Archive of Our Own

“Please bring my daughter back to life!”

“I can’t do that, sir.”

“I wish for a thousand beautiful maidens at my feet!”

“...No.”

“I wish for a pet squirrel!”

“...No.”

“Can I have a burrito?”

“You have to say I wish… and no.”

“I wish that Hyori would fall in love with--”

“No.”

Desperate eyes that previously had glistened with hope and tears dull significantly and a pair of hands slam down on the table, hard. Yoongi flinches back, expression turning into one of disapproval. “Can you be a little more gentle, sir? You’re destroying my ears and sanity.”

“Do you just reject all wishes that people request?!” The man in front of him blows up, and Yoongi lets out a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes and pressing his hand to his temple. He clicks his tongue.

“Sir, I think some less dumb people would get the drift by now, but wishing services don’t allow for revival of the dead, messing with romantic relations, or ending one’s life. If you want revenge, ask for a knife, not their death. And unless you want me to blow up in your face, don’t expect this wish to go through.”

“T-then I wish for a--”

“No.”

“But I didn’t even get to finish my wish!”

“You’re probably going to ask for some flashy setup filled with fireworks and a bouquet of flowers and stuff like that, aren’t you?” The man in front of him blinks guiltily. Yoongi smirks. ‘Gotcha.

“B-but it’s not against the rules, right?”

“No, I suppose not, but…” Yoongi leans forward, eyes unwavering. “If you want to win a girl’s heart, you get up off your ass and go pick some flowers for her yourself, not expect everything to pop up at your disposal. Damn, even that guy back there wouldn’t date a wuss like you, and he’s pretty desperate right now.”

The guy steps back, looking offended. “Well, you are just about the rudest person I have ever met! Why was I born in a town with such a horrible wish granter?”

Yoongi sticks a finger in his ear and winces. “Sir, you are giving me a headache. If you don’t have any other business here, please leave.”

The man pouts and tears well up in his eyes before he plops down on the floor and starts to whine like a baby. Yoongi groans in response. “Sir, get your ass up and out of here!”

“Nooooo, Hyori has to love me!! If you can’t do that then kill me!”

“We can’t kill people in this office. You’ll have to travel somewhere else. Shut up, will you?”

The man remains whining for a few more seconds as Yoongi leans back in his chair and stares up at the ceiling, lifting his legs and settling them on the table in front of him. A few minutes later, the person, finally feeling frustrated enough, gets up.

“You are the worst,” he spits out. “Why are you in this business if you can’t do anything?”

“Well, why don’t you people come up with some better wishes then?!” Yoongi snaps back, and quickly shifts to the side, avoiding a small pebble. “Yah!”

“I hope no one visits this business!” The person screams.

“I hope you never come back!” Yoongi shouts after him. The door slams, and he sinks back into his chair, sighing.

The wind is weak but still there, drifting through the poorly built door, and caresses his cheeks in comfort. Yoongi almost falls asleep from the soft rustling of the leaves and the whistle of the air, but before his mind slips away completely he loses his balance first.

Uttering out a curse, he opens his eyes in surprise as the sound of a person opening the door enters his ears, and he gingerly picks himself up from the previous mishap to find the son of one of the town’s restaurants walking in, a basket filled with food in his arms. Yoongi’s body loses its tension and he relaxes back into his chair. “Hoseok,” he sighs.

“Hello to you too,” the other replies, but on his face is a judging frown. The other sets the food down on the table, and crosses his arms while Yoongi digs in the back for his payment.

“...What,” Yoongi says, and the other shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

“No really, what. If you’re going to keep looking at me like that, I might as well get it over with.”

“Have you been turning everyone down again, hyung?”

Yoongi pouts unconsciously. “These people are stupid, that’s why.”

A sigh. “Yoongi-hyung,” the other starts.

“Don’t you start with your condescending tone now,” the elder warns, and Hoseok only tilts his head in defiance. Yoongi sighs loudly in response. “I mean, all I’m trying to do is prevent them from wasting perfectly good wishes,” he tries to explain. “Two days ago an elderly woman came in and wished for a cup of tea. A cup of tea! I literally got up out of my seat and made her one in like five minutes! Now she can save that wish for when her grandchild gets sick or something, I don’t know.”

“Maybe people have different priorities in life, you know--” Hoseok raises a hand up in surrender when the other begins to scowl at him. “I’m not saying your judgement is wrong, hyung. But maybe you should let them down a little less… harshly. I’m pretty sure you haven’t had an actual customer in a while, hyung. Do you even have enough to pay for your food?”

“Here’s your darn money,” Yoongi says as he finally manages to locate the last few bills needed to complete his payment. Don’t be mistaken; he has more than enough money to last himself--it’s one of the benefits of being a wish granter--he’s just a little disorganized. It takes a while to find the right numbers. “Now shoo, I’m busy.”

“Busy with what--” Hoseok tries to protest, but Yoongi waves him out of the door, sticking a tongue out just to spite the other as he watches him go.

The days after that are relatively quiet indeed, and Yoongi finds business in sorting through old papers and maybe scribbling on the table for a bit as he ignores Hoseok’s occasional visits where the other proceeds with suggestions on advertisement and management. It’s going pretty well, until one day the signature jingle sounds, signaling a customer; the first in a while, in fact.

Yoongi doesn’t look up; he’s busy finishing the masterpiece on his table. It’s a short poem depicting the stupidity of people when offered a paved road to life. He’s even got a little doodle of a small figure bent over onto the ground, tears of whining spilling down the little human’s cheeks. Yoongi’s so focused that he somewhat jumps when a voice (high and pretty, almost like a melody) rings out, and the ink smudges a dark line across his piece.

Yoongi’s face morphs into one of horror.

“Excuse me, I’d like to make a wish,” the person says. Yoongi is still too devastated to look up. He nods, mouth slowly closing and eyes still glued to his table.

“Uhm… I wish for a lot of flowers.”

Yoongi looks up, face asking, ‘Are you serious right now?’ but his eyes widen slightly as he looks at the man before him.

The other looks young and handsome, but what catches Yoongi’s attention the most isn’t the way the light catches his face, or how his lashes seem to flutter when he blinks. It’s his expression. The eyes of the person looking back at him hold no sort of desire, nothing of ambition or love or even sadness. Rather, they are only tinted with a bit of curiosity, a bit of resignation.

Yoongi blinks twice in order to clear the haze in his thoughts, and he clears his throat. “Are you kidding me right now?”

The other frowns, his eyes narrowing, and Yoongi tries to reword himself, Hoseok’s words ringing in his mind. “I mean, don’t you have a little sister in need of a dowry so you can marry her off to some worthy dude, or like a friend that needs some legendary medicine in order to survive a deadly disease?”

At this, the other seems to tense in discomfort, but he crosses his arms and regains composure quickly. “How creative,” he says with an amused smile, and Yoongi clicks his tongue softly at the sass.

“How old are you?” he asks. The person gives him a questioning look.

“Why…” the other says, but Yoongi only stares at him blankly, waiting for an answer. “Twenty this year.”

Well, he was older than the other had thought, at least. But twenty was still a young age, nearing the one where most came to make their first wishes. Nearing the age where most wishes made were reckless and unnecessary. Yoongi sighs. “Listen, kid, I’d love to help you, but I think you should save your wish for something more useful--”

“My wish isn’t useless,” the other says, the pout on his face growing more prominent. “You don’t know anything about me or what the reason is behind my wish, so you shouldn’t be so quick to judge. If you really need to, I can even provide some backstory to soothe your worries.”

