into going easy and we’re pathetic. either way, no one’s happy.”
once again, the solution seems obvious to no one but jimin, “why not quit the team?”
“i could’ve shown up to tryouts on accident, never touched a basketball, and still been on the roster. you can’t kick a kid in a wheelchair out. it looks –“
“that’s not what i asked,” jimin interrupts, softly. yoongi looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time.
“i love it too much to leave.”
jimin first gets his number when a text from an unknown sender lights up his phone screen reading only “come open the gym for me”.
between their revealing chat on the bus and jimin dragging himself out of bed at seven in the morning to respond to a demanding and unclear text message, he thought that yoongi may have been warming up to him. yoongi was the one to text him, inviting him to the gym. however, it appears jimin was wrong once again as yoongi regards him with the same general distaste jimin has experienced from him for a year and a half.
it’s habit, not consideration, that has jimin flipping on the lights (the switch high on the wall, just out of yoongi’s reach) once he’s held the door open long enough for yoongi to maneuver over the small bump lining the bottom of the doorway (after a strong refusal for help pushing his chair over the minor obstacle) and tugging the heavy bin filled with basketballs out of the equipment closet.
jimin chatters while he absently lines balls up along the bottom row of bleachers. he’s set up drills thousands of times at this point and he barely even thinks before he starts, only moving the balls off the floor onto the bench so they’ll be more easily accessible to yoongi for faster shooting. the furious look that yoongi watches him with is not lost on jimin, but he assumes it’s his lolling speed rather than the action itself. throughout the entire time jimin talks, yoongi doesn’t respond. he barely even reacts, ignoring jimin in favor of warming up.
“you know,” jimin begins twenty minutes in, once the pleasure and novelty of seeing yoongi sink incredible shot after incredible shot has started to wane, “you should really… use more words when you text. it was kind of rude. you could have at least signed your name, i had no idea who it was. who knows who i could’ve been meeting at the gym? you could’ve been an axe murderer. or, i guess you could still be an axe murderer… can you –“
yoongi’s cut off is swift and effective, “jesus jimin, i don’t even want you here. stop making it impossible to pretend you’ve already left.”
there’s a quiet war inside jimin’s heart. he watches yoongi, remembers that perfect focus, recognizes the olympic talent and steely determination. yoongi’s got all this unwavering passion and it attracts jimin. it’s something magnetic, physically dragging jimin in. all of it pulls jimin towards him, desperate to know him, to befriend him, to be able to point at yoongi, skilled and resilient, and say, that’s my friend, to the envy of those who aren’t so lucky. and then, yoongi opens his mouth and every word is biting and cutting, and jimin suddenly feels so small. yoongi tears into him, cold and unapologetic, and they become two electrons. jimin is repelled no matter how hard he tries to come closer
jimin first understands him when yoongi brushes him off for the third time, with a slick, rude quip about his pajama pants after jimin has been kind enough to wake up early and respond to a forceful text and his lifelong curse of no filter forces his mouth to move before his mind can catch up.
“why do you hate me?”
“you don’t care about me.”
jimin isn’t sure if yoongi’s look of surprise is from the question or his immediate answer, but neither reason helps jimin’s confusion.
“i care about you more than i should, considering the way you treat me,” jimin says, honest to a fault. his answer throws yoongi for a loop. there are no quick retorts, no sneers, no insults. only yoongi watching jimin helplessly while he chews on his lower lip.
shook, yoongi replies, “you care that i’m disabled.”
one of the things jimin (a little begrudgingly) respects about yoongi is his speech. he speaks with such surety, normally, every word sounding well considered, said with unwavering confidence. when he talks, he says only what is necessary to make his point and nothing else. he believes in each syllable, wholly and obviously. it contrasts jimin’s rambling nonsense and constant doubt, but, there’s something pleasant about being able to break that. jimin feels an unexpected pride at being the one to shake him.
“no,” jimin corrects, simply, “i don’t.”
jimin rambles and hesitates and crumbles under pressure and yoongi is curt and certain and unmovable and yet, yoongi is the one always complicating things that should be easy.
“everyone does,” the conviction returns, but not fully. jimin grabs a hold of yoongi’s lingering doubt and tugs.
