Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yoongi lets his gaze drift through the café leisurely with no hurry in the world. Sure, his mother would probably start wondering soon about where her son could possibly be this late in the afternoon, with him being more of a lonesome soul.
But even she will have to admit that he had neither a say in where he would end up today, nor a chance to divert. Not that he is complaining, no.
There are definitely worse places to be. With worse company.

He turns his head, attempting to gauge just how much longer the boy he came with (or got dragged here by) will take to return to their table, but another pair of eyes catches his first. Yoongi halts, eyebrows jumping up.
Slowly, he leans forward, resting his chin in his palm and raising his other hand into a small wave.
“Hello there.”, he murmurs.

A wide, toothless smile greets him. The child wobbles as it stomps closer, a shriek resounding through the space. Laughing quietly, Yoongi returns the smile with a gummy one of his own.
“Already replacing me?”, a voice huffs to Yoongi's side.

Jimin bends down, carefully placing the tray filled with pastries and two cups of Iced Coffee down on the table, his gaze flitting to the side. Immediately, his plush lips pull into a toothy smile as well.
“Granted, he is very cute.”, he says and crouches down to meet the approaching toddler at eye level. He reaches a hand out, high-pitched giggles surrounding them when the child shies away and hides behind one of the chairs.
Yoongi can't do anything against the way his lips part even wider, warmth spreading through him at the sight.

He leans back, fingers tugging a chocolate-filled croissant from the tray and starting to pick it apart. “Why are we even here?”
Jimin gives the little one a last wave of his hand before he rises and lets himself plop into the cushions opposite Yoongi. He pulls his backpack open. “Remember how excited I was about being assigned to the locker right next to yours?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “How could I not? You've sent me three different Pinterest boards about how we should decorate them so they go well together.”
Under his breath, he adds: “I don't even know how Pinterest works…”

Jimin swats his elder's sass away and discards it where it has never touched him. “It's called colour coordination. Which, by the way, wouldn't hurt you. Your locker looks so… boring.”
“As do all the other lockers.”, Yoongi retorts.
“Well, but we are not like the others. We”, Jimin gestures between the two of them. “are best friends, and best friends have matching lockers. Obviously.”

Yoongi snorts. Yeah, ‘obviously’. As if he saw Jungkook and Taehyung sporting matching lockers. But, oh well. Jimin has always put a lot of thought into his aesthetics. This won’t kill Yoongi – not that he would admit that.
His eyes trailing after the child, who makes his wobbly way towards the next table of unassuming patrons under the watchful eyes of his parents sitting in the corner of the café.
“Matching like this?”, he prompts and holds out his arm, the underside of his wrist facing up, a black, braided leather band looped around it. The same one dangling from Jimin's dainty wrist. A birthday gift.
‘So everyone knows we come as a Buy One Get One Free!’ Jimin had announced. It has caused something inside Yoongi’s chest that the elder hasn’t been able to put a name to, even to this day. But he hasn’t taken it off once ever since.
“Exactly.” Jimin nods his head, hands diving into his backpack. “And we are going to do it, I will even let you choose the inspiration. But that's beside the point.”

A bout of laughter rings out behind them, causing Jimin and Yoongi to turn curiously, only to find the toddler entertaining a highly amused elderly woman.

“What's the point, then?”, Yoongi urges when his gaze flickers to Jimin and finds the softest smile on his lips, a glint of warmth in his eyes that isn't even meant for him and yet warms him deep from inside.
“Right.” Digging through his backpack, Jimin pulls a stack of papers from it and drops them onto the table unceremoniously, earning himself a raised eyebrow from his Hyung.
“Homework.”, Yoongi murmurs. “You’ve dragged me here for homework?”

“Hyung! Be for real!”, Jimin half-scolds, half-whines, and dear Gods, it shouldn't sound this endearing, should it? Maybe it should. Jimin is cute, and Yoongi can admit that.
Friends can say that about their friends – ‘Best friends’, Jimin chides inside Yoongi's head.

The elder eyes the stack, leaning in with narrowed eyes. Now, closer, he can make out a few loose papers stuck between unsealed envelopes. All of them a little yellowed and crumpled, as though they'd been discarded into Jimin's backpack a few semesters ago and forgotten there.
Jimin leans closer as well, warm breath brushing over Yoongi’s cheeks and mischief sparkling in his eyes as he hushes: “They're love letters.”

Huh?

Something twinges inside Yoongi, twisting at the thought of Jimin receiving a whole stack of love letters from a secret admirer.
One, he hadn't even told his best friend about.
He pauses.

That's not an appropriate response to someone you're close to sharing their excitement with you. So, swallowing, Yoongi nods and leans back, pressing himself into the backrest of his chair.
“Didn't know you were this popular.”, he murmurs and returns to picking his pastry apart expertly.

“These aren’t mine, you i- Hey, what's that supposed to mean?!”
It doesn't make sense, really. Not the fact that Jimin apparently walks around with a stack of love letters that don't belong to him, nor how Yoongi exhales a breath of relief at the revelation.
It's jealousy. Of course, it is. If Jimin suddenly finds a partner, then who would the elder spend his lazy afternoons with? Jimin is all he has. And as much as it makes him a bad friend, Yoongi doesn't want to share him.

“Then whose are they?”
“No, don't distract. What do you mean you didn't know I was this popular? I am very popular, just so you know!”

Another roll of Yoongi's eyes, but this one is accompanied by an upward tug on the corner of his lips. “Jimin-ah.”, he hums. “Why are you running around with someone else's love letters?
Still huffing and puffing, Jimin finally grabs a piece of cake for himself and places a cup of Iced Americano in front of Yoongi. “Because they obviously didn't reach the person they were meant to reach.”
“Right, because that explains so much.”

Jimin’s fingers itch around his straw as if he has to fight the urge to throw it at his Hyung. Behind, the parents collect their toddler and prepare to leave, with the little one making sure to wave at every single guest – a gesture promptly returned by Yoongi.
“You're so anticlimactic, Jesus.”, Jimin complains.
“No, I am dying of curiosity, as you can see.”, Yoongi retorts, not a single muscle moving in his face. A straw hits his black shirt. “Yah! Jimin-ah!”
“That's what you get for being a smartass.”

With a sigh, Yoongi leans across the table and plugs the straw back into Jimin's cup, before stealing one of the napkins to swipe at the small dark spot on his chest. “Would you tell me what all of this is about already? I need a proper excuse for my mom as to why I skipped piano lessons today. And it better be an emergency, or else I might not survive to come to class tomorrow.”

“Nerd.” is all Yoongi gets as a response, before Jimin shoves the stack of papers towards him.
His voice drops again, as though they're sharing a secret in this small corner-café. “I've found them clearing out my new locker. All of the ones I’ve checked are addressed to a ‘Moon’, and-”
“How cliché.”
“Shut up and listen.”
Ah, this little demanding demon in the skin of an angel. Still, Yoongi nods, gesturing for Jimin to continue.

“So, obviously, they never reached their addressee, which-”
“How do you know that?”, Yoongi interrupts once more, earning himself a sharp glance from the blond one opposite him. He raises his hands defensively. “It's a valid question, isn’t it? The one receiving them could have stored them in their locker.”
“And leave them there to be thrown out?”
Yoongi shrugs, stirring the ice cubes in his cup with his straw. “Maybe the feelings weren't reciprocated.”
At that, Jimin pauses, eyeing the stack of papers sitting between them, their drinks, and their pastries. Suddenly, he shakes his head. “That doesn't change a thing.”
“About?”
“About us returning them to the sender!”, he says, as if that was the obvious answer to Yoongi's question, and not something entirely out of pocket.

Yoongi blinks, waiting for the pointé to drop – for the joke to be revealed. But Jimin simply beams at him, excitement buzzing through his eyes.
“And… why would we do that?” Now, just what in his words deserved such a dramatic eye roll?
“For love, obviously?”
“Yeah, right.”
This time, both of them regard the other one with a deadpan stare.
“You’re serious?”
“Of course, I am!”

Of course, he is. What did Yoongi even expect?
Ever since they were kids, Jimin has always had a hang for the romantics. If he could jump into the books he practically swallows with his eyes at every given moment, he probably would.
So, yeah, it shouldn’t surprise Yoongi that the younger one’s immediate thought is a witch hunt.
He sighs, one hand raising to his face to pinch his eyebrows together in an attempt to keep his apparent nonchalance intact. One of them has to be the rational one here.

“So, let’s spell this out for a second.”, he begins, finger circling the rim of the cup in front of him, gaze following the motion. “You want to find the person who wrote those love letters among the 500 pupils of our college, when we’re not even sure if the person is still attending or has moved on to whatever job already. Not to mention that we would have to invade their privacy by reading the very intimate letters they wrote, when we’re not even sure that it would give us any hint as to who the writer or the receiver of those letters could be?”
Jimin nods enthusiastically, and Yoongi decides that the blond boy is going to be the death of him.
“Let me ask again. Why? And do not tell me for love.”, he adds when he sees the glint in Jimin’s eyes that immediately simmers down at the last comment.

For a few moments, the other boy tilts his head, plush lips puckered in thought. “Don’t you think they might want to look back on those memories one day?”
“To be reminded of how their love didn’t blossom?”
“You don’t know that!”

A sigh crawls up Yoongi’s throat, and he has given up on keeping it there – relenting to his fate as he always does with his energetic friend and his outlandish ideas.
This sounds like a bad idea all around. Maybe not harmful, per se. The chances of them actually finding the sender of those love letters are abysmally small anyway. Plus, the stack of them did get abandoned in a place where someone else would definitely find them one day.
Yoongi is not a fan of sticking his nose into the business of other people, especially not of strangers – well aware that he has absolutely no right to it. But with Jimin’s insistence, he probably won’t get around it.

“What if we can’t find them and all that was for nothing?”, he probes, feeling his resolve melt already under Jimin’s excited gazes.
As expected, the younger one also has a reply ready for that. “Then we have a great tale to tell our grandchildren one day. The time uncle Yoongi and I played cupid.”
Yoongi doesn’t catch himself in time before a smile tugs at his lips at the thought of Jimin imagining them still side by side, even when life has passed them by.
Clearing his throat, he tentatively pulls the stack of papers closer. His eyebrows draw together.
The café grows emptier with every minute passing. With the afternoon sun slowly setting, they were approaching closing time.
“You are aware that we have no right to ‘play’ with someone’s personal life like that, right?”, he murmurs, brushing his thumb over a crease in the envelope on top. Everything in him tells him that they should just leave it be. But Jimin has other plans.
“What if someone is aching to have these letters back, and we just threw them in the trash as if they didn’t mean the world to a person once?”

Emotionality tends to clash with rationality. It’s why it doesn’t make any sense that Jimin and Yoongi work so well.
And yet, it totally does. Because rationality plays a secondary role when one bright smile of Jimin can disarm Yoongi’s defenses with an ease that ought to be studied. Even worse so, when his face crinkles, creasing the skin between his eyebrows.

“You’re annoying.”, Yoongi sighs.
And Jimin, who can read him like a diary, claps his hands, a shriek of his own escaping his lips. This little devil knows that there are only a few proposals Yoongi would deny him.

“For love!”, Jimin announces.
“Stop saying that. It’s for your own satisfaction, and you know that.”, Yoongi rejoins.
“For love!”, Jimin persists.

For Love, I guess, Yoongi relents and begins rubbing his temples.

Chapter Text

‘My Moon.

It feels weird putting these words down. Usually, we say all we want to say to each other’s face. But I suppose I’m afraid to say these things out loud.’