Yoongi frowns at this, and swallows down the spreading guilt within him. What the other had said was right; Yoongi had no right to judge. But, having to witness a bunch of mishaps during his training period under the previous appointed wish-granter, and even after his period of time, Yoongi knows that what he’s doing is not wrong, either. “Look here,” he says, “no matter what kind of person I seem like to you, my business is not a joke. Flowers? The florist sounds like a good idea.”

“That’s not what I--” the other sighs, and his expression turns unbelievably sad. “Is it so hard to want to brighten up my day?” he asks. “The flower shops… they don’t really make me feel better. I don’t know why you have to be so picky about this.”

“You’ll thank me one day when when you come back with an even more important wish,” Yoongi says simply.

“I’m telling you, this will be my only wish!” The other’s face scrunches up in desperate anger, but his plea hits Yoongi with no force at all. The elder leans back in his chair, crossing his arms to his chest. He stares back at the other unwaveringly.

“Only wish? Right. An average person lives so many years, so of course there’ll be a time when they wish that a miracle would happen. That’s what I’m here for. I told you before, right? My business is not a joke. And neither is your life, even if I’m not interested in it. You’ll grow older, and there will be more important things that will happen, so don’t say you won’t wish for anything else. As long as you live, you keep wishing.”

“You sure take your job seriously,” the other muses softly, and Yoongi scowls.

“Of course I do, why would I still be here if I didn’t?”

At this, the other smiles slightly, and the youthful light it casts on his face throws Yoongi off guard for a little. “You know, I think I see you in a different light than a few minutes ago, Mr…” his eyes travel over to the giant nameplate that is on the desk, “Min Yoongi-ssi.”

“My pleasure,” Yoongi says simply, and the other laughs. But this time, his voice cracks slightly, and Yoongi twitches in alarm. Oh lord.

“You’re right.” So he says, but his eyes are glistening and Yoongi can see the person fidgeting with his hands before he turns around. “I just… I don’t know why I made such a stupid wish, either.” Oh lord, Yoongi feels like the evilest human being to tread the land. “It’s so stupid,” he laughs, opening the door. A hollow twinkle sounds, but it doesn’t lessen the tension in the room. “Sorry for bothering you,” he whispers.

“Wait wait wait!” Yoongi scrambles up from his chair, pressing his lips together as the customer pauses by the doorway, turning back around with a slightly shocked expression. His eyes are red and wet.

“L-look,” he starts with a little difficulty. But seeing the pause in the other’s tears makes Yoongi swallow and continue his words. “I didn’t mean it badly. I just--when I don’t see the point in something my words tend to come out a little harsh, and I just didn’t know why you made the...um… I didn’t see the point, and--” oh lord, he is so bad at this.

The other seems to feel his internal strife, however, and he stops him with a smile. “It’s okay, Min Yoongi-ssi. I understand what you mean.”

“You do?” And the aghast look that Yoongi has on his face makes him laugh, brighter this time than the last. He nods politely.

“I do. Out of context, a bunch of flowers seems a little stupid, right?”

“I mean, it’s not that it’s stupid--” Yoongi tries.

“My mother was a florist,” the other says. “She passed away a few years ago, and I’ve been living alone ever since. That house--my house, I mean, I don’t go there often because it’s so cold and dark all the time. I just, it’s been a while since I’ve felt--” he scrambles with his words, and Yoongi presses his hands to his head, feeling even worse than before.

“I tried going to the flower shops around the area, but they’re...different. They’re not as bright, I don’t know. I don’t like going there, it kind of reminds me how our store--” the other finishes with another broken laugh, and Yoongi decides to find a time to pray for forgiveness.

“Hey,” he calls softly. “What’s your name?”

The other blinks at him. “Park--Park Jimin.”

“Jimin, okay,” Yoongi nods to himself and walks to the back, hands digging diligently through the files labelled with a Park. Jimin’s name appears shortly, and his file is mainly blank. ‘Park Jimin,’ it lists his age and address. ‘Wish Count: 0.’

Yoongi closes the files, thinking quietly before his eyes light up. Backing outwards, he makes to lock the door, before turning around and doing the same to each individual drawer of his desk. Jimin watches him with uncertainty as he rattles the handles as a final inspection. “Jimin, are you busy right now?”

“Um, no…”

“Great. Let’s go. Follow me.” He walks a few steps before stopping in his tracks, seemingly remembering something. Turning back, he pulls a sheet of scrap paper from the tabletop and scribbles messily onto it, leaving it in the middle of his desk before he grabs the other’s hand and pulls him along.

‘Out for lunch.’

--

“Hyung~” the door opens and Hoseok steps into an empty room filled with silence. His smile turns into a questioning frown with furrowed eyes, dimples disappearing as he drops the bag of food onto the other’s desk.

“Did he go to sleep in the back again? I thought he stopped doing that after that time…” Hoseok ponders, before he shrugs and makes to unload the bag on his own.

“Hyung, even if it’s boring and quiet, you shouldn’t leave your desk!”

“...”

“Stop sleeping and wake up already! I know you’re not a heavy sleeper.”

“...”

“Why aren’t you answering me?”

“...”

“...Are you still mad at me?”

“...”

Pouting, Hoseok steps slowly around the table, trying to scan farther back into the room. He finds it empty, but as he steps back his foot crunches against a folded piece of paper, probably blown to the ground by the occasional breeze in the room. Hoseok picks it up curiously. Scanning it with his eyes, he scoffs before laughing unbelievably at it, and he crumples and chucks the paper onto the desk again.

“Out for lunch,” he huffs in disbelief. “Without telling me, Yoongi-hyung musters the energy to get up and enjoy lunch by himself? Absurd.” Hoseok clicks his tongue, but soon his irritated expression is replaced by a warm quirk of the lips. “He’s finally doing something, huh…”

--

“I knew it before when he led me here once,” Yoongi grits out, face crumpled in annoyance. His breath comes out slow and deep as he tries to steady his steps. “I should’ve known better than to come back…”

“Are you okay?” a voice of concern comes from behind him, laced with a bit of amusement. Yoongi doesn’t even bother to turn around. He can already picture the teasing smile on the other’s face.

“Believe in your hyung,” Yoongi breathes. “I know what I’m doing, okay?”

Behind him, Jimin wants to scoff, but his legs shake gently as he wills himself not to fall from the lack of energy. He watches the others back, slumped in exhaustion but still pushing forward despite the struggle. Jimin’s eyes linger before he focuses his gaze back to the dirt underneath him, blinking rapidly to rid the blur from his eyes. “Okay, hyung,” he repeats the term of familiarity with a smile playing on his lips.

In front of him, Yoongi lifts a lazy hand towards the top of the trail, ground meeting with the colors of the sky. “Look, we’re almost there.”

“Almost…” Jimin takes a breath. “Almost where?”

“Flowers,” the other says. “You said you wanted flowers, right? A little effort makes most wishes possible, you know? Whether it’s a burrito or a thousand beautiful maidens, or all the flowers you can see, in your case.”

“W...hat?” Jimin pushes out, and he tries to speak again, but his head is getting a little dizzy and so he remains silent. Yoongi, however, seems to get more excited, and his hand shakes as he turns around to point it out once again.

“Oh, we’re there, we’re there, I can see it!” He smiles, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. Jimin watches the other in his place, seeing the other’s previously tired mumbling self light up with energy, and the corners of his lips raise as he goes to catch up to the other.

Yoongi helps him up that last climb, which leads to the top of a hill of some sort. He points forward, and Jimin’s eyes follow the other’s hand. He lets out a gasp shortly thereafter at the sight before him.