“i don’t care that you’re in a wheelchair,” jimin’s never even bothered to find out why, it’s usually the last thing on his mind unless there is an upcoming obstacle – the same way he doesn’t think about walking until there’s something he has to step over – disabled or not, yoongi is just yoongi to him, and he wants to know who yoongi is underneath all the posturing, “i care that you love basketball more than a mother loves her children and i care that you stay on a team that never lets you play and i care that you’re not bitter about it, that you still help your teammates and cheer for them when they get to do what you aren’t allowed. i care that you text like you’re about to die and i think it’s weird but not necessarily bad. right now, i care about the fact that you’re mean to me even though all i want to do is be your friend.”
all yoongi can do in reply is breathe out a soft, “oh.”
yoongi is giving him that look again, the one from the bus. the one of quiet awe. jimin revises.
it’s not that yoongi’s seeing him for the first time. it’s that someone’s seeing yoongi for the first time.
jimin first plays basketball with him on a sunny sunday afternoon. there is a shift. it is a monumental shift. it is a shift that shakes the word. it’s a shift that jimin feels deep in his bones.
yoongi doesn’t show up to the court – one away from the team, this time, just two hoops on blacktop situated next to a messy, mostly abandoned children’s playground right at the edge of campus where the safe, exclusive college life bleeds into the real world – all smiles and bright greetings and friendly conversation the way jimin does.
yoongi doesn’t change his entire personality, his wariness towards jimin does not disappear instantly with their new, mutual understanding. but he arrives without all the curt anger and misplaced judgement that bricked a wall between them. he responds weakly to jimin, nods and gestures, practically dead until jimin gets a ball in his hands and for thirty minutes he’s all fire, skirting around jimin with terrifying precision, sinking shots before jimin can even turn to see where he’s gone.
after, he’ll fall quiet again, less mad and more introspective.
smaller, less noticeable changes accumulate until suddenly, jimin’s not sure how many times he and yoongi have hung out, and yoongi laughs freely when jimin trips over his own feet and he complains during a water break about some big test he studied too hard for to only get a 83% and he’s asking about a project that jimin doesn’t even remember telling yoongi about.
“i’m sorry, you know,” yoongi announces, a block and a half from their quad. it takes jimin a minute to remember what yoongi might be apologizing for, his unbridled hate feeling lifetimes away instead of a few weeks old.
“it’s okay.”
“it’s not. i shouldn’t make assumptions,” yoongi snorts, mumbles in a tone that makes jimin think the words aren’t meant for him even if he can still hear them, “doing the exact thing i hate everyone else for.”
“it’s okay,” jimin repeats, “not because you did nothing wrong. because i forgive you.”
yoongi doesn’t say anything. jimin doesn’t mind.
he’s finally learning that not every silence needs to be filled.
jimin first thinks that he’s cute during one of their friendly games that have become routine.
he’s losing, an integral part to the routine. jimin plays his hardest but his skill isn’t comparable to even the worst player on the team – he’s nothing against yoongi.
“park jimin,” sighing after jimin has managed to take the ball away from him, yoongi shakes his head sadly when jimin misses his shot, taken half a foot away from the hoop, “you are truly awful.”
that’s not what’s cute. it comes minutes later, when jimin replies, “how do you expect the water boy to compete with the best player on the team?”
yoongi graces him (and truly, it is a blessing) with the prettiest smile. he preens, glowing with pride at the off-hand compliment. it would be arrogant, his pleasure, but in the same moment he tries to hide his face. jimin would have expected him to readily agree with the title of “best”, maybe push it further, chiding jimin for calling him the best on the team when he’s the best in the league, the city, the country, but, instead there is only delight and a pink flush to his cheeks. something about yoongi, so excited and embarrassed by the praise, struggling to control his expression in front of jimin is just so goddamn cute.
if jimin starts voicing his opinions more often, it’s absolutely just to see yoongi grin like that again.
jimin first thinks they’re friends when he receives similarly demanding text near the end of his last class of the day, “meet me in the library in twenty minutes. there’s coffee.”
it’s nothing spectacular, the meeting in the library. yoongi does have coffee, a specific blend he chose for jimin that jimin’s never tried before but tastes so good he immediately decides it’s the only thing he’s going to consume for the rest of his life (yoongi looks as pleased by this declaration as he did by jimin saying that he was the best basketball player on their team).