“Who the hell says ‘suppose’? What is this, the ninteenth century?”, Jimin cuts in.

Yoongi lowers the first letter, throwing a glance at the younger one. “Would you let me finish this? I want to get this over with as fast as possible.”

Jimins rolls onto his back on top of Yoongi’s bed with a huff. “Seriously, why do I even spend time with you?”

“Because you love me, now shut up.”

“Wow, mean.”

“Jimin-ah.”

“Alright, alright.” Jimin turns his head with a rougish grin. “Continue, M’Lord.”

Yoongi needs a drink.

‘We have spent so much of our lives together already, and I cherish every year. Through them, we’ve stood side by side, had each other’s back, cried together and laughed together.

It made me learn a lot of things; About you, about me, about us.

So now, I live in fear.

Because the love I have felt for you all this time has always been pure. But it has grown into something that extends simple friendship.’

“No, seriously. Who writes like that? Did they rent the locker out to a dead poet, or something?”

Instead of reprimanding Jimin, knowing full well that it won't have any effect at all, Yoongi simply picks up a pillow from his armchair and flings it towards the blond one – hitting him square in the face.

“Hyung!”, Jimin whines, half-startled, half-caught in the silent beginning of a disbelieving laugh.

Yoongi lowers his eyes back to the ink between his hands before he can begin to marvel at his friend’s face. It’s unfair how some people are just born perfect like that. 

“I warned you.”, he simply replies and continues.

‘And it is a wonderful feeling; To like someone as perfect as you.

But then I wonder… What if it is just me?

What if I ruin the years ahead of us by feeling these things?

What if friendship is enough for you?

Maybe that’s why I am noting these thoughts down. Chances are you will never read them, but they weigh too heavy on my heart to keep them locked away any longer. At least this way, I might feel heard, if by none other than myself.

Or maybe I will gather the courage to show you this letter one day.

Until then, I will cherish you from right by your side.

-Your wave’

“Wow. Dramatic.”, Yoongi murmurs at the same time that Jimin rolls onto his stomach and sniffles a “Ah, it’s kinda cute.”

Their gazes meet. “You’re impossible.”, they add at the same time.

Good, at least one thing they can agree on.

Yoongi raises from the armchair and motions for Jimin to scooch over, which the younger one obliges to immediately – making space on Yoongi’s bed that the elder immediately occupies. 

“There’s your first hint.”, he says and pushes the letter into Jimin’s hands, wanting to get rid of the evidence of the privacy breach he has just committed. “‘Wave’ ring a bell for you?”

Jimin enthusiastically takes it from him, but keeps it raised between them. He tilts his head, blond strands of hair falling into his eyes. 

“Be serious, no one is called Wave.”, he murmurs, blinking against the intrusion in his vision, but not moving to do anything about it with his narrowed eyes picking apart every line of the love letter he shouldn’t have access to in the first place. “It’s a pseudonym. Maybe their names start with M and W?”

Yoongi waits for a few seconds of shared silence whilst Jimin goes over the text once again, but then he cannot take the frantic blinking anymore. With a scolding click of his tongue, he rolls onto his side and brushes the hair from Jimin’s eyes. The younger one doesn’t react at all, too invested in his amateur detective work.

“I’m telling you, this will lead nowhere.”, Yoongi warns quietly, tilting the paper in Jimin’s hand. His eyes analytically brush over the blue words etched into it, the hangeul hasty but clean. “This doesn’t tell us anything about who this was for or who it was from.”

Jimin sits up, waving the letter through the air. “It tells us everything, Hyung!”

The curtain sways behind him, moved by the autumn air lazily floating in through the cracked window to their side. Skeptically, Yoongi falls onto his back to look up at him – locking his arms behind his head. “And what exactly is ‘everything’?”

Something sharp in Jimin’s gaze tells the elder that he is currently internally being scrutinized. Because, apparently, he is supposed to read minds. Preferably not just Jimin’s, but also the sender’s and addressee. 

“They were friends!”, the blond onne points out, the letter flapping between them with the frantic swat of his hands. “Good friends, and for a long time, as well. And this Wave wants more.”

Yoongi is pretty sure that’s called basic reading comprehension, or perhaps he is missing a vital point here. But when Jimin doesn’t add anything, it must mean he is expecting Yoongi to catch up on his own. 

Which isn’t that easy, given that there is literally nothing that special about the circumstances. Things like these happen often enough to not narrow the search down even in the slightest.

“That could be anyone.”, he sighs and tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling. “You’re chasing ghosts, Jimin-ah.”

The mattress dips when Jimin’s scrunched face shoves into his vision. “You’re such a pessimist, Hyung. Have a little imagination here!”

“Realist.”, Yoongi corrects, blinking up at the blond one. “We don’t do well with fantasy.”

Scoffing, Jimin’s face retracts. When Yoongi checks a few beats later, he finds the other one hunched over the letter, reading it time and time again, as if there is a secret message hidden beneath the words. 

“They kind of sound like us.”, he suddenly murmurs.

Yoongi’s upper body lifts from the mattress almost automatically. “What?”

His friend looks up. “Well, they sound like they have been friends for ages. Just like us. And the laughing together, crying together, having each other’s back. That’s very us.”

There really isn’t anything to discredit about that, so Yoongi nods. “I guess.”

A knock at the door has the two boys whip their heads around. Yoongi’s mother peaks her head in with a kind smile, her gaze looking right past her son towards his friend behind him. “Jimin-ah, it’s getting very late already. Do you want me to drive you home?”

There couldn’t have been a clearer ‘Playtime is over, time for you to go’ if she tried, and something about it irks Yoongi.

He is well aware that this is her home, thus she gets to decide who can come in and how long they can stay. But Jimin seems awfully comfortable sitting on Yoongi’s bed with his legs crossed and his mouth forming a little ‘o’ – blush creeping onto his cheeks at the blatant nudge to leave. Why make him move, then, when he obviously doesn’t want to go yet? Besides, it’s barely past nine anyway.

Yoongi opens his mouth to ask his mother for another thirty minutes, but the younger one is quicker; Scrambling over Yoongi and grabbing his backpack and jacket off the floor. “That would be very nice!”, he almost sing-songs. 

Turning, he pushes the rest of the letters against the elder’s chest. “You keep these, or I’ll read them all overnight. See you tomorrow, Hyung!”

Without waiting for an answer, Jimin hurries out the door. Immediately, his mother’s face replaces the empty spot, pointing into the room, whispered words sounding weirdly like a threat. “Clean up. I didn’t raise you like this.”

Even with the door shut and the room falling silent now, Yoongi remains on the bed for just a few moments longer – the letters resting against his chest.

“Silly Jimin-ah.”, he hums and raises slowly, carefully catching the stack of envelopes between his fingers and lowering it onto the desk next to his headrest. “You’re chasing ghosts of a love that no longer exists.”

With a shake of his head, he raises and obliges his mothers command; collecting cups and bowls, dutifully bringing them to the kitchen sink and fetching a wet cloth to wipe the surfaces of his room.

“I’ve been thinking!”, Jimin announces as he drops onto the chair next to Yoongi.

“Good morning to you too.”, the elder drones sleepily, deeply entangled in his morning ritual of wondering who had the grand idea to start classes this early in the day.

Jimin swats the greeting away and leans forward, grabbing Yoongi’s backpack and pulling it open, mere inches away from literally sticking his head into it. 

“Privacy who?”, the elder prompts.

“Please.”, Jimin snorts. “I know what you looked like in diapers. We’re long past privacy.”

At that, Yoongi’s head immediately perks up from the desk, horror in his eyes. “What did you just say?”

Jimin turns as he pulls the love letters from the elder’s backpack, the biggest grin parting his lips. “Your mom and I bonded a lot on the drive home yesterday.”

That’s it. Once Yoongi gets home today, he will have to have a serious talk with his mother about what kind of nuclear weapons against her son she willingly hands over to the boy who will use them freely. How, in God’s name, did the topic of him as a baby even come up? And where did she even produce a picture of him as one from when both her hands were supposed to stay on the wheel?

“Both of you are annoying, oh my God.”, Yoongi tuts, feeling a familiar heat creep onto his cheeks. Around them, students hustle about through the campus’ library, throwing glances at the bickering pair.

Jimin swiftly ignores him, planting the papers between them on the desk and tapping the top of it with his fingers. “Moon and Wave aren’t hints about their names, it’s about their dynamic. The moon influences the tides! Moon moves, and Wave follows.”

Yoongi blinks. This must be why Jimin is at the top of their class. Who would come to that conclusion? “And how does that help us?”

“It doesn’t.” Jimin practically deflates on his chair. “But it’s nauseatingly cute. I’m still convinced they rented the locker out to a dead poet from the ninteen-fifties.”

Yoongi has to stifle a laugh at the sight of Jimin’s genuine-seeming disappointment at the realization that his – presumably – sleepless night went by without the big epiphany he had hoped for.

Although, admittedly, the tide-theory deserves a respectful headnod.

Still, this would make for a good moment to remind the younger one that his idea to find the sender is very likely gonna end up nowhere, but instead, Yoongi raises his hand and brushes it over the blond strands until Jimin finally turns his head and looks at him with a pout.

How is he supposed to tell that face that his little romantic fantasies are a waste of time?

“We have barely started, hm?”, he says quietly, encouragingly. “Let’s check the second letter after school. Maybe we’ll find more hints there.”

At the way Jimin’s eyes light up again, Yoongi decides to never remind him of how useless this little adventure is going to turn out.

Chapter Text

With the temperatures dropping outside and their usual spot under a canopy of trees in the park behind school becoming unsuitable in the moody and unpredictable autumn weather, the pair hunkers down on the wide steps in the foyer. There are still a few classes going on around them, but other than the occasional student heading to the bathrooms and a professor heading deeper into the hallways, they are left to themselves.

“Let me read the next one!”, Jimin demands, impatiently grabbing the air between them when Yoongi hasn’t even had the time to pull the love letters back out. They’re gone from his hands the second they see light.
Jimin flips through them, finding the creased envelope with a tiny two scribbled in one corner with pencil, and pulls the otherwise intact paper out of it.
Clearing his throat, he begins.

‘Moon’

He doesn’t make it past the first two lines before interrupting himself – pressing a hand to his chest and heaving a sigh. “Is it just me, or can you also feel the yearning in that?”
Yoongi’s tongue twitches, ready to retort a swift ‘It’s just you’, but he knows Jimin well enough to also know that this will prompt a lecture in romantics, and frankly? Yoongi hates to admit it, but he does kind of want to know how the love story will unfold in this letter, so he holds his remark and simply waits.

‘I keep writing these letters senselessly, it seems. The seasons are starting to change, and so does the rhythm of my heart whenever your laugh reaches me. But you? You remain perfectly unchanged, preserved in resin.

Does your heart flutter, too, when I laugh? If so, you don’t show it.’

If the same thought of unreciprocated love strikes Jimin as it does Yoongi, then he doesn’t show it.

‘At some point in time, I will learn to accept it. At some point, I will learn to harness my hands and keep them from brushing your hair back when it mindlessly wanders across your forehead to hide those dark orbs that hold my heart.

- Wave’

This time, it is Yoongi who intercepts. “Okay, no.”, he snorts, shaking his head. “You were right. No one talks like that.”
Now, why the hell is Yoongi at the receiving end of Jimin’s scrutinizing gaze when he simply agreed with the younger’s remark from the day before?

“Hyung!” To someone who doesn't know Jimin well enough, the syllable might just sound like any unparticular whine. Yoongi, however, knows Jimin as much as he does himself. He can clearly hear the incoming scolding. “Are you allergic to love?! What is it with you!”