Beautiful is an understatement. The place is almost like the top of a valley, overlooking a palette of red, blue, yellow, orange, green, life wherever the eye can see. Flowers of different sorts fill the ground, some crushed and brown but hidden behind new buds, trying hard to find a place to survive. The sun is already setting, as quite a bit of time had passed since the start of their climb, but the sunset hue only enhances the beauty of the scene. Looking farther off, the sun is small but still visible behind some shadowed clouds, slowly disappearing along the horizon.

“I--” is all Jimin can manage to breathe out. He says nothing but walks over to the edge of the hill and crouches down, his fingers running along the small flowers growing at the side.

Yoongi himself is observing the view. “Pretty, right? I personally don’t come here often--er, at all, to be honest, since it’s a pain to get up and down all the time, but hey, you’re years younger and you look more fit than me, so it should be a breeze for you, right?”

“More fit, huh.... Yeah…” Jimin raises his lips, hands still lingering along the flowers. He feels slightly dizzy and very tired, but beyond that he feels warm and fuzzy. Sucking in a deep breath, he rises to his feet. “So, I take it this is my first wish?” he asks, but Yoongi only shakes his head, digging in his pockets for something.

“Nah.”

Jimin blinks. “What do you mean?”

The other turns around. The setting sun, now a warm orange-yellow, casts a small glow onto his back and illuminates his smile.

“Wishes require magic, which is why people in the town have to come to me. I’m the only one qualified to fulfill them. But right now I’m just visiting some place with you. So it’s not really a wish.” Jimin hums an understanding as Yoongi smiles again. “See? Don’t need a wish for something like this, just some time and the right place,” and then he makes a sound of delight. “There we go.”

He pulls out a small item, nearly covered by the expanse of his hand, but when the other flicks it a blade comes out, and Yoongi offers it to Jimin. The latter stares at it with puzzle written on his face. “You said you wanted flowers, right?” Yoongi asks. “Start cutting.”

Jimin gasps in horror and steps back. “What?!” he asks. “I couldn’t do that, this place is so pretty!”

Yoongi blinks, and he looks down. “But you wanted…” he trails off, his expression getting irritated. “Gosh, I didn’t have to bring this stupid knife with me, then.” He shoves them back into his clothes.

“I wanted flowers, but it doesn’t necessarily mean I have to kill them. They belong in this field,” Jimin says, eyes softening. “They wouldn’t look better anywhere else.”

Yoongi watches him quietly, and then his lips curl slightly upwards. “Well, I guess so,” he says. “From what I remember, no one comes here often except for like, one person I used to know. So for now, this field is yours.”

And Jimin looks at him and smiles. His teeth shows and his cheeks rise and his eyes turn to slits. It’s a beautiful sight, and Yoongi has to look away, feeling a little flustered. “Thank you, Yoongi-hyung.”

--

Jimin comes to visit him when he has time. In fact, he comes often enough that Yoongi stops welcoming him with a scowl and an accusing tone, begins to ignore the way the man comes in each time with a wide smile on his face and a new story to tell.

Jimin becomes a constant, and slowly Yoongi no longer tries to shoo him off when other people arrive, no longer minds when the younger places a hand on top of his arm while he is in the middle of rejecting a customer’s stupidity. Yoongi no longer scowls when Jimin tells him to lighten up; instead, he listens as the other turns to the person across from him, a smile of warmth on his face.

He listens as Jimin talks, listens and watches as his very own customers, usually scowling or nervous, unravels their insecurities into comfort, talks about their reasons for what they do.

Yoongi listens, and he speaks to them again afterwards, his tone no longer condescending, the others now listening. He tells them why they’re wrong, why they shouldn’t make a wish like they did, and sometimes he tells them why he was wrong, bows his head low and apologizes with a solemn look on his face. And when he looks up, it’s always to the sight of both a surprised client and a happy Jimin.

It gets to the point where he no longer denies when other people refer to Jimin as his partner, his assistant, only brushes it off as the other doodles dots and lines onto the walls while humming softly to himself.

It is one of those days, a lazy day, Jimin halfway through drawing a hill on the edge of the wall and Yoongi beginning to curl into a ball at his desk, when the door rings a slight greeting. Looking up, Yoongi is met with the sight of an elderly woman making her way to the chair, and he stands immediately to help. He’s always been more careful around the elders.

Jimin beats him to it, offering her an arm as he leads her slowly to her seat, and Yoongi lowers himself slowly in tune with her motion. “Can...I help you, ma’am?” he asks politely, and she gives him a smile.

“Why yes, you’re the wish-granter?” At Yoongi’s nod, she hums to herself. “You’re less grouchy than they say,” she laughs, and Jimin stifles a small snicker behind her. Yoongi shoots him a look. “You see, dear, I would like for a way to leave this world faster.” Behind her, Jimin’s eyes meet his, wide with growing panic. “Is that possible?”

“I--” Yoongi stumbles in his words, “I’m sorry, that’s actually not allowed in the system,” he says. And then, a little more carefully, “May I ask why?”

And the elderly laughs through her nose, the grin on her face growing ever so slightly. “Such a kind boy,” she says. “It’s been a while since somebody’s asked for my story.”

And that’s not really what he asked for, but still Yoongi remains quiet as the woman recounts the past many years of her life. His face remains utterly focused, even when she seems to get off topic and murmur to herself at times, and Yoongi doesn’t mention that time has been ticking for far too long into her story, that the time for his meal has passed.

And Jimin, who should have left a while ago, before the sun had set half way, Jimin stays too, the same attentiveness in his eyes as he quietly watches the exchange. The lady speaks slowly, but she speaks well, speaks happily, in fact, so happily that there are tears of nostalgia welling her eyes when she has finished with her account. She dips into her purse and dabs at her face with her handkerchief, sighing deeply in satisfaction.

“It’s been eighty-seven long years,” she finishes. “My children are well on their way to settling down, and my grandchildren well on their way to discovering their happiness. There’s no time in the day for an old sack like me, of course.”

“...It doesn’t seem that way,” Yoongi says, “it seems like they enjoy your company immensely. And they will be sad if you were to think of such things, grandmother. You shouldn’t be waiting for death. You should be searching for a reason to live. I can’t help you with your original wish, but I’d be glad to offer you that instead.”

“Oh?” the grandmother muses. “And what would those be?”

“Well, there’re a lot of different things for different people,” Yoongi starts slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. Near the doorway, Jimin watches carefully as the two of them continue to talk. He watches as Yoongi’s words slowly meld together and a story begins to spill from his lips. He watches as the grandma’s eyes crinkle in pleasure, leaning forward slightly as her eyes light up like a child’s. Finally, the lady makes to get up with a pat to the other’s hand, and Yoongi leans back in his chair, expression tired but content. Jimin quickly rushes over.

“I can walk you back,” he offers, but the elderly shakes her head gently, her hand going to pat at his side.

“That’s quite alright, dear. We all need our alone time to take a walk in the woods in the near evening.”

As they watch the other leave, the door closing behind her, Jimin walks over to Yoongi with a happy expression and gives him a playful pat on the back. “You didn’t need my help there at all, huh? You’re a lot nicer to elders, hyung.”

“You don’t expect me to yell at a grandmother now, do you?” he scowls in return, and Jimin shrugs playfully.

“I don’t know,” he replies. “You’ve yelled at a lot of people before, after all.”

“I respect elders,” Yoongi says. “They know what they’re doing most of the time. They’re wiser than me.” And Jimin sighs.