they’re quiet, for most of it. between them lies a pile of textbooks and papers and pens and post-its that commands their attention, the only sounds for an hour and a half are the shuffle of notebooks and soft scratches when yoongi applies too much pressure while writing and loud slurps from jimin that yoongi gives him a stink-eye for. jimin, flipping absently through the maps in the back of his history book and looking for an excuse to take a break from studying, asks yoongi where he grew up.
yoongi tells him. he talks for twenty minutes straight but never rambles. he adds the strangest details, things jimin would never think to ask about, and each sounds like the most important fact jimin could know. it’s general knowledge about the small town mixed with something so personal, the places that yoongi loved, the exact bumps in the streets that drove him crazy, and jimin loves every second of it.
he tosses the question back to jimin, when he’s done. jimin doesn’t think, doesn’t pause to collect himself the way yoongi does, just starts talking. halfway through a sentence, he thinks of something else he wants yoongi to know and interrupt himself. yoongi doesn’t get annoyed the way others do, only listens with the same rapt attention he pays to basketball, gently guides jimin back to an earlier thought when he switches too quickly.
it’s the first time he and yoongi spend time together outside of the context of basketball.
jimin first knows they’re friends when yoongi invites him to the music building.
it feels weird to continue past the dance spaces, up the back stairs, through a hall of closed doors where he can see waiting pianos and students with guitars and abandoned trumpets until he reaches one of the three, cramped recording studios.
he finds yoongi in a tiny room, big headphones hanging off his neck as he listens for jimin’s arrival. there’s a big desk, yoongi’s wheelchair pushed far beneath it to make room for the stool he brought in for jimin. the desk has a couple monitors and stacks of equipment jimin vaguely recognizes but couldn’t name.
“i want to show you something,” yoongi tells him, forcing jimin to sit. it’s a truly small area, jimin’s knee touching yoongi’s shoulder once he’s seated. yoongi doesn’t seem to care, leaning casually into jimin while he talks, “i’ve been working on this for a long time. it’s part of my final project.”
and then, yoongi reaches up to put the headphones on jimin himself, and jimin has to duck his head a little but it works. yoongi holds them on his ears, looking into jimin’s face as the music plays.
he tries to look nonchalant but jimin can see the soft worry, the nervous intensity. like jimin’s opinion really means a lot to him.
jimin hopes his face relays his reaction properly. the music is so distinctly yoongi, even if it wasn’t well produced jimin would love it. it is controlled, every beat carefully chosen and put in place. there are little notes, subtle changes in tone that could be easily ignored in another song but are highlighted so expertly, you are forced to notice them, forced to consider them, forced to care about them. each second of the song is crafted specifically, with caution and attention. and, the emotion. jimin barely has time to notice production value with the swell of emotion. yoongi’s voice, it’s all that spectacular passion that jimin has so desperately loved from the first moment he saw him, only vocalized. it drags something up inside jimin, something amazing and fulfilling, he’s crying, just a little, when it ends and he doesn’t know why.
it’s yoongi. if people were music, this song would be yoongi.
and jimin is the one he chose to share it with.
jimin first realizes he has a crush in the dingy dining hall in the basement of the science building where students only go when they’re truly desperate, or, in yoongi’s case, prefer small crowds and relative quiet. it shouldn’t really be called adining hall. jimin’s not even sure it’s a real, university sanctioned area or just an empty room someone threw furniture into because no one else wanted it. the chairs feel rickety, creaking painfully when they take on weight. there’s a small kitchen with two long counters that generally serve at least one but no more than two foods, even though jimin’s never seen anyone cook (or a cook, for that matter). it’s supplemented by a short row of vending machines that have a seventy percent success rate but seem to be regularly restocked. with white painted concrete blocks making up the walls, devoid of all color, the decoration leaves a lot to be desired.
it’s not exactly the place jimin imagined falling for someone, but, it’s where yoongi likes to go on tuesdays during the two hours where his and jimin’s free time overlaps perfectly. jimin’s science class ends fifteen minutes after yoongi’s philosophy class – in a building twelve minutes away, giving yoongi exactly enough time to get in the elevator to the basement to meet jimin as he flies down the stairs – and jimin has to leave for his dance class six minutes before the beginning of yoongi’s only class in the science building – the perfect amount of time for yoongi to get back into the elevator and onto the second floor even on a busy afternoon.