On a normal day, Yoongi would retort something witty and quick, if it wasn’t for the confusion. What did he miss? “Didn’t you say the same thing yesterday?”, he asks, perplexed.

“Oh my God. People change, Hyung.”

Yeah, sure. His fault. He should have been aware of that.

“Plus, you do the same thing.”

“Say what now?”

Jimin turns his upper body towards his Hyung, tapping the scribbled lines in his hand as if they hold all the answers. “Brush my hair out of my face! So don’t act like it’s so out of pocket and unfathomable for someone to do it, too.”

Oh.

“Well… but not like that.”, Yoongi retorts with a mutter, averting his gaze to the phone in his hands, decidedly ignoring the way several excuses for it are burning a hole into his tongue.
All rational, of course. He is helping his friend – the very friend who is risking having an irritated eye simply because ink on paper is more important than that, apparently.
“I just get annoyed by it.” Or that. Not what Yoongi intended to say, but also not entirely untrue.

“You get annoyed by anything I do.”, Jimin deadpans and then frowns at the paper in his hand. “I don’t get it, though.”
“Don’t get what?”, Yoongi asks, swift fingers gently taking the letter from the younger one to scan the words scribbled on it once more. “It’s pretty clear, isn’t it? Textbook unreciprocated love.”

Grabbing the elder by the shoulder, Jimin turns Yoongi’s body until he is facing in the opposite direction, before the familiar outline of the blond’s back pushes against his own. “We don’t know that yet. I just don’t get why that person is writing these letters instead of just confessing.”

Yoongi leans back against Jimin, tilting his head back until it rests against the curve of the younger one’s nape, huffing out some air. “It’s not that easy, Jimin-ah.”
He can feel the other one tilt his head. There’s no need to check; Yoongi knows that the expression on Jimin’s face is most definitely one of curiosity and disagreement.

“It really is. And definitely better than all this sorrowful pining.”

Sometimes, Yoongi catches himself longing to see the world from Jimin’s eyes.
Somehow, his friend always seems to perceive the complexity of life and humans as something so easy and simple. Not one-dimensional, no. Jimin is too sharp and reflective for that.
But where Yoongi sees unfathomable hurdles he aches to understand, and fails to do so, Jimin sees a mountain and gets excited over the hike to reach its peak.
Where Yoongi sees black and white, Jimin brings chaotic splotches of colours that he never knows where they will pop up next and blend into each other.

“And what if those feelings aren’t reciprocated and the friendship is ruined by the confession?”, Yoongi prompts with a low hum, his eyelids growing heavier in the close proximity to the person he calls home.
He can feel the small shake of Jimin’s head against his own. “They’ve been friends for years, no? Their friendship should be strong enough to survive that.”

Ah, but it’s really not that simple. Or maybe it is?
It’s hard to tell sometimes with Jimin’s exaggerated optimism and Yoongi’s mild pessimism.

“Don’t get sleepy now.”, Jimin warns nasally and gently jabs his elbow back into Yoongi’s side. “The bus is going to be here soon.”
“But you just got comfortable!”, Yoongi complains, leveling more of his weight against Jimin’s back to keep him in place.

All that achieves is a yelp when the body behind him disappears, and has him rolling onto his back on the wide step like a turtle turned upside down.
Jimin holds out a hand, wide, teasing smile parting his lips. “C’mon now, Hyung. Your mom is going to kill you if you miss another lesson.”

Touché.

“You’re right.”, Yoongi says and lets himself be pulled up with a groan. “Everything you do is annoying.”
Jimin giggles. “Stop smiling like an idiot, and I might believe you.”

Chapter Text

It’s a good thing that Jimin insisted on heading to the bus, or else they would have narrowly missed it. Just like any afternoon in Seoul, it’s crammed full enough of people that there are barely any seats left.

Jimin and Yoongi squeeze onto one-and-a-half seats at the back of the bus, hips and sides pressing against one another. Rain taps against the window, distorting the world outside with watery streaks that break prisms of colours. Even though the temperatures keep rapidly dropping outside, and although the bus is filled with passengers, there is a chill in the air.

Not around Yoongi, though, who feels Jimin’s warmth seep through his jacket and jeans.

The rain had begun the moment the two boys started jogging towards the closest bus station to their college. Lonely drops are still settled against Jimin’s blond streaks, apparently enough to have the younger one shiver a little, trapped in the dampness of his clothes.

Careful not to elbow any of the people around him, Yoongi unwraps the scarf around his neck and leans into Jimin’s space to instead wrap it around his friend, who regards him with a little smile.
There’s a rosy blush on his ivory skin, whispering towards the tip of his nose.

“You’re going to get sick.”, Yoongi murmurs, tilting his head. He moves to take his jacket off next, but a hand on his arm stops him.
“Don’t worry, Hyung. I’ll be home way quicker than you. You need that more than I do.”, Jimin declines and shrinks in on himself, huddling into the confines of his thin jacket.

Yoongi frowns. It doesn’t sit right with him to see the younger one shiver to his side. So, despite the complaints, he slides his jacket off his shoulders and uses it to tuck it around Jimin.
“Just give it back to me when you get off the bus.”, he hums amongst the whispered scolding coming from his dongsaeng.

The bus driver must either be new at his job or has been driving buses for ages now, judging from the way he takes even the sharpest corners with a little too much speed – pushing Yoongi and Jimin apart and then closer together at every turn.

“Let’s read the next letter.”, Jimin hushes, nodding his head towards the backpack on Yoongi’s lap.
“Here?”
“No, Hyung. On the roof of the bus. Yes, here.”
“Alright, alright. Damn”

Things always change; That’s the course of life. And so did Yoongi and Jimin.
But one thing that will never change is the sass that they reserve for no one else but the other one. And how it lands every time, but only coaxes out snorts and cackles.
It’s the safety they’ve built, where they can be wholly themselves around each other. Where they know that no word is ever laced with poison.
It also helps knowing that Jimin is a little brat sometimes.
Then again, that’s one of the many things that make him so charming and fun.
He keeps Yoongi on his toes.

Reluctantly, the elder bends forward and slides his hand into the pocket of his jacket that's wrapped around Jimin, whose curious eyes are following the motion.

“Thought you'd be impatient again.”, Yoongi murmurs with an upward tilt of his lip.

He pulls the third envelope out and frowns at it. The state of this one is much worse than the rest of the letters. Whereas, before, there were simple creases, this envelope looks like it’s met the pressure of tightening fingers around it – and lost. 

“What happened to that?”, Jimin sniffles nasally.
“What happened to you?”, Yoongi throws back immediately, letter in his hand forgotten when his eyes draw up to find the young one paling visibly in front of him.

Jimin's bottom lip shoves out, and Yoongi learns that not all whines are audible. Some are silent in the glistening of rounded eyes, in the slightest quaver of a mouth. It tugs at something deep inside his chest, his hands moving automatically to tug his jacket tighter around Jimin.

“I don't know, maybe it's the lack of sleep.”, the younger one snivels and lets his weight drop against his Hyung, who receives it quietly. “Distract me?”

Anything. The word almost slips from Yoongi's lips unbidden. It is not the truth of it that he is keeping to himself, because that one is already known by both of them and rests on reciprocity. 
Saying it aloud, though. That feels too much, too… heavy?

Nestling against Jimin to try and warm him up some more with his own body heat, Yoongi ignores the own chill creeping up his skin at the lack of proper clothing, and gingerly unfurls the letter. 
Not a single head turns at the crinkling sounds they cause – too used to students diligently using every spare minute they've got to stay ahead, and maybe have more time for hobbies and friends if their homework is already halfway done on their way home.
If only this was homework.

Yoongi's quiet voice begins reading.

‘Moon.’

‘Have I missed my chance? Was there even one to begin with?

I see the way you revel under his attention. How the faintest blush paints your soft features. The bat of your eyes to the floor.

You do not react like that to me.’

“Trouble in paradise.”, Jimin breathes into the collar of Yoongi's jacket, eyes closed. 
It's then that Yoongi knows for sure that this isn't about a little lost sleep.
It’s also the moment the elder decides that he will simply accept the wrath of his mother for missing another lesson so that he can make sure Jimin gets home safely.

“Told you.”, he whispers back and nudges the young one in an attempt to maybe rouse him back to life. But Jimin just presses himself further into his Hyung as though he is trying to crawl inside of him and hunker down there.

Something in Yoongi's chest flutters, his eyes hastily scanning the people around as if someone other than him could catch the lonesome bug fluttering around in his torso. But no pair of eyes meets his. No one feels it, other than him. 
He hurries to continue reading.

‘My heart twists and tears at the sight, even though my mind is aware that it has no right to.

And the only one aware of it is me, because my cowardice prevents me from whispering the same sweet nothings into your ear that I imagine he does.’

“It's kind of silly.”, Jimin mutters, body either shivering or rattling with the movements of the bus, Yoongi isn't sure.
“Hm?”
The young one turns his head, looking up at his Hyung through half-lidded, tired eyes. “The jealousy, I mean.”

The bus stops at a nearby train station, leaving the boys behind with half of the passengers now, all nestled into their seats. Although there is now enough space for Yoongi to scoot away and leave Jimin a bit more space on his window seat, Yoongi doesn't move.

“I don't know…”, he murmurs, thinking back to the moment when he thought the love letters were addressed to Jimin – the immediate and intense jealousy he felt at potentially having to share his friend.”I kind of get Wave here.”

Jimin's brows furrow, his hand wiggling out of the jacket to pull the letter out of Yoongi's grasp and pull it closer to his face.
The skin between his eyebrows creases more as he continues.

‘How I ache for it to be me. But now I have missed my chance.

How could I intercept and squeeze myself between you and the potential happiness that is just waiting for you?’

“It's outright stupid!”, he says in that usual scolding tone, and Yoonggi can see it on his face; The confusion, the dissent.
“Now, now. That's a bit harsh.”, Yoongi chuckles and looks past Jimin. One more stop left before the blond one has to get off. “The writer is just going through it. Shouldn't you be all swoony over it?”

Jimin simply scoffs, stripping his Hyung's jacket off. “What is that supposed to mean? I don't get swoony from wimpiness.”
It must be the cold that's brewing in Jimin's body, combined with the sleepless night that has him this snappy. Accepting the risk that Yoongi could very well be the next target of a biting remark, he outright snorts and finally scoots away to let Jimin wiggle past – feigning ignorance at how empty his side now feels.

“Is it wimpiness, or is it just a human not wanting to take the risk of ruining the friendship?”, he retorts gently, grabbing his jacket from the empty seat to his left.
Jimin swirls around, huffing. “Either they take the risk, or they stop whining, it's that easy.”

Yip, definitely the cold. 

“C’mon.”, Yoongi hums placidly and rises from his own seat, smiling into the wide-eyed face when he wraps his jacket back around his friend and fastens it by tying the empty sleeves across Jimin's chest. “Let's get you home and into bed. We can finish the letter once you've got something warm and healthy in you.”
“You're coming?”, Jimin asks, hope and excitement flitting through his eyes.
The bus stops, doors pushing open.
Yoongi turns Jimin around and guides him outside with the press of his palm against the delicate back.
“Of course, I am.”, he replies, as if he ever drops his lessons easily. His mother will have to understand that Jimin's shivering form has taken priority. What kind of friend would Yoongi be if he didn't make sure that the young one gets home safely in this state? That he is cared for even with his parents still at work until late.


Jimin skips away from the bus and onto the sidewalk, the sight of it looking wonky with his arms restrained to his body by Yoongi's jacket.