“You can’t just be mean to everyone who’s younger than you, hyung.”

“I’m not mean to everyone younger than me,” he mumbles, and this time Jimin smiles that same, soft smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

--

The question comes out one day, as Jimin lounges around Yoongi’s office and house while the other sits at his desk like usual, waiting for the occasional appearance of a customer. Truthfully, he rather enjoys the company. Jimin likes to fill the silence with random ramblings and sometimes little inquiries that make use of Yoongi’s knowledge and skill that he’s kept unused for far too long. Although, he’s not going to admit that out loud.

“Why don’t you grant most of the wishes you get?” Jimin asks, “Some of them seem to make sense, like the guy who wanted his fever to be cured. That lady three days ago wished her son would be good at the piano. Those aren’t really bad wishes.”

“I just don’t want to,” Yoongi huffs, sinking his head into his arm as he leans his weight against the table. “Why make a wish for something like that? A fever usually goes away soon. The person had the energy to come find me about it, after all. He’ll be fine. And that woman’s son can go learn the piano on his own.”

“You sound like you’re against the wishing system,” Jimin muses with a chuckle, and Yoongi scowls.

“So what if I am?”

At this, the younger’s eyes widen in surprise. “Oh,” he says softly. “I didn’t think you were actually…”

“It’s not that I’m unhappy with my job,” Yoongi continues, seeing the apology written on the other’s face. “Don’t think I’m sad about what I do. It’s just… I like it when people put an effort into the things they want. A wish is something like a dream, after all. It feels better when you accomplish your dreams with your own hard work and effort. It’d be better if people went through the process of accomplishing something and feeling their success, instead of just having it be handed to them. That’s why I don’t usually agree to something until it’s irreversible, until the other has done all they can.” He pauses when he sees the other’s expression, his own becoming perturbed. “...What?” he asks.

Jimin’s face is thoughtful and unblinking, and he snaps out of his daze when the other calls his name. “You’re cool, hyung,” he says, and Yoongi looks away at the compliment.

“I know,” he replies, but Jimin can hear the pleased hum in his voice, and he giggles.

“By the way, hyung, are you allowed to make a wish? I don’t really know how these things work.”

“I mean, I can’t necessarily grant myself an actual wish, but I have full control of my powers. I can use magic to my will,” Yoongi says, and Jimin’s eyes are shining.

“So you can like, create things? Bend fire?” he asks. “That sounds amazing.”

“Did you not hear what I just said? I don’t like not having to put in an effort into getting things I want. I won’t use my magic for something pointless. I’d rather, you know, wander around upstairs and rest. It’s more comfortable than you would think, actually.”

“It sounds boring. You should explore! Go on a trip, maybe.”

“I’m not allowed to leave the vicinity of the city,” Yoongi says. “It’s law.” Jimin hums, a pout making its way onto his face.

“That sucks.”

“Doesn’t it?” Yoongi asks with a wry smile. “Doesn’t sound so amazing now, does it?” The smile slips from his face, and Yoongi looks out at the window, eyes settling as his mind starts to turn. Jimin, still looking at the other, lets his hand roam on the wall behind him, his finger accidentally smudging the drawing of a bird in flight that he had recently done.

“Yoongi-hyung,” the other calls. “Why are you doing this, then? How did you become a--”

“Jimin,” Yoongi calls, and the other stops, pressing his lips together.

A while later, the other pipes up again, voice light and chirpy. “So do you live here, hyung?”

And Yoongi sighs. “Don’t you have something more important to do other than coming here and asking me five hundred questions?”

“Like what?” the other asks, and Yoongi shrugs.

“Family to look after?” he suggests.

“I don’t have one,” Jimin says simply, and the other turns to look at him. “I told you my mother died when I was young. I don’t remember my father, and I don’t have any siblings.” His expression is carefully neutral, and Yoongi wonders whether Jimin really is numb to the pain, or if behind that face hides something much deeper.

Jimin seems to notice his thoughts, however, because he gives the other a smile in response. It’s small, but genuine. “It’s not as bad as you think,” he reassures. “I’m not lonely right now.”

Yoongi inhales. Breathes out slowly. “I know,” he says. And as they look at each other quietly, a small sense of understanding seems to pass between them.

--

Hoseok meets Jimin on a sunny day, not unlike any other. His deliveries are regular, but his visits are sporadic and filled with energy, and the man opens the door with a bright smile while Jimin is doodling flowers onto the wall, Yoongi nearly dozing off from the comfortable silence between the two of them.

“Hyung…!” he begins, before his eyes lock onto Jimin’s. “Oh, oops, I can come back later, actually,” he says, eyes drifting towards the man at the table. “Yoongi-hyung, please treat your customers with more attention than that,” he scolds.

Yoongi scoffs.

“I’m not a customer right now,” Jimin smiles politely at the other, and Hoseok furrows his brows as he looks to and from the other. His eyes widen in some sort of realization.

“My gosh, hyung you’ve finally found the power to go out mingle and bring home a friend other than me? A lover perhaps? I’m so happy!”

Yoongi splutters and sits up in his chair. “He’s a friend,” he enunciates the last word, and Hoseok laughs at his nervous expression.

“Friends are just as good. Nice to meet you, I’m Jung Hoseok,” he says offering a hand to the other who is crouched on the ground. Jimin takes it with a teeth-baring grin.

“Park Jimin.”

Hoseok smiles at the other. “You’re adorable, Park Jimin-ssi, I hope I’ll get to see you more often, then. I come by every week.”

Jimin nods slowly at the information. “So do I,” he says. “A little more often than that, actually.” And Hoseok’s eyes widen.

“Since when?”

“A few months ago.”

“And I haven’t met you this whole time?” he turns to Yoongi now, expression one of betrayal. “Hyung, what have you been doing, hiding him from me? What’s the point of that? Are you jealous we’d bond with each other more than with you and so you try to deny my meeting with--”

“It’s a coincidence,” Yoongi says, standing up and faking a hit towards his friend. “And stop making up weird stuff to a person you met for literally a minute. You two both live in the city, and Hoseok, your family owns a restaurant. If you haven’t met yet even with hundreds of people literally going to your place daily then it’s not my fault, okay? Why did you even come here?”

“I wanted to check in on you as a friend,” the other says with a shrug and an innocent expression. Yoongi narrows his eyes. “Wow, is that so hard to believe? I know I don’t come often, but I usually try to make time between helping around the store. Even today, I barely mustered a few minutes to come visit, and I don’t get any thanks for my company?” His eyes flit over to the side, where Jimin watches them both silently, and Hoseok smirks.

“I guess you don’t--”

“Hoseok--”

“Seeing as you already have new company--”

“Stop teasing me,” Yoongi hisses, and the other laughs apologetically.

“Sorry, hyung, but I’m not lying,” he says. “There was talk about how our wish-granter seemed to be getting less prickly these days, and I was curious about the sudden shift.” His expression becomes warm, and Hoseok looks at Yoongi with something akin to an approving smile. “It’s true though, you seem more relaxed and happy than usual.”

“I’m a naturally happy person,” Yoongi counters, fingers pulling at his sleeves. It feels a little weird, having this conversation in front of Jimin so naturally. It feels too intimate, almost like Yoongi is revealing a secret to the other, and he feels his cheeks beginning to warm from embarrassment.

Hoseok snickers and nods, before he makes to turn around. “Is it dark yet?” he asks. “I actually don’t have much time today, I really only came to bring you this,” and he takes out a small bag of biscuits and places them on the other’s desk. “My mother baked them, fresh. Thought you’d be bored enough to need some snacks to get past the day, but you seem to be doing fine, so I’ll head on out now.”