it’s not exactly where jimin imagined falling for yoongi, but it’s where yoongi likes to go since he memorized jimin’s new semester schedule and decided they should meet in the precious two hours where they are free from classes. it’s the location he chose after calculating the distance they could both travel to maximize their time together. it’s where they’ll be surrounded by the fewest people, so they can focus on just each other (“and our studies, of course, what kind of student do you think i am? even prodigies have to read their textbooks”).
it’s where yoongi laughs freely, finding whatever jimin just said, he doesn’t even remember anymore, so funny that he snorts. it’s where yoongi smiles at him, a little private, beautiful thing, over the coffee that he brought jimin, a strange, sweet concoction, something yoongi “just thought he would like”. it’s where yoongi is the most open, the least jaded. it’s where yoongi quietly admits, “i’m sorry i ever doubted you. you’re a good one, park jimin.”
it’s where jimin’s heart stutters in his chest and his stomach pools with warm affection and he realizes, oh, i like you.
jimin first watches him win a game in off season. it’s technically off season but, their team finds games throughout the year to keep in practice and generate excitement for the university sports programs with potential students.
he balances risks and rewards before talking to (begging) coach. the risk: yoongi hates him again. the reward: yoongi’s dream comes true. the risk: coach is so furious with him for speaking out of place and being mildly disrespectful that jimin loses his assisting job and close relationship with his favorite professor. the reward: yoongi’s dreams come true.
the conversation is easier than jimin expects. as soon as he finishes saying, “aren’t you just as bad as the other teams who claim yoongi is a liability if you won’t put him in? aren’t you worse because you won’t support your own players?” coach, surprisingly, and strangely emotionally, agrees.
yoongi does not hate him for involving himself in business he has no right to. instead, he hits jimin with a blinding smile the second their eyes meet, when he’s waiting at half-court for the ball to come into play.
watching yoongi play is always mesmerizing, but watching yoongi play in a game is better. when yoongi’s playing alongside his team, when yoongi is fighting for the win, not only is his talent breathtaking, but, even more importantly, he looks like he feels amazing.
the scores are close. both teams are relatively evenly matched. with yoongi, they should have an advantage, but he’s hesitating more than usual. he’s giving it his all – he never does anything less – but at the same time, he’s being too careful to avoid other players.
in comes down to the last seconds. the ball is intercepted by one of jimin’s juniors. it’s passed between team members until it ends up in yoongi’s lap, perfectly in place for a three pointer.
he shoots. he scores.
there is a deafening roar across the stadium and jimin attributes at least eighty percent of the screaming to himself. he’s overwhelmed with emotion, namely pride, and celebrates louder than anyone else. it’s not the most they’ve ever won by, it’s not the closest a game has ever been. the game isn’t even important, just a mostly friendly match in off season.
but, it’s the last game of the year. it’s the last chance that yoongi had to play on the team before graduating and he won.
the team celebrates their win in their usual fashion, grabbing each other and yelling and hugging and bouncing in an awkward circle but yoongi escapes their grasp and heads straight for jimin instead.
for a brief moment, jimin thinks that yoongi is mad that jimin talked to the coach, and possibly going to punch him. when yoongi reaches him, he grabs jimin by the front of his shirt and yanks. jimin can’t keep his footing and, apparently as yoongi intended, tumbles forward into yoongi’s lap. his knees knock painfully into the arm rest and one of his elbows goes straight into yoongi’s gut, which has to hurt, but yoongi is too elated to care.
he hugs jimin tightly, and jimin sinks into the embrace. he can feel something digging into his lower back and his body is craned awkwardly so he can hold on to yoongi’s waist but none of it matters. it’s the closest he’s ever been to yoongi.
there is so much sound, jimin almost doesn’t notice yoongi talking. he struggles to listen, manages to catch the tail end of his mumbling.
“thank you,” he says, voice thick with emotion, tears slipping unfettered down his cheeks, “thank you, park jimin.”
jimin first makes a move the same way he does most things: without thinking about it first.
finals are over, and jimin is remaining on campus long enough to see yoongi off after graduation, slumming around, wishing he had more time. yoongi is graduating in a couple days and rather than pack or look for a job or participate in the multitude of exit activities, he’s sitting at the edge of their private court while jimin lies in the grass.