And Yoongi follows with an exhale through his nose and a smile on his lips.

The moment Jimin was safely tucked into his blanket on the sofa – insistent that he doesn't want Yoongi to feel lonely in the open kitchen, as though the elder doesn't find almost as much comfort in solitude as he does with the energetic young one around – the light fever kicked off.

“You need to sleep.”, Yoongi directs him, placing a wet cloth on Jimin's forehead.
But the blond one shakes his head, sleepy eyes fixated on the elder. “You need to read.”, he retorts swiftly.
Yoongi brushes his hair back, adjusting the cloth. “Am I not already making you soup? You read it.”

With the most dramatic sigh, Jimin scrabbles over the sofa towards Yoongi's jacket, producing the letter from it.
“This one is annoying me, and now you're making me read it.”, he whines a complaint.

Cute.

Well, then. Yoongi is good at multitasking anyway.
He holds out his hand wordlessly. The moment Jimin sees the silent invitation, he grins triumphantly, crawling back across the sofa and putting the paper into his hyung’s palm.

Returning to the kitchen, Yoongi places it down on the counter next to the stove, diligently stirring the vegetable soup as his eyes scan the next lines.

‘I want you to be happy, and in order to do that, sometimes you have to let the thing you love the most find its own path. Hopefully, it will not lead you away from me. As long as we wander parallel and you do not leave my line of vision fully, I can swallow these feelings and cheer you on from afar.

-Wave’

It really does make sense that someone crumpled this specific letter. Even reading it without any connection to either, the sender or the recipient – Yoongi can feel the sorrow seeping with every beat from between the lines.

Jimin, however, seems to still fail to find empathy for the pair in him, judging from the groan coming from the sofa.

“And here I was, thinking you're the hopeless romantic between us.”, Yoongi teases lightly from behind the stove. Steam curls through the air in front of him, bathing the open room with humidity that will hopefully serve the young one.

“I am.”, Jimin returns curtly, his eyes peeking over the backrest and finding Yoongi. He looks properly disheveled – blond strands sticking in every direction, cloth half hanging into one of his eyes, cheeks and nose still flushed pink. “Don't you see the obvious problem here?”

Yoongi hums, losing his gaze in the swirling, bubbling broth in front of him as he thinks the letter over.
“I don't think it's as easy as just confessing, Jimin-ah.”, he begins slowly, the tapping of consistent rain against the plentiful windows resounding around them. “If they are friends for as long as we are, then the sender would be risking a lot more than just a friend by confessing.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, wrapping the blanket around himself and getting off the sofa to pad to the space next to Yoongi – swiftly ignoring the elder's scolding to stay where he is and get some rest. “What would they risk, then? If that were us, what would you risk?”

“You. My home.”

The response is immediate, so much so that Yoongi coughs as if choking on the words themselves. His gaze flits to Jimin, meeting the deepening rosiness of his cheeks, before it sinks itself in the soup once more.
“It's not just a simple friendship after some years.”, he adds hurriedly. “It's a companionship that takes up space in someone's life. And with it gone, there will be a noticeable hole.”

A slight pressure appears on Yoongi's shoulder. He turns his head, his cheek pushing into resistance as he peers at Jimin's head perched there. Heat seeps through his back from where the blanketed body of Jimin pressed against it, burning him from the inside out.
“You're my home too, Hyungie.”

There it is again. The flutter. Only it's not a lonesome bug this time around, but a colony of frantically dancing critters.

“I get it now.”, Jimin says quietly, his warm breath brushing over Yoongi's neck, causing a shudder the elder can only hold back with all his might. “I wouldn't want to lose that either.”

As if completely unaffected by the swarm of electric currents, Jimin tiptoes away again, fetching two bowls from the cupboard above the sink and placing them side by side on the dinner table; moving to grab two spoons and glasses next. “Thank you for being here, by the way.”, he beams.

Yoongi's eyes trail after him, his mind somersaulting, attempting to shake the chaos inside it off and away, and failing miserably.
“Always.”, he says absentmindedly, still feeling the phantom of Jimin pressing into his back, the weight of his chin on his shoulder. He shakes his head, calling himself to order. “I'm going to use you as a shield against my mom, though.”

Jimin's head whips around with a scowl. “You're the older one, you are supposed to sacrifice yourself for me!”
Yoongi sighs. “Demanding.”
“Just for you.”, Jimin replies with a wicked grin.

Chapter Text

It really shouldn't come as a surprise to Yoongi that the seat next to him remains empty the next day, and yet, his gaze travels time and time again throughout class, expecting to see Jimin skip through the door with his usual bright smile.

Tonight, it was him losing sleep. 

Not because of the letters that he accidentally left at Jimin's place. Not even because of the content of those that they've read so far – even though he found himself resonating deeply with the last one of them.

No, it's the buzzing. The one that still flits over his skin like electric current whenever he thinks back to Jimin's head perched on his shoulder from behind. And it seems as though he cannot ever stop thinking about it.

His reaction doesn't even make any sense. For years, they have been close – mentally and physically. How many evenings have they spent with Yoongi on his back and Jimin using his stomach as a pillow? How often have they sat back to back wherever there was nothing else to lean against; The foyer, on a blanket in the park, the occasional afternoons spent at the bank of the Han river.

They aren't strangers to close proximity, and the one yesterday wasn't any different in theory.

But something about it has thrown its hook into Yoongi and refuses to loosen its grip again. If only he could pinpoint exactly what it is. Maybe then he could undo the spell it has on him.

However, right now, with class coming to an end and his phone rhythmically buzzing inside of his jeans pocket, he doesn't get a chance to think about it.

[11:02 a.m., Chim]

hyung

[11:02 a.m., Chim]

hyungie

[11:02 a.m. Chim]

hyung, u forgot the letters at my place

[11:03 a.m., Chim]

watch me read them all without u

[11:04 a.m., Yoongles]

You wouldn't dare

[11:04 a.m. Chim]

wanna bet?

[11:05 a.m., Yoongles]

Brave thing to say to someone who

holds leverage against you

[11:07 a.m., Chim]

LOL what kind of leverage do u have?

[11:08 a.m., Yoongles]

Oh, nothing

[11:08 a.m., Chim]

that's what i thought

[11:08 a.m., Yoongles]

Just the matching dreamcatchers you

wanted for our lockers

[11:09 a.m., Chim]

WAIT REALLY?

[11:11 a.m., Yoongles]

No lol

[11:12 a.m., Chim]

wow. ok.

[11:12 a.m., Chim]

mean much?

Yoongi smiles at his phone, his eyes lifting to watch Hoseok carefully fiddling with one of the feathers of the dreamcatchers Yoongi had brought into college today. The same ones Jimin is gonna find hanging in his and the elder’s locker once he returns. 

Despite the headache it induced, Yoongi had spent all night yesterday researching how Pinterest works, so that he can oblige and send Jimin a board himself with the aesthetic he can see himself participating in.

As it turns out, that aesthetic holds the young one way too close. 

Looking back at it, one would only find hints of Yoongi there. He justifies it to himself by reminding his little inner voice that this was Jimin’s idea anyway, so of course he is gonna keep his friend’s likes and dislikes in mind to weave them into something they both will feel comfortable with.

The dreamcatchers however? Well…

Jimin won’t hear a word of it, but when Yoongi missed the last bus yesterday, he started wandering home through the dimly lit sidestreets, finding them hanging in the window of a handcraft shop. Slipping inside, hair damp from the rain and scarf still somewhere in Jimin’s apartment, he had spontaneously pointed them. The shopkeeper was seconds away from hushing him out the doors – the shop apparently already shut down for the day with the late hours –, but when Yoongi explained why he needed them, the elderly men sighed and let him quickly buy the two.

They were built the same way; A mandala of strings adorned with wooden beads, feathers and little ceramic stars placed in intricate patterns, yet one was pastel blue and the other pastel grey. It was like looking at Jimin and himself from the outside perspective, hanging side by side, so similar yet each their own. Matching. Cohesive.

He leans forward, gently taking it from Hoseok.

“Didn’t know you were into such cliché nicknacks, Hyung.”, the heart-smiled boy says with a little smirk.

Yoongi looks at the pastel one in his hands. “It’s not for me.”, he replies, picking his phone back up when it buzzes once more.

[11:19 a.m., Chim]

wanna read the letter with me, hyung?

[11:19 a.m., Yoongles]

Are you gonna write it out word for word, or smth?

[11:20 a.m., Chim]

don’t be silly now.

[11:20 a.m., Chim]

come here.

[11:20 a.m., Chim]

after classes. i’m bored.

[11:21 a.m., Yoongles]

One more missed piano lesson and you’ll

have to organize my funeral, Jimin-ah

[11:24 a.m., Chim]

what are ur favourite flowers again?

[11:25 a.m., Yoongles]

Ouch.

[11:29 a.m., Yoongles]

Are you waiting for me to 

actually tell you what they are?

[11:31 a.m., Yoongles]

Jimin-ah.

[11:33 a.m., Yoongles]

Bird of paradise flowers

[11:33 a.m., Chim]

was that so hard?

[11:34 a.m., Yoongles]

I’m going to block you now

[11:35 a.m., Chim]

not if i block u first :*

come here if u want to get unblocked again

[11:36 a.m., Yoongles]

You’re giving me a headache.

[(!) Message not delivered (!)]

Yoongi scoffs, staring at the screen of his phone.

“This brat.”, he chuckles under his breath, sliding the device back into his pocket, collecting the two dreamcatchers to make his way towards the lockers.

He doesn’t need to guess the lock combination for Jimin’s locker. It’s the same one the young one always uses. 

With practiced hands, he turns the gears of it until it shows [0903] and jumps open.

Predictable as always, he thinks to himself as he takes one of the tiny hooks he brought out of his pocket and carefully glues it to the inside of the locker’s door, hanging up the pastel blue dreamcatcher on it, before unlocking his locker [1013] and repeating the motion with his own little decor. 

Yoongi steps back, smiling at it.

So far, it’s not a lot. But he can already picture the happiness this will bring his energetic friend.

He snaps a picture. Two more classes, one piano lesson he cannot skip today, and then, in the evening, he will show it to Jimin.

“Hyungie!” Jimin practically throws himself against Yoongi, arms wrapping around his neck. He leans back, looking at the warming elder. “I didn’t know you’d actually show up!”

His voice carries a little rasp from the sore cold raging through his body, his face a little puffy. It’s only Jimin who doesn’t lose an ounce of prettiness whilst being sick.

Yoongi pats his back with a smile. “Didn’t you say you’d keep me blocked until I show up? How else am I going to give you our new assignments?”

Immediately, the arms drop from around him, small hands pushing against his chest. “Yeah. Leave again.”

Barking a laugh, Yoongi swiftly sidesteps around Jimin, stepping into the open apartment. 

As usual, his parents are still at their family-owned restaurant, and not home yet, even though the late night hours are rapidly approaching.

They head toward Jimin’s room – the place in utter chaos. An array of papers are scattered across the floor in all colours of the rainbow and shapes of an origami book.

Among that, bottles of glue, a pair of scissors and green strings are strewn about. If Yoongi didn’t know better, he would think he has just walked into the most disorganized craft store in Seoul.

“What the hell happened here?”

Behind him, Jimin shrieks brokenly. One second, there’s a hand at the back of Yoongi’s jacket, the next he’s stumbling backwards – yanked back by small hands. 

“Don’t look!”

“What- You led me here!”

“I forgot!”

Yoongi catches his step, turning in the hallway to look at the frantic blond one shoving past him and shutting the door to his room again.