Yoongi hums a goodbye and makes to retreat deeper into his dwelling, leaving the door open only a crack behind him. As he rummages through the filed papers, trying to sort out what needs to be done, he can hear Hoseok speaking outside.

“It really was nice meeting you, Park Jimin-ssi. I hope we can talk more soon. I think your presence has been doing Yoongi-hyung some good. He’s warmer now. Please continue to stay by his side from here on out.”

The door tinkles a soft goodbye, and Yoongi busies himself with the files. He doesn’t know which makes him more uneasy, the fact that his heart can’t stop beating quickly from the last few words Hoseok had said, or the fact that Jimin hadn’t graced him with an answer.

--

Jimin doesn’t come to visit often anymore. He had told Yoongi that it was because it was time for work to pick up again, since his savings were slowly being sucked up due to the rising rent for his room. Yoongi had snickered at his misfortune, unaware of the way the other had avoided his eyes while speaking. Yoongi had laughed, and was fully prepared for the loss of his usual companion.

But Jimin had been visiting at least three times a week. And then it became two. Gradually one. And then his visits became off, sporadic and shifty enough that Yoongi did not know when to expect him, did not know how long the other had to stay. He had tried asking about his occupation, but the younger’s answers varied each time, from housework to running around the city to tending to a local store around the corner of his street.

Currently, it’s been three weeks since Jimin has come to visit, and Yoongi isn't sure he remembers the creases that make up his face anymore. The room gets a little emptier without his presence, and Yoongi gets a little antsier with each passing day.

He leans against his chair. Sits back upright. Lets himself slouch down. Sighs, and then gets up. Quickly digging in his drawers, he manages to locate the wrinkled piece of paper and slides it mindlessly over his desk. Getting out was a hassle, and it always had been. Being the sole wish-granter of the city, Yoongi was also allowed information to almost all of its inhabitants, and this responsibility in turn required him to be extra careful about leaving his space for any period of time, be it long or short.

He makes haste in locking the doors and drawers, pushing papers into compartments and making sure the locks are secure. Breathing a sigh of relief, Yoongi keeps his gaze on his room as he approaches the door, eyes scanning to make sure the place is free of any sort of valuable information. The scrawny ‘Out for lunch’ sits there, and he pushes the door open, listening to the twinkle sound in his ears.

“Ngah!”

Yoongi swivels over in the other direction, eyes somewhat wide in shock. That wasn’t a sound he had been expecting. A few steps away from the door, Jimin stands with his hands over his chest and a scared expression on his face.

“You scared me!” he whines, and Yoongi blinks twice just to see if he is dreaming or not. The quiet, however, seems to leave a bad impression on the younger, and Jimin fidgets uneasily as he avoids eye contact, waiting for Yoongi to speak first.

‘I missed you,’ is what he thinks. “Why didn’t you come in?” is what he says.

“I mean,” Jimin rubs his neck, eyes flitting from the ground to any part of Yoongi, save his eyes. He pulls the hood on his head further down, the shadows dropping lower onto his face. “You seemed like you were going somewhere, so I thought…”

And Yoongi wants to press further about the other’s absence, but for some reason the Jimin today is closed off, the attempted smile on his face distracted, and he lets the topic go. “Well,” he starts slowly, “I was just--” on my way to see you, since you haven’t been around in a while “--out to take care of some...business, of some sort.”

“Ah, mm,” the younger nods, brushing one finger against his nose. He stands awkwardly straight, and Yoongi narrows his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks. The other finally looks up, alarm written in his face.

“What’s wrong with me?” he repeats, and Yoongi tilts his head in further question. But Jimin seems to steel his gaze into defiance, and soon the two of them break out into soft smiles as the air gets lighter.

“Come in,” Yoongi says instead, and the other makes a confused noise as he turns around and makes to push the door open, heading back the way he left from.

“Aren’t you…” Jimin trails off, turning his head in the direction of the city. Yoongi dismisses the thought with a wave of his hand.

“It wasn’t that important,” he says. The other shifts quietly in reluctance. “What,” he prompts again, seeing that Jimin doesn’t seem to be moving anytime soon, “are you just going to stand there the whole time?” He gestures to the shabby office, door half open and propped that way with his foot. His other foot taps impatiently against the ground, waiting for an answer. The other glances towards the entrance, back to him, and then to the dirt again. He shuffles inside quietly, passing by Yoongi with a small brush of air, and the elder feels a small breath escaping him easily as he follows after.

“You didn’t wash off my drawings?” Jimin asks once he’s inside, heading over to the wall. “You always complained about them being all messy.”

“It’s a hassle to clean off the whole wall,” Yoongi states. “You’ll just draw on it again soon, anyways.” The other doesn’t reply, and Yoongi watches, gaze growing more and more concerned, as the other proceeds to run his hands along the wall lightly, face turned away from him. Something’s off about the silence today--it doesn’t make Yoongi feel comfortable and sleepy like it usually does. No, it makes him alert, makes him want to clatter drawers and rustle papers in order to fill it up. He lets himself look at the other closely, no returning gaze to hold him back.

Jimin seems smaller than he remembers. His clothes droop off of him and swallow him whole. His fingers are small, barely seen from the sleeves that hide them. Even his posture, as straight as it seems, is shrunken into himself.

“Did you get skinnier?” he muses, and the other finally swivels to look at him, the light casting onto his face, and suddenly Yoongi’s random observation doesn’t seem so pointless anymore. Yoongi is immediately on edge. He steps forward and pulls the other’s hood down.

Jimin reaches for the fabric quickly, but judging by the look on the other’s face the damage is done, and his hands stop mid-grasp, slowly going to fall at his sides again.

Jimin’s skin isn’t a healthy glow of sunlight anymore, nor is it the fair color of milk. It’s a faded white of chalk, and his eyes are dimmer, more tired, shades of ashen grey dusting underneath his cheeks.

Yoongi’s eyes roam over the other, wide with concern. He instinctively lifts one hand towards his open mouth before he catches himself and closes his lips, reaching out towards the younger instead.

“Jimin-” he stutters, “--you, are you, okay? You don’t look well. Have you been sick for a while? You shouldn’t have come until you were better.”

Jimin laughs, but it’s weak and holds no hint of happiness. “Well, that would have taken a while,” he muses to himself, and Yoongi furrows his brows in confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “How long have you been like this?” He doesn’t recall the beginning, but he remembers how the other would appear distracted towards their conversations, how Jimin gradually came less and less, wearing clothes that seemed to cover and shadow him. “Is this why you haven’t come often? Not because you’ve been busy, but you’ve been sick?”

“Well,” the other shrugs, “I have been busy--”

“It’s been months, then! You should go to a hospital and check it out,” Yoongi says, but the other shakes his head. “Jimin,” he calls, frustration now seeping its way into his voice. “This isn’t a voluntary thing, you have to go see someone--”

“I don’t want to go check it out, okay? I’m fine.”

Yoongi gives him an incredulous frown, arms going to cross at his chest. He looks the other up and down once to make a point. “You’re not fine at all.”

“Look, hyung,” the other calls, “I don’t need you to tell me what I am and what I’m not. This is normal for me, no matter how it might seem to you.”