“it’s going to be boring without you,” jimin mumbles, arm thrown over his eyes to block out the sun – and so he doesn’t have to look at yoongi when he’s being honest.
yoongi laughs at him, “i’m not going that far. you can still see me as much as you want.”
“it’ll be different, though,” as much as jimin wants is probably not as much as yoongi wants. as much as jimin wants is every day. as much as jimin wants is when he wakes up in the morning and when he comes home at night and when he’s eating lunch at the tiny kitchen table in his new apartment and when he rolls over in bed because he can’t quite fall asleep at one in the morning.
“you’ll be fine.”
there’s an embarrassing stack of drafted love letters hidden beneath pairs of underwear in his dresser, but none of them are delivered. they’re results of jimin’s first – and only – attempts to moderate himself, to slow down, consider his thoughts and organize them.
instead, of course, he opens his mouth after he peeks out from under his arm and sees yoongi grinning down at him, happy and carefree, so beautiful and everything jimin wants and he says, “i’m probably in love with you.”
the smile slips off yoongi’s face, “probably?”
“yeah,” jimin says, “it’s, like, when i see you i kind of feel like i’m going to die? but, wait, no, but in a good way! like, whenever i see you, my heart feels full and i always feel happy, and when i make you smile, it feels really nice. i want to make you happy? and i’m happy when i’m with you and when i’m not with you, when i haven’t seen you in a while, it’s not… it’s not that i can’t live without you, it’s just that things are better when you’re here too, you know?”
jimin’s so caught up in his unintentional confession that he doesn’t hear yoongi murmur, “yeah, i know.”
“i just think you’re amazing and i want you in my life forever and it’s like, everything is brighter when you’re around, and i think that all means i’m in love with you, probably.”
yoongi doesn’t reply for a long time, long enough for jimin’s nerves to develop into full blown panic.
he’s ready to take it all back and call it a joke when yoongi suddenly laughs, once, loud and bright, and says, “you’re something else, park jimin.”
“what does that mean?” jimin asks, indignant.
“it means i like you.”
jimin first kisses him in the same place where they met. it’s two days after they’ve started dating, and, unfortunately, the day of yoongi’s graduation. the ceremony is over, yoongi’s move out of the dorms and into an apartment in a nearby city is imminent, and they’re back on the court for a post-commencement celebration with the basketball team.
yoongi cradles his head, thumbs stroking the edge of his cheek bones while his fingers are buried in the hair behind jimin’s ears. sound is all around them, laughter and congratulations and excited recollections and reluctant goodbyes. jimin doesn’t hear any of it. he’s kneeling in front of yoongi, their eyes locked, waiting for the right words. there aren’t any.
they don’t need any. yoongi leans in, slow, questioning, giving jimin every chance to say no and pull away. jimin tilts his chin up to meet him, and their lips touch experimentally. it’s not jimin’s first kiss, but it’s the first one that makes his heart explode so intensely with feeling that he gets dizzy. they separate for only a second, before yoongi surges forward and kisses him again.
jimin’s seen the passion. he’s heard the passion. now, he feels it.
it’s clear, min yoongi loves three things: basketball, music, and park jimin.
when yoongi pulls back the second time, panting a little, smiling a lot, still cupping jimin’s face with gentle, caring hands, he doesn’t come back for a third.
their foreheads press together and jimin doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sensation of yoongi kissing him, even if yoongi never does it again. yoongi leans in a little closer, until their noses touch, and jimin can feel where his cheeks are lifted in a wide smile and his palms are warm against jimin’s skin and for just a moment, it’s every romantic cliché at once. yoongi is the love of his life. his heart is beating in double time. no one else in the world exists. no one else in the world needs to exist.
excited whoops and hollers break the illusion, and emotions, love, fear, pride, joy, loss, all flood jimin at once.
“i’ll miss you,” he whispers as he breathes out, overwhelmed.
yoongi laughs softly, kisses jimin once, chastely, and sits up straight. he’s silent until jimin opens his eyes and looks up.
yoongi is looking at jimin the same way jimin knows he looks at yoongi, like he can’t believe he luck, like he’s never quite sure if he’s awake or clinging to a perfect dream, and he says, “i’m not going anywhere.”