“Forgot what?”, he asks, thoroughly confused.

Jimin turns, stemming his hands on his hips. “None of your business, now shoo! Shoo!”

He swats towards Yoongi without ever touching him.

The elder regards him with a deadpan stare. “Seriously?”

Looking back over his shoulder, Jimin stares at the closed door. 

“I’m crafting something.”, he mutters.

“Would have never guessed.”, Yoongi retorts. This time, the swat connects with his bicep, earning a stifled chuckle from him.

The elder catches Jimin’s sleeve, pulling him towards him and away from the door. “It’s okay, Jimin-ah. You don’t have to tell me.”, he reassures with a little smile.

The blond one sighs, brushing his fingers through his hair as if Yoongi has just demanded to know his deepest, darkest secret.

“It’s for you.”, he murmurs under his breath.

“Hm?”

“It’s for you!”, Jimin blurts out loudly, reluctantly opening the door again and stepping inside with Yoongi close on his tail. He picks up an undefined bundle of glued purples, greens, yellows and oranges.

The elder steps closer, taking it from Jimin when the younger one extends his hand. He leans closer, needing a few seconds before the recognition alights in him.

“Birds of paradise.”, he breathes.

It may be undefined, looking more like a rose that went through a typhoon just recently than it does the flower it was designed after, but it’s there; The colour scheme, the carefully folded papers, the glue holding them together in a shape that resembles the birds of paradise flower with enough imagination.

Yoongi looks up, eyes locking with Jimin’s before the latter bats his eyes to the floor, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“You made this for me?” Yoongi’s voice sounds so foreign to himself, too breathy, too thin.

Jimin nods, causing another flutter inside the elder’s chest. He should make an appointment to get checked for these heart palpitations. 

“For our locker. One for you, one for me.”

Seconds pass so wordlessly with Yoongi just staring at Jimin until the younger one begrudgingly raises his gaze again.

“What?”, he bites out hoarsely, lips pulling into the lovechild of the tiniest, little frown and a full-lipped pout.

Instead of replying anything, Yoongi uses his free hand to pull out his phone, open the gallery app and show Jimin the picture he snapped of their lockers today.

“Wait!” Jimin greedily swipes the phone out of his Hyung’s hand, eyes widening as he clasps it tightly. His head flies up, surprise etched into every single one of his features. “But you said- You lied! You got us matching dreamcatchers! And you hung them up for us!”

Despite the scolding tone, Jimin’s mouth widens and widens into the brightest smile so far, his body saying side to side on the spot. 

“That’s not all.”, Yoongi hums, reveling in the excitement he has anticipated all day. Careful not to crush the little crafted flower in his hand, he leans in, leaving his phone in Jimin’s hands, but opening the Pinterest app next.

There’s only one board, titled ‘Yoonmin Lockers’

“Hyung…”

It happens so fast, for a moment Yoongi isn’t sure if it really happened. But he can still feel the warm phantom of Jimin’s lips against his cheek. His eyes go wide, his heart beating against his ribcage with a fervour he didn’t know it was capable of. 

“I’m gonna send it to my phone, so I know what items to look out for! I’ve got enough material here, maybe I can craft a thing or two.”, Jimin babbles on, leaving Yoongi frozen to the spot opposite him, still leaned in, gaze fixed on his phone and not taking in a single thing happening on the screen. 

What is this? Why does his chest feel so empty and so overly full all at once? What is squeezing and twisting inside of it? 

What is happening?! Is he also getting sick?

“Hyung!”, Jimin rips him from his paralysis. Yoongi straightens at once, blinking as though he is disoriented – which, honestly, isn’t far off. “I want you to make my flower. So you have something from me and I have something from you.”

“Ah, uh. Yeah, sure.” Yoongi clears his throat, shaking his head to try and get rid of the cloudiness inside of it. “Rose of Sharon, right?”

When he finally meets Jimin’s gaze again, he finds his own warmth mirrored on the younger one’s face. Or maybe it’s the cold painting his cheeks with shades of pink. Maybe Yoongi is just hallucinating. At this point, all of it could be true, and he would be none the wiser.

All he knows is that he can still feel that kiss lingering on his skin, the fire radiating from it, and the haste of his pulse.

“You know that?”

“Of course I do.”

“Damn, now I feel bad for not knowing yours before.”

Yoongi looks down to the paper flower in his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”, he says qui

etly, his eyes softening. “You’ve already more than made up for it.”

For one night, the letters are forgotten amongst sheets of colourful papers, sticky hands from misplaced glue and the phantom of lips on the elder’s cheeks.

Chapter Text

“I love it.”, Jimin practically purrs and steps back, proudly stemming his little fists against his hips. Yoongi dips his head around, looking at the checkered paper lining the walls of their lockers – both in a warm, pastel brown and beige not to outshine the dreamcatchers or little paper bouquets now glued to the back of the metal compartments.

The scrap of see through plastic, painted to half with streaks of aquamarine blue fashions a makeshift vase that holds them in place. It looks as good as it can with the two boys putting it together, but Yoongi – albeit silently – has to admit that now, assembled, it does look quite cute. Their lockers slowly turn into a mirror of themselves and each other with each little gimmick. 

“Here.”, he murmurs, pulling a little paper clip in the shape of Gudetama out from his pocket and gluing it to Jimin's locker door. He produces the rest of the unread letters from his backpack, three in total, and clips them in – crumpled paper leaning against rusted metal hidden beneath polaroids of Jimin's favourite memories on campus. 

“Now you can grab one whenever you want us to read the next one.”, he mutters and bats his eyes to the side, quickly glancing away again when they meet Jimin's. 

“No sneak peaks without me.”, he reminds.

Jimin wiggles his eyebrows at the elder, stepping closer and nudging his shoulder against Yoongi's. 

“Lookie, lookie who has become hooked.”, he teases triumphantly, as though he won a bet Yoongi wasn't aware they had made.

The hyung snorts, closing his locker as an excuse to build up some more distance once more. Every time Jimin's body heat penetrates his bubble, he can feel the prickle on his skin of when those plush lips had met it. For a motion so quick, it has surely left his imprint on flesh and memory alike.

“And it's your fault..”, Yoongi hums with a snicker, gesturing for Jimin to get ready. 

The younger follows suit, throwing his jacket on. It doesn't slip Yoongi's attention that one of the letters lands in the pocket of it before he twirls two steps away. His arms swing freely as he starts toward the exit of the building, knowing that Yoongi is trailing behind without needing to check.

“You're welcome. No lessons today for you.”, he says with a smile over his shoulder, having remembered Yoongi's schedule as if it's his own. “Wanna go to the park and read this?”

The elder watches him pat his pocket with a mischievous glint in his eye. The snort escapes him before he can catch it. 

“You're acting as if we're leaving for a little adventure.”, he points out, nodding nonetheless and wrapping the scarf a little tighter around himself. A stroll through the park sounds nice. “Wait.”

Jimin peers after his hyung with wide, curious eyes as Yoongi turns back around towards their lockers, opening Jimin’s under a “Hey! That's theft!” when he pulls a second letter out – leaving only one behind. 

With the smallest wave the paper flirrs in the air for a moment, before it finds a temporary home in the backpocket of his jeans.

“We didn't get to read one all weekend.”, he explains as he returns to his friend. “Let's catch up properly.”

Jimin's laugh is like the bright bell of an Italian church atop a little village mountain on a sunny day, the salty ocean air lingering in the air that's surring with heat and the chirp of insects all around – a melody enticing, inviting to visit and let time pass around it to hear it just one more time, and one more, one more, one more.

Day after day. Yoongi could never tire of it.

He loves music, but Jimin's voice outshines even his favourite songs.

“Wow, you really are hooked. Maybe even more than me now!”, the young one giggles.

Yoongi exhales through his nose. “That's just silly. You're practically vibrating to read already.”

Pulling the envelope back out, Jimin scans it. “I've got number four, you?”

“Five.”, Yoongi replies without needing to check. He had seen the number already when he pulled it from the cute little paper clip.

“My turn, then.”

Yoongi nods his head to the side as they exit the building, guiding them towards the beaten trail that leads through a small field of tall, brown grass – a shortcut to the park, created by students that do not desire to round the whole campus first. It has become the boys’ daily route now if they don't take the bus; Park first, then their usual café where they tend to spend the afternoons on which the weather does not allow for other activities.

Today, though, the November sun is shining warmly. Colourful leaves fall from the trees like snow, leisurely, like a dance they perform for everyone who is willing to stop and watch. Covering the ground, each step crunches underneath their boots. Jimin walks next to the path by choice, dragging his feet through them, kicking his toes up here and there for his own personal dance swaying around his legs. Further up ahead, a squirrel halts for just a moment, gazing back at the boys before it bolds into the forage – brown-orange-ish, bushy tail popping up again a few feet overhead on a brush where it stops and peers at them curiously, cautiously. 

The last few birds are chirping quietly around them, the buzz of insects already silent until the first bloom of summer arrives next year. Trees shed not only their leaves, but their seed as well, foliage growing thicker next year if the boots of students passing does not trample the sprouts tiny enough to go unnoticed.

Yoongi trails half a step behind Jimin, letting him lead the direction of where they'll end up today.

It has become a ritual at this point; Jimin deciding.

Yoongi genuinely doesn't care too much about what they're doing as long as Jimin is by his side. And the younger one is attentive enough to know instinctively what surroundings his Hyung would feel comfortable in, and which ones to avoid.

It's a fair trade; Yoongi coaxed out of the comfortable solitude of his bedroom, whilst Jimin gets to acquire all the new experiences he wouldn't dare investigate on his own. Such as the jazz club they've ended up in just two weeks prior. 

That one still lingers positively enough, Yoongi wonders if they should wander there and see if there are any bands playing this evening, he doesn't even notice Jimin straightening the letter to his side.

It's only the angelic voice that pulls the elder back into the present immediately, ears tied to lips that speak so softly, and breathe kisses even terribly softer.

‘My Moon,

how lucky we both are that you do not shy away from the difficult conversations in life. How blessed I am that you hold that quality so deeply ingrained in you.

Had you not sought my presence out, I would have shied away from you without hold, until I drifted aimlessly somewhere around you.’

“Coward.”, Jimin huffs, interrupting himself as he tends to do with these letters. For someone so invested, he sure can't spend more than three consecutive sentences without cutting into them. 

And as much as Yoongi's curiosity is peaked at the contents of them, he also lives to hear his dongsaeng's thoughts. Whilst their initial excitement differed, their opinions seem to mirror that; With Yoongi more understandable of Wave, and Jimin more frustrated than revered in awe.

“Continue.”, he says softly, a smile on his lips, face tilting away from the sun whilst Jimin slows down noticeably to soak it all in. Shadow and Light. Neptune and Venus. Queen of the night tulip and Wisterias. 

It seems to be true when they say opposite attracts. 

How else do Yoongi and Jimin work so well?

The calm of the storm, maybe the eye of the storm with Jimin all surrounding Yoongi and Yoongi at the center of the younger.

‘My, oh my’

“Who the hell says ‘My, oh my’?!”

Yoongi has to admit, that's laid on a bit too thick.

‘You do not want him! You told me yourself. And how my heart has soared upwards in relief. It does not yet bring me closer to you in theory, but it does in my resolve to show you these letters one day.

At least now I do not have to worry about ruining a budding romance that had no chance to blossom yet. You have done as such.

But one day, maybe you will allow ours.

I will show you.

Take your time, do not blush and then shoot me down.’