“What--normal? How do you expect me to believe that you’re fine? Look at yourself, Jimin, you’re pale, you look like you haven’t slept well in weeks and you’re so skinny it feels like you could just snap right in half. This isn’t normal Jimin you don’t look healthy--”

“I didn’t come here for you to judge me on my appearance, okay?” The other whispers, but in the silence of the small room Yoongi hears his words loud and clear. He can feel a bubble of anger build inside of him, and he tightens his stomach to clamp the feeling down.

“Do you really think that’s what I’m doing?” he hisses, one arm going to hold at the other, and Jimin looks down at the floor guiltily for one second before he shakes his head and takes Yoongi’s hand with his own, pulling it down and away from him. The hold tightens slightly, before Jimin lets go.

“...No,” he answers truthfully. “I know, okay? I know you care, I know, but… please. Stop.”

“Stop…what?” Yoongi asks, his anger fading away into fear again. Fear for what, he doesn’t know. For Jimin, perhaps. For everything.

Stop caring?

“...Stop asking,” the other finally says, and the way his voice hitches makes Yoongi blink in surprise. Jimin takes a slow breath, eyes closing as he tries to steady his voice. When he speaks again, it is soft, like it doesn’t want to be heard in case it lets out something it’s trying to hide. “Hyung, I’ve gone to the hospital before. It’s no use. They keep doing the same things, telling me the same things, and it’s a waste of my time. I go there, and I get better. And then I get worse. I know you’re worried, and I appreciate the sentiment, but if I hear any more of the same old advice...I think I’m going to flip,” he says, hands clenching and unclenching. He stares at Yoongi, an unheard plea in his eyes, before he closes them and relaxes his body to lean against the wall.

“And I don’t want to do that, hyung. Not to you, especially,” Jimin says. He sighs again, looking out towards the small window. The sky that shows is gray but bright. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

And Yoongi wants to probe into that statement as well, but Jimin looks genuinely exhausted, and as much as he hates to, Yoongi lets the subject go. “...Okay,” he says. “What did you come here for, then?” And Jimin’s eyes dart around the room in desperate haste, like he wants to memorize everything in a short amount of time. He opens his mouth once, and then sighs and gives a small, bitter smile.

“I just came here to say goodbye,” Jimin says quietly, and Yoongi furrows his brows. He stares at the other, searching his eyes for answers.

“Goodbye?” he repeats.

“I wasn’t going to come here, actually, but I felt I should just...give the place one last look, or something. I wasn’t going to come in, but you happened to walk out and see me,” he chuckles to himself, turning back to the wall one more time. “I guess this is nice,” he says.

“What--where are you going?” Yoongi asks, but the other doesn’t look at him, instead going to head out the door.

“Nowhere special,” Jimin says softly. “Just not here.”

--

“You’re not looking too hot,” Hoseok muses, careful not to push the door open too loud. Yoongi has his head down on the desk, keeping himself quiet as the other busies with setting the week’s worth of food down.

“Hey,” Hoseok finally calls, but his voice is neither irritated nor teasing. “What’s wrong, hyung?”

“...Nothing,” the other’s voice comes out muffled from the cover of his arms, and the younger nods sarcastically to himself.

“Of course nothing’s wrong,” Hoseok parrots, “I’m just being very moody for no reason.”

“I’m always moody,” Yoongi counters, and the other makes an affirmative hum.

“Well, that’s kind of true, but you’re not usually moody without a reason, you know? Even if your reasons are a little…” Yoongi doesn’t even bother to reply to his friend, and Hoseok pouts when the other refuses to lift his head. “Come on, hyung, I’ve known you for a while. Something’s wrong. This whole place feels like it’s sucking the happiness out of me.” When there’s no answer yet again, Hoseok decides to take a risk. “How has Jimin-ssi been?”

Bingo. The other lifts himself off the desk only to slouch back into the chair. He looks at Hoseok with a disinterested expression, but past the lazy focus of his eyes Hoseok sees the deep, deep brown that the other’s gaze has when he’s lost in his thoughts. “Yoongi-hyung,” he starts, “did something happen between you two?”

“Hoseok, how many people do you talk to?” The question catches Hoseok off guard, and he scratches the side of his neck as he answers.

“Uhh, I work in a restaurant--”

“So you know people right? Like… about them.”

“Wh--I--I suppose I do?”

“I see…” And Hoseok only watches him with a bewildered expression before he seems to realize something.

“Are you trying to judge the value of my advice?” He tries, and when Yoongi doesn’t answer he lets out a small laugh. “I can’t believe this,” he scoffs. “What happened?”

“I made him angry.”

“That’s a nice start. How?”

“I think I was a little intrusive.”

“Intrusive about...like what, his life?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, and he pauses shortly. “...He didn’t look too good, so I wanted to know what was wrong, but he got defensive and I got a little angry and--we kind of had an argument.” At the other’s silent gesture to keep going, Yoongi shrugs. “I don’t know. He was pale. He was skinny. He was...he seemed sad, or something, like...his eyes were dull. And he wouldn’t look at me. So I kept asking him questions and I guess it irritated him.”

“I see...” Hoseok muses, and Yoongi shrugs again. “Well...I don’t think it’s wrong to worry about someone, hyung. What matters is that you want to see him again, right? You should go and apologize.” At this, Yoongi shakes his head.

“He hates me.”

“Hmm,” Hoseok crosses his arms to his chest, tilting his head as he stares challengingly at Yoongi. “And what has he done to make you think he hates you?”

“We fought, Hoseok.”

“My mom and dad ‘fight’ every single day--”

“This is different from your parents--”

“You shouldn’t make baseless assumptions, hyung. All fights start from miscommunication, and they don’t usually end nicely with silence.”

“Hoseok, it’s not a secret that everyone hates the city’s wish-granter, okay? I know I don’t have the nicest of personalities. It’s not wrong to think he would hate me.”

“Don’t be stupid, hyung,” the other says. “You say what you mean, and sometimes it’s a little rude. But you never speak without thinking.”

“My words are still too harsh.”

“Your words might be a little harsh,” Hoseok nods, musing to himself, but he clears his throat shortly afterwards. When he speaks again, his tone is soft. “Hyung, do you know you have this thing where you’re a lot nicer to the people you like?”

Yoongi looks at him. “Uh,” he starts, “I think that’s normal with everyone.” And the younger laughs loudly.

“Yeah, that’s true, but you especially. You’re nice. A lot nicer. You always put up with my energy and although you complain like crazy, you never refuse to let me in. You try not to let me know when something is bothering you because you think it’s not worth my time, but whenever I have problems I can always, always come to you. And even though you whine, you never really mean it. So what if you speak like a grumpy man half the time? You’re like a brother to me, hyung, family outside of family, and I know you care about me. And I care about you too. That’s why I haven’t left yet.”

Yoongi swallows the small lump in his throat, his face starting to warm at the sudden compliment. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard such sincerity being directed at him before, but as he tries to find a response Hoseok lifts one hand solemnly to the air. “This is not a love confession,” he says, and Yoongi closes his eyes, the feeling pushed down by a sudden wave of irritation.

“I know,” he grits out, and Hoseok smiles back at him brightly.

“Really though, I wasn’t kidding,” the other continues. “You’re actually one of the most thoughtful people I know. And I think Jimin-ssi knows that too.”

Yoongi looks at the wall with a frown, his eyes glossing over the lines of black and grey. “He said…” he trails off.

Hoseok sighs. “It doesn’t matter what he said, hyung. He said it in the heat of an argument!”

“But he came to say goodbye.”

“He said--” Hoseok pauses when the words seep in. “What do you mean he ‘came to say goodbye’?”

“He said he only came to say goodbye or something like that.”