Gasping, Jimin stops abruptly with Yoongi walking straight into him and staggering back a step, surprise raising his eyebrows. “What, what?”, he asks, peaking around Jimin and scanning the surroundings to see what may have caused the younger's reaction. But other than the occasional crow and pigeon, the park is mostly deserted with just a few people strolling about. There is a small dog a few hundred meters ahead, but too far away to have been able to cause such amazement.

Jimin presses the letter against his chest, chin tilting up. 

“How cute! Finally!”, he exhales in relief, but Yoongi can't concentrate on that. 

The orangy afternoon sun of this mild autumn caresses the younger's outlines like a painter's brush does his finishing touches – over the small curves of his cheeks that bulge ever so slightly at his soft smile, down to the jawline that accentuates the sharpness of features hidden until awoken. 

And the column of his throat, good Gods. Every bump, every stroke of ivory chiseled by a sculptor who has fallen for his own creation in a twist of fate.

The pinkish hue on his cheeks, brought upon by the coldness lingering in shadows where the November sun doesn't reach, complimented by the same tinge reflected on the lips that thin solely at the reveal of white teeth – crooked only in the front, ever so slightly, ever so endearing.

Jimin turns his head, all sparkling eyes, the breath fogging before his face. 

“Isn't it beautiful?”, he asks, the press of the paper against his chest crinkling it a little more. 

“Yeah.”, Yoongi breathes a reply that does not concern the letters in the slightest, eyes catching on the younger's smile, now knowing faintly what they feel like against himself. He flinches internally, shying away from the thought. That is not something he should get hung up on. Not here, nor ever.

He clears his throat. “This is the kind of swooning I expected from you, Jimin-ah.”, he tries to tease a little, distracting from his internal thoughts as if they're echoing between them loudly. But his voice is a little too thin, a little too breathless.

Thankfully, Jimin does not seem to notice, or even care.

He twirls around Yoongi, the paper in his hands fluttering in the crisp air. 

“Okay, okay.” Skipping forward, he lifts it back to his face. “It's not over yet.”

‘For I will accept your decision, but if you decide to give me a chance, I will show you a devotion no other man can offer you.

Dearest Moon, let me be the wave that retracts with your inhale and sways to every breath that pearls from your lips.

Tomorrow I will show you the future you can have.

And I'd wait an eternity for you to join me in it.

- Wave’

There's an array of noises coming from the younger one, all mixing into each other; Squeals, gasps, breathy little chuckles, yelps. It's hard to discern, but it's adorable nonetheless.

Yoongi's eyes jump over the place, following the blond ball of energy, before he blinks and finds Jimin's face practically almost pressed to his – little fists clutching his scarf and pulling him in, wide eyes searching his. Yoongi's heart jumps out of his ribcage to flutter between them.

“Hyung!”, he whines, throwing himself back again and tiptoeing around the elder in excitement he does not try to contain. “I can't do this! This is exactly what I wanted Wave to be! Confident, sure, in love and not afraid!”

A plethora of praise follows, yet Yoongi is in a world of his own, still stuck in the seconds before; Jimin's warm breath ghosting over his lips in a puff of mist, noses just inches apart.

The insistent memory of the kiss on his cheek jumps at him, mind trailing into a territory it has never been in before; One that friends do not find themselves in.

He's had these thoughts about other people before, of time pausing to allow them a little nook where they can pull each other in. But none of them made him recoil like this.

Just what has gotten into him? This is Jimin, his childhood best friend! 

He should really get a grip of himself. Has he gotten too dependent on the younger one in a way where the lines begin to blur?

How unseemly to ever think of his unaware friend like this.

And why does it feel so different, the imagery alone? So… right?

With heat burning him from head to toe, Yoongi exhales, hoping he can blame the blush on the cold autumn day, and pulls out his own letter.

He holds it up in the air, desperate to distract Jimin from pointing out his obvious flustered state.

“Don't get too excited.”, he quietly dampens the younger one's lavish happiness, hooking his finger into the old seal of the envelope in his hand, and beginning to gingerly pull it apart, eyes fixated on the practiced motion. “This could very well be a rejection letter.”

He tugs the folded paper out and opens it, eyebrows drawing together at the few lines neatly written on it.

Jimin leans in with round eyes, glued to every word Yoongi slowly breathes.

‘My Moon.

I love you.

Always have, always will.

I am not asking you to love me back right now.

But if you do, then let me know.

Yours, if you will have me.’

The dirt beaten path turns back into pavement when they reach the end of the park, clouds drawing in now. Jimin, with a frown, guides them toward a less crowded sidestreet, filled with stands of vendors loudly declaring the prices and quality of their wares. With dawn rolling in, the lanterns spring to light, illuminating the grey and red brick houses with a slight orange hue.

In the wide orbs of light, Yoongi can physically see the huff coming from Jimin's lungs.

“That's all?”

He steals the letter from his hyung, turning it around and around, as though some invisible ink could magically appear with the motion. Of course, the rest of the paper remains empty.

“How disappointing.”, he pouts, lips forming the most formidable beak. “We should go back and get the other one.”

Yoongi lifts his head, returning from the countless moments he has spent awfully close to Jimin and discerning if it made his heart flutter then as well, to turn and take in the street. He looks over his shoulder back towards the park. They're a good fifteen minute walk away already. “Really?”

Jimin nods, catching his Hyung's gaze with ease. The most sincere genuinity drips from his crescent eyes. And with that alone, he's already won the conversation they had no chance to fully begin yet.

Sighing, Yoongi's hand lifts, fingers gently tugging on Jimin's sleeve to turn them around where they are and head back towards the park. 

He can't manage to feign annoyance for long at the giddiness in Jimin's steps, and the continuous smitten ramble still falling from his lips.

Somewhere, deep in Yoongi's thoughts, something tiny moves – small but mighty. A heat– no. A warmth that rivals the sun. A flutter that soars higher than the spring butterflies. 

And he is faintly aware that this isn't what he should be feeling, but does not shy away from what feels so good, so right.

Chapter Text

It's dark out when they reach the long, winding paths going along the bank of the Han River. Cars drive by further away, bushes muffling the sound of tires on tar and howling motors of bikes. The air smells of approaching winter and faint diesel. Without the warmth of the sun, the cold creeps in mercilessly, pushing against thick jackets, gloves and scarfs.

They're halfway along the way to the jazz bar under constant nagging from the younger one to finally read the letter, though they won't arrive there any time soon.

“Jimin-ah.”, Yoongi chuckles, keeping the envelope warm and safe in his pocket. “None of us have night vision.”

But, of course, Jimin has a solution for everything. 

“The street lamps!”, he offers, his voice as insistent as his scrunched face.

“I quite like my vision intact.”

“Then let me shine my phone flashlight on it.”

“I also quite like your fingers intact.”, Yoongi hums, mischievous grin on his lips.

In theory, he has no issue with reading the letter right now, but by Jimin handing it to him before insisting on reading it himself, there was the perfect opening for some revenge teasing that is long overdue. And so he makes good, albeit rare use of his Hyung privileges. 

If they're good at anything, it's getting on each other's nerves. Harmlessly, at that.

Never would Yoongi even think of denying the younger one anything of actual substance. But innocuous patience? Yes, that he can playfully command.

Their arms press against one another with each step, making space for the countless bicycles and people jogging despite the cold drawing in now with the sun dipped behind the horizon of the still awake city.

Which is another reason as to why exactly Yoongi refuses the younger one's wish at this moment.

By now, Wave has grown on him. Somehow, he feels a deep sympathy with the stranger.

Considering this is the last letter, and the previous two held love confessions, who knows what this one hides.

There's room for either outcome: Rejection or approval. 

And in either case, Yoongi longs to give it the space and quiet it deserves to fully unfurl inside of and around them; To let it settle and end on a proper note, away from the business of everyday life. 

Which is why he has taken the rare lead to guide them to a special place they both know by heart, and imagine it's only them knowing of it. 

The realization of where they’re headed must have slowly started to dawn on Jimin – complaint quieter now, less persistent. It wouldn't be Jimin if he stopped wholly, though.

“Oh, you're so dramatic.”, he says with a eye roll and a theatrical slump of his shoulders. But sure, Yoongi is the one being dramatic. “Are we really going to the clearing?”

The elder hums an approval, half-mesmerized by the late afternoon horizon above tall buildings lit up with deep purples and pinks. Autumn and winter truly hold the most breathtaking sunsets.

Already, there are singular stars blinking above them, bright and twinkling, the moon barely a slither amidst them – a crescent just like his friend's smile. Or the tattoo travelling down Jimin’s spine.

Far away in the depths of his mind, Yoongi mindlessly trails his fingers along the ink, wondering if he will be able to feel the rise of skin until it shivers underneath his fingertips. The vision of him steals the breath right from his lungs, a soundless gasp, before he reels his thoughts back in, heat burning his cheeks at the corruption of his daydreams.

Thankfully it's dark enough now for him to not need an excuse for the blush whispering across the tip of his nose.

“You're not usually this crotchety about going there.”, he notes, easily succeeding in keeping the forced amusement on his lips from entering his voice.

“You're not usually telling me ‘No’.”, Jimin rejoins, sulky as can be.

True that. Yoongi supposes there is a first for everything. 

Just like the inappropriate train of thought at the sight of Jimin's pouty lips; The urge to grasp his friend’s chin between his fingers and draw his thumb across them.

Tearing his eyes away, he forces out a snicker. “I've spoiled you too much.”

But Jimin knows no mercy, unaware as he is, and sticks his face into his Hyung's personal bubble with wrinkled eyebrows, scrutinizing Yoongi as openly and unashamedly as he does everything else. 

“Spoil me more!”, he demands cutely, holding out his hand. “At least give me the letter. I won't read it!”, he immediately adds at Yoongi's disbelieving expression.

Yoongi mulls it over for a moment before relenting – solely to get Jimin to back off, not trusting the twitch of his own fingers.

He hands the envelope over with a sigh, decidedly not meeting the blond's victorious grin. 

True to his words, Jimin stuffs it into his own pocket, skipping a few steps next to his Hyung. “Oh, I'm so excited already.”

“I can tell.”

The remark is a little jab as much as it is genuine pleasure. 

There's as easiness to everything Jimin does; An elegance that is as free-spirited as a bird soaring freely above them all, as it is enthralling. Like an orchestra of string instruments simmering in the background of a melody before it grows and explodes, and – like a black hole – pulls one into it until nothing else exists anymore other than the experience of it – distorting time and sight, vision and seconds, minutes, hours, months, years.

Yoongi finds himself in the middle of it, watching his body stretched and disfigured as it twists around memories of the two boys that all seem so different now, so loaded.

Jimin's bell-laughter rings out from them, the press of his body against Yoongi's.

And nothing else matters suddenly.

In unison, they turn off the path onto the smallest trail – so neglected, grass continuously grows over it, flattened occasionally by the soles of their shoes. The bushes, however, are not as wielding. 

Yoongi keeps his arm extended, letting his body take the brunt of the twigs and small branches and holding them away to the side until Jimin passes and presses himself against Yoongi's back. Again, the elder's pulse spikes, the sensation of the ever so slightly smaller blond breathing against his nape lingering to burn itself into Yoongi's memories. They repeat the motion until the foliage opens up and allows them to walk side by side through the treeline onto a small, little clearing amidst the miniature forest, that is no forest but the extension of another nearby park.

This clearing knows them as well, as they know it. 

Having seen each other grow up over the last fifteen years, they have witnessed each other’s best and worst moments. 

Jimin falling off a tree and unluckily cutting his knee open on the few stones below. 

A storm uprooting a few smaller trees that weren’t given the chance to grow thick enough to best the worst of winds. 

Yoongi announcing he chose the same college as Jimin instead of studying abroad. 

Specks of life drifting through beams of sunlight filtering through a thick roof made of leaves.

The first cigarette they’ve tried together and decided they don’t understand just how anyone could pay money to taste something so disgusting.

The hushed exchange of words about first this and thats – taken in by the life around that promised to keep all their secrets to itself.

Yoongi doesn't adhere to too many rules that don't give any logical reasoning, but one he complies to without any reason needed – without logic and without knowing why exactly –, is to only bring Jimin here, never anyone else.

Seoul is fast-paced, every spot belonging to millions of people.

This is theirs. Always has been.

Although there must be plenty of people passing this clearing, the boys have never come across anyone, and so their mind has conjured up the illogical conclusion that no one in the world knows of this place but them.

Everyone and everything else is left outside. 

Only they exist here, free to be and share whatever they want.

The moment they cross the surrounding tree line, they both draw a breath,feeling the familiarity of the space engulf them whole.

“Can I?”, Jimin asks quietly, voice serene. Yoongi nods.

Where to let a story they had no right reading in the first place end, but right here? Where it will forever stay with no one but them and the trees?

Pulling the envelope out, Jimin stares down at it for so long, he has Yoongi – who already started venturing towards the toppled over tree trunk – pause and turn back around.

Immediately, his alarm is spiked.

“What's wrong?”. he asks, crossing the distance between them with a few strides and pulling the still closed envelope from Jimin's hand at the sight of the frown on the younger's face.

Jimin looks up. 

“I don't want it to end.”, he admits as quietly as the breeze brushing through their hair.

As if he had grabbed Yoongi's scarf again, his words begin to slightly unravel the elder.

Because he doesn’t want this to be over either.

Through the letters, it seems as though he is inching closer to something nameless sleeping inside of him, urging him to wake it up and face it once and for all. 

If the mysterious love story ends now, will he lose the connection to his slumbering core as well?

Would it be for the better, or the worse?

His fingers lift before his eyes, knuckles brushing over Jimin’s temple when he moves to tug the blond’s escaped strands back, a reassuring smile on his lips. 

“One day you’ll get your own love letters, hm?”, he tries to comfort his friend, the words acidic on his tongue.

It feels like a promise and a storm altogether. 

Will they be from Yoongi? 

Will he end up like Wave? 

Worse: Will they be from someone else?

A flood of conflicting emotions rushes through the elder, his hand pausing, his gaze jumping all across Jimin’s face, as he swallows the same jealousy that he had felt in the Café when Jimin first held the stack of love letters between them and coffee. 

Only now he knows that there’s a whole different reason for it other than sharing his friend with someone else.

He begins to understand that, maybe, just maybe, he wants to be that someone else.

Incredulous to his own understanding, he decides to try and put some pen to paper tonight. 

Perhaps, unlike with Wave, he will be able to sort his thoughts like this and force these feelings to puff into hot air where they don't disturb the friendship in ways he should not allow them to.

It's a push and pull. 

One second, Yoongi doesn't want to fall victim to the blossoming in his chest. 

The next, he looks at Jimin and wants to drown in him – wants to envelope him in his arms and never let go again.

Before Yoongi gets the chance to pull away, Jimin takes a step back and turns to walk to the log on the ground that will stay there until it rots and returns to the soil to nurture the next little buds of trees that might have a better chance at growing old than it did. 

The elder’s hand hovers in the air for a second, before it slowly drops to his side.

He shakes his head, ridding himself of these thoughts he shouldn’t indulge so freely in, and follows – taking a seat next to Jimin. 

Cold seeps through his jeans and has him shiver, but all his worries are with the younger who always seems to prioritize style above practicality.

However, after Jimin’s retreat, Yoongi doesn’t dare to inch closer to warm him with his own body heat, so the space between them persists as the younger one turns the envelope in his hands.

“It’s not about me getting love letters.”, Jimin mutters, a tinge of annoyance and something else, something tighter in his voice, a waver. But he doesn’t elaborate any further, and Yoongi doesn't tell him to. 

Instead, Jimin finally pulls the envelope open with a sigh. “Let’s just read it.”

Yoongi has messed up, hasn’t he? He has stared too long, his touch has lingered too closely. 

He had no right to, in his mind he already knew that this was wrong.

They’re friends, he’s just reading too much into it. 

It’s the letters.

They’re tainting his usually clear vision. 

“Yeah, let’s.”, he murmurs, shoving his hands into his pockets.

‘My friend.

You go by many names. Wave, friend, companion, and… No, I can’t write like you do.

Namjoon.’

A name! There it is, a name!

Yoongi’s head whips to the side, eyes wide, but Jimin doesn’t even look up. The only pause he allows is a sniffle in the cold, and then continues as if none of these words mean anything to them. As though they haven't spent the last few days trying to find clues as to who these letters belong to, so that they can return them to the sender. 

An endeavor that was Jimin's idea, no less. Jimin, who kept nagging at every possible moment to get to reading these.

Something feels wrong. Something is.

‘You’re an idiot. 

For months I have waited for you to finally open your eyes to how crazy you drive me. And it takes a friend of mine ripping an inappropriate joke that has me blush for you to finally approach me? 

And not like any other normal person, no. You had to write me love letters.

Do you know that phones exist?’

Yoongi snorts reflexively, but the sound dies midway when Jimin still doesn’t move to interrupt himself to comment on the name reveal of Wave, of the way they’re reading a reply that finally gives them all the answers they have been looking for. Where has his excitement gone, his swooning?

Wave’s didn’t get rejected as it seems, and Jimin doesn’t even blink at it.

Even if Yoongi’s eyes have lingered on his for a second too long, it couldn’t have evoked such a strong reaction, could it?

Whatever the reason for his decisive ignorance is, it has Jimin fly through the words.

‘You are weird. But you’re my favourite kind of weird.

To keep it short: I do.

I do love you, too.

Always have, always will.

You idiot.

Jin’

The letter ends, silence settling between the two boys.

And silence isn’t unusual when you’ve spent as much time together as they do. 

It’s always comfortable, because it never feels like it needs to be filled. They find solace in shared solitude. Comfort.

It has never felt like this before; Like the ends of Yoongi’s nerves fray further with every passing second.

“No twirling around?”, he offers, pushing the words out against invisible walls from the bubble of nervousness building around him and separating them. “No squealing? Nothing?”

Jimin slides from the log with a choked chuckle, taking a few steps away. 

“No, but I might throw up any second now.”

He turns, looking at Yoongi with an expression the elder hasn’t seen on him often. 

A mirror to his soul – anxiety peers

back at him as Jimin slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out a white, neatly folded piece of paper.

“Seriously, hold my hair.”, he says, a shade paler and two shades rosier now. “I feel sick.”

Chapter Text

“Jimin-ah.”, Yoongi breathes, alarm overwriting everything else. He is on his feet before he can think, legs carrying him towards his best friend.
His attention zones in on Jimin like instinct, like gravity, like something older than time. Yoongi doesn't think; He moves.

But Jimin shies away a step, holding a hand up that has the elder grow roots in the foliage right where he is. Not even the worst storm could move him an inch at the halt.

“Don’t.” The younger one’s voice wavers – a sound equally as rare as the foreign distance parting them. “I gotta… You know.” He sways the paper through the air, trembling hands unfolding it.

Yoongi stares at him.
At the back of his mind, he wonders how he could have possibly miscounted the letters in the locker. Jimin must have found it when they went back to collect what he thought was the last envelope.

But all that happens in the background.

His eyes are glued to Jimin, legs aching to cross the distance and hold the trembling boy in front of him in his arms until the tremor subsides. Until the colour returns to his face.

Friend or more, just friend, best friends, his home, his favourite person.
No matter what, Yoongi would always cross a thousand lifetimes for Jimin, but this is the first time he doesn't know if he's allowed to.

He wants to comfort him, but fears of crossing a line he wasn't aware existed between them.

Or is it new?
Is he at fault for it?

Did Jimin notice the flutter in Yoongi's heart?
Did it beat too loudly between the lines?

The ground suddenly feels like a slope. One that turns into a slide that ends with a cliff.
Yoongi's fingers dig into his palms to hold on, his feet dangling over nothingness.

He remains where he stands, feeling as though he has lost his right to go against Jimin’s commands when his thoughts are so improper toward the person he should view as nothing but his best friend.

“I have already read the letters before I brought them to you.”

A gust of wind shakes the remainder of leaves above them, plucking them off the branches and having them dance in a flurry around the boys.

Yoongi's eyebrows draw together, confusion eating him alive with its wide snout, swallowing him into a reel of darkness where he cannot find the start, nor the endpoint of his questions at the unexpected admission.

If Jimin has read the letters beforehand, then why in the world would he act as if he hadn't? It doesn't make sense.
Even if he has read them by himself first, he could have said as much to Yoongi, knowing the elder would have still indulged him in his endeavours nonetheless.

“Why didn't you tell me?”, he asks, body leaning away as if he could escape the smog of perplexity by physically moving away from it.
Jimin looks down at the paper in his hands, avoiding any glance in even the general direction of Yoongi. A small beech leaf settles in the wild strands of his blond hair, unnoticed by him.

Yoongi's fingers twitch.

He remains unmoving.

“Because I wanted to know your thoughts.”, the younger one exhales and finally lifts his eyes – stealing Yoongi's breath away.
Somberness rivals intensity in those round orbs that pull the elder back in.
Confusion be damned, let him suffocate on it for all he cares.
“If you knew that I've read them already, it would not have been the same.”

Would it not? Surely, they could have had the very same conversations about the letters.

Even if it appeared ever so slightly different, what actual difference does it make?

“And?” It's all Yoongi manages to produce in the wake of his bewilderment.
Just one single word, and it's already enough to set Jimin off again.
Whatever has his stomach in a twist is momentarily forgotten when his lids press closer together, accusingly staring his Hyung down. “Don't be daft now! It's really not that hard to grasp!”, he scolds.

Ah, there's my boy.

A sigh of relief blows from Yoongi's nose, the muscles around his lips twitching into a badly suppressed, lopsided grin.
“Humor me, Jimin-ah.”, he nudges the talk on to hurry it along and bring some light into the darkness still surrounding him. “I am too daft.”

Another glint flits through Jimin's narrowed eyes, more frustrated now than before. “Would you just listen? I am about to faint here from nervousness.”

Good, that makes two of them.
“Nervousness about what?”

“Hyung!”

The whine rings out between them, bright and drawn out. Yoongi half-expected a stomp of a foot to accompany it from the sound of it, but Jimin looks too anxious to be aware of how his back is ramrod straight, how his hands crumple the previously crisp leaf of white paper between his fingers.

Yoongi takes a step.

“Don't.”

He just smiles softly, reassuringly, and takes another one.
Lines be damned, and so be doubt. Jimin is obviously going through something right now. And Yoongi will not let him best it all by himself.
He crosses the clearing, hands raising when he reaches Jimin. His fingers dig into the beige wool of Jimin's parka, slender shoulders in his grasp that he hopes he can take the weight off of.

Jimin's wide eyes find his, plump lips a little agape.

Yoongi nods his head to the paper.
“Let's just read, yeah?”, he repeats the blond’s previous words, feeling comfort glue the spaces of them, unlike the tension that previously held them together.
Apprehension exchanged for something they have found in each other all these years ago: Safety.