“I--I don’t know, hyung, but if he came just to say goodbye, I don’t think he hates you at all.”

“But--but he was outside the door,” Yoongi stammers. “He said he wasn’t even going to come in.” At this, Hoseok’s bewildered gaze softens.

“Well then,” he muses. “I wonder how long he was standing outside the door for.”

--

The city is damp from the fresh fall of the rain, warm from the presence of people. As Yoongi walks he can smell pleasant odors of bread and food wafting through the streets from the various eateries along the path. Many of the people who recognize him only greet him with wide eyes and open mouths. Even then, the number is small--visits weren’t usually paid to a wish-granter that granted few wishes, after all.

Yoongi feels weird, being in the middle of such life, but to the city he is just another inhabitant, wandering in the streets with a lost expression amongst others, and other than the paleness of his skin to the glow of theirs, he calls for no more attention than the rest.

The path to Jimin’s house is far, almost nearing the edges of the other side of the city, but peaceful, and Yoongi lets himself relax as his steps start to sound without the noise of the people to cover it up.

The place he reaches is calm but not dead, the occasional shop here and there, some with their doors open to let in the fresh air. The ground shines a browned yellow, dirt and sand packed tightly and shimmering from the heat of the sun, and Jimin’s apartment is one of many in the area, its walls old but stable. The stairs creak when Yoongi steps onto them, and Jimin’s part of the building sits quietly, identical to the rest of the doors next to it.

His hand hovers above the door the first time, before Yoongi knocks quietly and waits for an answer. It hits him belatedly that the other might not even be home at this time of day.

Sighing, his eyes go to the window of the room, but the curtains are drawn, and the place feels shielded from the rest of society.

Irritated, Yoongi’s hand goes to rattle the doorknob in a petty release of anger, but instead of resisting his small show of force the door pushes inwards instead. Yoongi watches, horrified, as the door slowly creaks to a stop, light filtering into the darkness of the apartment. He looks side to side, unsure whether he should go in or step back and leave, pretending nothing ever happened. After all, entering someone’s home when they’re not there is a crime.

But he remembers Jimin then, who he hasn’t seen in weeks, remembers the vagueness in his voice when the other talks about home, and curiosity brings his feet forward instead of back.

Slowly, with the door creaking close behind him, Yoongi steps into the doorway, careful so that each step he takes makes no sound. The place is a dim blue-tinted white, with the windows blocked and the light not shining in. It is damp, smells fairly rotted and of nothing special, and the dark grey shadows are a sharp contrast to the bright warm shades of daylight outside.

Yoongi thinks of the Jimin that he had first met, wary but full of trust and kind energy, the one that refused to take the life of a flower for momentary beauty, and the one that brought life to dull white walls using just shades of black and grey. Yoongi thinks of Jimin, and he looks around the room one more time, seeing the same ashen grey shadows and light film of dust along the floor, and his mouth twists further into a frown.

The place doesn’t feel like Jimin. It feels like nothing at all.

The thought doesn’t fit well with Yoongi, standing in a home that does not feel like home, and he quickly turns to leave the apartment. His eyes, however, fall below him, and the floor is dirty, uncared for, brown splattered over and kicked into the rest of the room. Frowning, he pulls the door open further and allows a small sliver of light casted from the outside to filter into the room. The color of the floor is a mix of the yellow-brown of the city, and a deeper, darker brown of natural, healthy soil.

Soil found in places with vegetation, he thinks to himself--the forest. Jimin hasn’t been to the forest in a while, hasn’t come to visit him since the last time they had seen each other, but the soil is still slightly moist to the touch, and Yoongi opens the door wider now, his eyes failing him temporarily as light shines into the place.

The room seems three times brighter, and what catches his eyes this time is the lone petal on the floor, brown and crushed.

A flower petal.

--

There is a figure lying in the midst of the field when Yoongi finally manages to hike to the top, surrounded by flowers of different colors. The sky is already a fading orange when he gets there, and the fabric of his shirt sticks to his body uncomfortably, but when he sees black hair swaying in the wind, Yoongi allows himself to breath easily for the first in a while.

He wafts his way over to the other, wincing slightly when his shoes meet with the first blooms of life, crushing down on them in order to pave a path. “I can’t believe you really are here,” he says softly.

With no one else around, his voice carries quickly, and Jimin shifts to look over in shock before he pushes himself up. “...What are you doing here, hyung?”

“What are you doing here?”

“You said this was my field, after all,” Jimin responds quietly. “What about you?”

“Hmm,” Yoongi settles down softly onto the spot next to him as Jimin stretches softly in his space. He doesn’t seem to have moved for a while, but looking around there are a few other spots close by that are crushed downwards, flowers leaning their way in an effort to cover the growing brown. It seems like the younger’s been here quite a bit, as well.

“You know you didn’t close your door properly, right?” he asks, and Jimin blinks rapidly as he processes the information. His expression schools back into relaxation, and he shrugs along the ground.

“That’s okay,” he says, “there’s really nothing to steal from there.” ‘I know,’ Yoongi wants to reply, but then Jimin’s eyes snap open and he turns his head towards Yoongi. Slowly, his gaze narrows. “You… went to my place?” Yoongi freezes, brain trying to find any sort of excuse to cover his slip-up. And then he takes a deep breath and nods. Never mind.

“...I’m going to be very honest with you,” Yoongi says, and Jimin smiles slightly.

“When are you not--”

“I missed you, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi confesses, and Jimin’s eyes widen next to him. “And I’m really worried about you,” he mumbles afterwards.

“...I’m sorry, hyung. I haven’t been my best these days.”

Yoongi hums. “Have you been eating?”

“I try for three meals a day,” the other replies, and he turns his head from the flowers in the distance to look at the other. Jimin is still skinny--nearing gaunt, he would say, and the crease between his eyebrows deepens a little.

“It doesn’t look like three meals a day,” he counters, and Jimin smiles.

“That’s because I throw half of it up, hyung.” And that catches Yoongi’s attention. He begins to shift his body towards the other this time. Jimin makes no move to follow.

“You still haven’t gone to see someone about it?” he asks. The other shakes his head, eyes bright from the sunlight that reflects off of them.

“I have,” he says. “A while ago.” But he doesn’t elaborate, and Yoongi nods slowly, relieved that the other has at least listened to his request.

“Are you going to be okay?” And this time Jimin smiles again, but the corners of his lips tremble. Yoongi feels like screaming. He swallows.

“What--is it like a disease? Irreversible?” And when the other doesn’t reply he nearly flings himself towards him in anger. “Jimin--” he starts, “that is literally the reason why I am here. Why didn’t you tell me? I spent--how long has this been going on again, months--”

“Years,” the other corrects. “I’ve been relapsing since I was little.”

“And you didn’t tell me why?! I’m a wish-granter, Jimin, I live to make miracles happen you stupid idiot--!”

“I didn’t want to tell you, hyung,” the other says, and Yoongi feels completely lost.

“W..hy?” he asks.

“Because, for a few years, I’ve been waiting to see my mother.” The sentence freezes Yoongi in his anger, and suddenly the fire in him seems to have gone cold.

“It’s weird. I was so ready for a while, and then all of a sudden I feel… confused,” the other says, and Yoongi listens quietly, not sure what he means.

“Years of waiting, though, you know? And then all of a sudden nothing seems right anymore, but I was thinking that I couldn’t just waste all those years of waiting for just a few months of…” Jimin trails off, his hands fidgeting with each other as he tries to think of things to say. In the end, he doesn’t finish his thought. “So I thought I wouldn’t tell you. Just see how things would go naturally,” he says.