Jimin swallows, the strain bleeding from his body tentatively. His eyes bat downwards, a frown wrinkling his forehead when he finally realizes just what he has done to the letter in his hands.
Yoongi follows the gaze, chuckling ever so slightly. “I guess we now know what happened to the other ones.”

It's a dance they have danced many times before –  one of them swallowing their own nerves to keep together those of the other. A sacrifice they will never not be willing to make.
When it comes to Jimin, Yoongi is always willing to give everything he has and never asks for anything in return. Yet, he is given so much.

Jimin's nervous little laugh reaches his ear and twists his heart.
The elder is just as informed about what exactly has thrown his dongsaeng off like this, but the reason does not matter. It's the consequences of it, the ripples of it that sway the younger one's feet, that have Yoongi's whole attention.

“Want me to read this one?”, he offers, blindly guessing it must be the contents of the letter.

The shake of Jimin's head is hasty and vehement. He topples a step backwards. “Just… sit down.”

That, Yoongi can do. Still, he nods his head, returning a quiet “Come with me.”

Jimin's gaze flits all over the place – from Yoongi, to the log, back to Yoongi, to the letter in his hands, and back to Yoongi. Always back to Yoongi.
He shakes his head once more, hesitant. “Please.”

Vulnerability isn't rare between the pair. But such a genuine, soft plea does not happen often. Jimin demands. He does not plead nor grovel.
And yet here he is, practically begging Yoongi to give him the space he needs to read the lines inked onto the paper he holds onto anxiously with trembling fingers.

Just what have Moon and Wave– no, Jin and Namjoon – been up to that puts such fear into him?

Yoongi relents, retracing his steps to the fallen tree. The cold bleeding from it doesn't get any easier, but if this is what Jimin wants, then he'll sit through it patiently.

The rustling of leaves and breaking of twigs is the only sound surrounding them for quite some time as Jimin approaches larghetto, halting a few steps away from the elder.

“Let me finish this first before you say anything.”, he requires quietly.
Yoongi nods without hesitation.
“Promise me, Hyung.”

It must be the fact that Jimin already knows what’s about to come with having read the letters beforehand. Maybe he does not trust Yoongi’s remarks to be as unbiased with that knowledge, and thus wants to get it over with before any discourse.
It’s an easy thing to promise.

“I do.”, he murmurs and leans back, resting the palms of his hands against the damp treebark he’s sat on to signal complete silence. He won’t move an inch, won’t breathe, until Jimin is done reading the last of the neatly written words.
Whatever it may hold, now that the big love confession from both Namjoon and Jin has already happened.

Jimin steps from one foot to the other, clearing his throat a few times too often, before he closes his eyes and draws a deep breath.

‘Hyung’

His eyes open slowly, burning into the shaking paper. 

‘In a few days time, I will approach you with an ask that I already know you won’t turn down. You never turn me down.
I can already see it. Your skepticism. God, I can practically hear you telling me that this is none of our business and just a violation of privacy. And you will still say ‘Yes’. You always do.’

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow. None of the words connect to what he remembers of the last few letters. They must have skipped this one.
Since Jimin knows the contents of them, this must have been intentional.

The question is: Why?

‘I can count on one hand how often you have denied me in all these years, and if you did, it was always to protect me from myself.
That’s what you do. Protect me above anything else.
Sometimes, when you look at me, I think you would even protect me above yourself.
You’re the only one who ever looks at me like that. Like I am the center of the universe.
And for too long now, it has made my heart beat faster in the most inconvenient moments.’

That’s it, this must be the actual confession that Namjoon wrote to Jin. Although it’s a bit too informal, a bit too colloquial for the modern-day poet. What has moved him to suddenly stray from his lyricism?
Or is this a longer confession from Jin?
And again, what is so important about this one that Jimin withheld it until the end?

‘I keep hoping that I look the same way at you. That it will make you realize, without me having to say it out loud, that I feel these things.
But you don’t.
And then I found these letters.
And I saw a chance to find out just where your heart is at.
And now I am writing one of my own after criticizing the others day after day, calling Moon a coward, when I am the biggest one.
Simply because you said that you wouldn’t take the risk of losing your best friend. And I thought to myself that that’s maybe why you don’t confess to me even though you keep looking at me as if you can’t stand the distance between us any second longer.’

Yoongi’s body freezes over, his heart coming to a stop, leaving behind a hollow space that is filled with a galloping pulse just a second later, when a presumption creeps up on him, dragging its gentle, sharp nails over his scalp, down his nape to bore itself through the skin between his shoulder blades to pierce his heart with a heat that’s unrivaled yet.

Jimin continues on without letting the elder catch his breath or find his footing again, flying through the words with a trembling voice and a backbone Yoongi is very obviously lacking.

‘I can’t stand it either, Hyung. I really can’t. And I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, if I shouldn’t say any of this, but I can’t keep imagining these things. It’s been too long, I-’

The waver in Jimin’s voice is cut off when Yoongi appears right in front of him. He looks up, wide, glassy eyes staring at his Hyung.

A whisper. “You promised.”

Yoongi promised not to say a word, and he will keep that promise. But he never promised not to move.

His fingers circle one of Jimin’s wrists, tilting it to the side, so his other arm has the space to cup the younger one’s neck and pull him in – crashing his lips into the ones that kept plaguing his mind ever since they met his cheek.

Jimin lets out the softest yelp, body startling, when Yoongi’s second hand follows suit and tilts his head back to slide his mouth against his. All caution is out the window with the confirmation that this isn’t some one-sided figment of his imagination.

Jimin feels it, too. As unreal as that thought is.

The elder would think he would be dreaming right now, but no dream could ever be as sweet as the feeling of Jimin’s breath mingling with his as they move in tandem – slowly, leisurely, like ruin has found its home in them.
And so it does in Yoongi, who is the one holding Jimin, but keeps unraveling against him.

He steps forward, closing the distance between them altogether, and Jimin doesn’t pull away.
Two small hands circle around his forearms, pulling him in, holding on as though Jimin is the one dangling over nothingness now.
And Gods above, if he falls, Yoongi will follow and keep tasting his lips until all eternity.
Nothing, nothing, will ever be able to make him let Jimin go again.
Try they all shall, they will fail.

Reality feels better than any dream he had about this moment.
Jimin’s lips –plush and probably bruised now after the insistence and neediness of Yoongi’s mouth – fit against his as if they’re made just for him.

No. The other way around.

Yoongi was always made, always meant for Jimin.

Through all these years, even if he wasn’t aware of it, everything has led them to this very moment. Like fate, inevitably, they were soul-tied from the very first moment they laid eyes upon each other in middle school when the teacher made them work on a presentation about Mitosis and Meiosis together.
From that very first bright smile from Jimin, from the first reserved nod from Yoongi, from then on, they were fated to realize one day that it was not just friendship keeping them existing in tandem.

And Jimin, he feels the same! He feels the same way!
A young man this perfect, this gentle, kind, charismatic, talented, smart and otherworldly feels the same way about Yoongi!

A yet unfamiliar rush of life floods the elder, who breathes a sigh into the deepening kiss. His promise to never let the blond one go again is mirrored in his soft grasp on him.

Damned be everything else when Jimin exists.
Even promises. And this will be the first one he made to Jimin that he will break.

Pressing his forehead against Jimin’s, feeling his lips swollen as he licks them with his eyes closed, he exhales a shaky breath, rasping the most important words he has ever muttered. “Don’t ever let me go, Park Jimin.”

A broken, breathless laugh bounces off his face, and Yoongi falls again.
He can’t even deign his friend– no, his everything– the opportunity to answer before he captures his lips in another kiss, less urgent, less insistent. This one is all about exploring Jimin’s mouth and noting every single detail down in his brain to never forget a single one of them. Not the feeling of the blond’s lips against the tip of his tongue, not the way Jimin gives entrance with the smallest gasp that is enough to bring Yoongi to his knees if it wasn’t for his hold on the other one’s neck still.

All the emotions rushing through Yoongi are too big for his lungs, too bright for his body. He laughs into the kiss, shivers when the laugh is returned – cold November air forgotten. Darkness and the trees shelter them, keep this moment hidden away from the world.

This is theirs, and theirs alone.
Seoul doesn’t exist, Moons and Waves, classes and mothers, lockers and dreamcatchers, nothing exists. Just Jimin.

Always just Jimin.

Only the forest around them knows how much time has passed before they finally part again. Yoongi’s eyes blink open, finding Jimin with even plumper lips, blushed and flustered before him – unwilling to open his eyes.
He lets one hand drop, gently swiping the letter from the younger one’s hands, and lifts it next to Jimin’s head, hoarsely continuing.

‘It’s been too long, I can’t carry this full heart by myself anymore, so I will pour it out right in front of you with my vomit, most likely.’

He snorts. Very romantic. 

‘And I hope you will want me just as much as I have wanted you all this time.
Hyung, I am in love with you, and it scares me to death.’

The words puncture their way through Yoongi’s whole being and settle deep within him at his core to engrave themselves into his soul. ‘I’m in love with you.’

In love does not nearly cut it for what Yoongi is feeling right now. Devotion. Ruin. Destruction of what he is, assembling of the pieces into something that is Jimin’s. 

‘If you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay. Just please don’t leave me. You’re my home, too.’

Lowering the letter, Yoongi blinks at Jimin, who is finally looking at him.

“I’m in love with you, too.”, he breathes.

Jimin frees his bottom lip from between his teeth – a motion almost enough to make Yoongi forget everything again, and capture it between his instead, if it wasn’t for the blond one’s next, chuckled words. “Oh, I almost didn’t notice.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Want me to make you notice?”

It earns him a swat on the arm and another silent scold transmitted through a sharp gaze. “Don’t say stuff like that!”

Oh well, not so silent scold, then.

“Right.”, he murmurs, brushing his thumb over Jimin’s cheek. “Let me show you instead.”

Their mouths find each other once more. And the wind whispers to the leaves about the way it can feel their quickened heartbeats flutter against it.
The trees shed their leaves in response, asking the wind to carry them around the boys amidst them, and shield them some more from curious eyes.

And fate sits above them all, smiling down at the moment it has waited for for fifteen years.

“You found them?”, Namjoon stares up from the letters between the pair of boys holding them.

“Jimin did.”, Yoongi murmurs, his thumb brushing over the back of the blond’s hand in his, fingers squeezing back at him.

Jin’s loud noise of awe rises, as he takes the letters with the utmost care – brushing over the wrinkles in the papers with a love that Yoongi can fully understand now.
The white paper is missing between them, safe and sound in the drawer of his nightstand at home.

Namjoon’s brows furrow. “How did you even know they’re ours?”
Thank God Jimin had enough foresight to prepare the elder for this exact question, or else his cheeks might have warmed up and betrayed his shame.

But Jimin takes the lead. “We asked the secretary who had the locker before me.”

Yes, a little demon wearing the skin of an angel, indeed.
The lie pearls from his lips without a stutter – bright, happy to be of help.
It takes all of Yoongi’s control not to call him out on it in front of the other two men. The little grin, though, he cannot subdue.

“Thank you for returning them to us. I would have hated to never read this loser’s nervous rambles again.”, Jin exhales and hands the envelopes to Namjoon. Their gazes linger on each other for a moment, a love between them so obvious, it vibrates in the air around them all.

Yoongi turns his head automatically, finding Jimin already looking right back at him.
“Don’t worry.”, he says. “I get what you mean.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Idiot.”

But Yoongi only leans in with a chuckle, pressing a kiss onto his boyfriend’s cheek under the most endearing giggle.
“Your idiot.”, he reminds him.

“Yeah.”, Jimin sighs and turns his head, stealing a peck for himself. “My idiot.”