“And?” Yoongi prompts, eyes catching on the wilted stems around him. He feels like he’s slowly sinking, and one hand clasps tightly around the stem of a flower. “How did things go?”

Next to him, Jimin shrugs. “I don’t know,” he admits. “It’s not that bad. I get to watch the sunset with you again, after all.”

Yoongi inhales. Exhales, and his eyes glance over. “I can come again,” he says. “Whenever. The office can be open in the mornings.” And Jimin smiles.

They sit there in a comfortable silence, one Yoongi hasn’t felt since a long time ago, eyes occasionally glancing down from the orange-red sky to the palette of flowers, then sideways to the figure next to them when the other isn’t looking. They sit there, quietly, until the sun has reached its last bit of light for the day, and the night air starts to travel through the cracks in the trees and spin around them. Jimin shifts in his seat.

“Hyung,” the other calls, and Yoongi nods. “I’m cold.”

And Yoongi looks down at himself, trying to find something he can offer to the other. But his shirt is not something he can take off, neither is the rest of his attire, and he’s come today without the accompaniment of any sort of accessory to his dress. But before he can say anything, Jimin pushes himself closer with a sweet smile, and he leans into the other’s side, looking up at Yoongi with bright, wide eyes.

His breathing coming slowly, Yoongi watches stray strands fall from Jimin’s hair, and he wraps an arm around the other, pulling him close. The initial coolness brings shivers to his skin, but slowly Jimin’s hoodie seems to warm from his touch, and the younger looks down, sighing against his chest.

“Better?” he asks, and Jimin nods, the motion rubbing against Yoongi. The other looks small in his arms, and the gesture makes him smile softly. The two sit in that position for a while, breaths falling quiet to the sound of the evening breeze.

“Hyung,” Jimin calls after a while, when Yoongi’s eyes are fluttering to the sight of the stars in the sky, and he rubs the others arm soothingly in response. “I have a secret I want to tell you,” Jimin says, and the elder hums that he is listening. “Sometimes I want to see you more than I want to see my mother.”

And Yoongi looks down this time, sleepiness washed from his eyes, but Jimin only presses himself closer to his chest.

“Jimin,” he calls.

“Yeah?”

“...Make a wish.”

“Oh? What wish?”

“Any wish,” Yoongi finds himself saying. He can feel his heartbeat picking up as a bit of hope slips itself into him. “I’ll grant it for you. Right now.”

“Right here?”

“Mmhmm. Right here, right now.”

“Even a burrito?”

“...Maybe not a burrito,” Yoongi says, and Jimin giggles into his chest, body shaking up and down with laughter. The motion is comforting, a reminder of the happy, sweet Jimin that he’s gotten to know over the past year, and Yoongi unconsciously pulls him closer, wraps his arms around him tighter.

“What should I wish for, then? You tell me,” the other says, finally lifting his head, and underneath the night stars Yoongi watches them through Jimin’s eyes. He brings himself closer without thinking.

“Wish for a reason to live, Jiminie.”

Without breaking his gaze, the other tilts his head, leaning in. “And if I have one?”

“Then you know what to do,” Yoongi says softly. He closes the distance.

To Yoongi, the kiss is slightly chapped, slightly dry, messy because of a grin that won’t subside. To Jimin, the kiss is fast and desperate, and then slow, sending shivers down his back. To the both of them, the kiss is a sweet, sweet promise, an unspoken declaration, a feeling of perfection finally in reach. When they pull apart, both are breathless and warm. Jimin’s hands find their way to Yoongi’s, and neither look away.

“I wish to be with you forever,” he breathes.

--

“Do you like it, sir?”

Jimin looks up abruptly from the glass flower that he holds in his hands. The figure is small, nearly the height of one of his fingers, but it shines brightly against his hands, each petal catching the light in angles that reflect back at the wooden stall in front of him, it’s surface covered with various crystal trinkets of various sizes and shapes.

The girl that looks back at him has a wide, open smile as she awaits his answer, and Jimin places the flower down, cheeks flushing a small shade of pink.

“Sorry,” he says with an apologetic laugh, “the flower was just so nostalgic. It caught my eye. But I don’t have any money on me right now, so…” he drifts off and begins to step away from the stall when the lady speaks again.

“No worries, sir, I understand the feeling!” The girl, instead of waving him goodbye, reaches towards the flower herself, and Jimin watches with a faint curiosity as she handles it delicately, wiping away at each small petal before she wrapping it around a couple thin layers of fabric. She places the flower into a clear bag before offering it to Jimin, who widens his eyes.

“No, um,” he starts, raising his arms in refusal. “I don’t have any money, I couldn’t take something that could help earn you a living--”

“Nonsense, the flower’s as small as my ring finger, and the only thing it costs is the time it took me to carve and paint,” she says, gently pulling Jimin’s hand towards her and pressing the flower into his palm. “And plus, my greatest pleasure is to see people look at my work with an expression like yours.”

Jimin smiles amidst the heat fanning his face. “Is it a loved one?” she asks.

“Yes. My late mother. She was a florist.”

The lady’s smile turns soft, and she nods in sympathy. “My condolences,” she says.

“Not at all. It’s been a while, and I’m not alone anymore, so--” suddenly, Jimin stumbles in his standing, heart clenching as he reaches to steady himself on the wooden stall. It is well polished but ragged, and the boards creak from his weight as a few of the smaller sculptures tilt over. Her expression switches to worry.

“Sir..!”

“No, it’s okay,” Jimin reassures her, already feeling the pain start to subside. “I’ll be fine shortly.”

“But…”

“Park Jimin!!!” At this time, a loud shout of his name causes the both of them, as well as a few other owners of nearby stalls, to turn their heads towards the voice.

Yoongi heads towards them, his stride not yet running but close to it, arms actively swinging at his sides and breathing loud. His face is beyond irritated. Jimin smiles at the sight. “Hyung,” he calls.

Instead of returning his greeting, the other simply yanks him by the arm, hard.

“Fifty meters,” he hisses, eyes lit with anger. His jaws are clenched, and he speaks through gritted teeth. “Not fifty meters away from me. You want to die?!”

Jimin shakes his head, smile still soft, but he tugs backwards when the other begins to pull him away from the stall. “Wait, hyung, I got a gift,” he explains, and he holds out the wrapped flower to the other. Yoongi stares at it for a few doubtful moments before he turns to the lady behind the stall, expression schooled into a polite look. He places a coin on the table.

“Thank you,” he says, before he turns to the other, expression changing once again to its original irritated state. “Come on!”

The lady watches them go with both hands clasped together and raised towards her chest. She can’t help but let out a squeal at the cute sight. “If only my prince would come soon,” she sighs happily.

A bit farther off, Yoongi grumbles towards the other as he keeps pulling Jimin along by the hand, his pace a little too fast. “This is because you made that stupid wish,” he grumbles. “If you had worded it any better, even a little better, you wouldn’t have to be literally stuck together with me…”

“Sorry, hyung,” Jimin says as he begins to pull his hand away, but the other only tightens his grip.

“Stop moving, I’m not letting go of you.” Yoongi’s face is not visible, but his hand is warm, and the tips of his ears glow a shade darker than usual. Jimin watches the other’s backside in awe, eyes shining as he fidgets from the silence.

“Y-you keep getting distracted,” Yoongi tries to explain. “This way, I won’t lose sight of you.”

Jimin blinks, and then he smiles, and his hand holds on tighter to the other as he nods. “Okay.”

--

END