Work Text:
Yoongi liked the office best before nine a.m.
The lights were softer then, half of them still turned off, the hum of the air conditioner low and steady instead of loud enough to crawl under his skin, no chatter yet, no phones ringing, no footsteps stopping at his desk for “just a quick question.” Just him, his laptop, a mug of coffee gone lukewarm because he always forgot to drink it.
He sat a little hunched, shoulders drawn in, dark hair falling into his eyes as he typed, glasses slipping down his nose, he pushed them back up with the side of his finger, a nervous habit he didn’t even notice anymore.
By the time the rest of the floor filled up, Yoongi was already deep into his work, fingers moving automatically, brain wrapped around numbers and plans and details that made sense in a way people never quite did.
He tried very hard not to be perceived.
Unfortunately, Park Jimin existed.
Yoongi didn’t know exactly when it started—only that at some point, Jimin’s presence became something his body reacted to before his brain could catch up, a tightening in his chest when laughter floated across the room, heat in his ears when Jimin leaned too close to someone’s desk, his name sounded different when Jimin said it, softer somehow, like it had been handled with care before being handed back.
Jimin was… everything.
The kind of person who walked into the office and changed the air, friendly, warm, effortlessly charming. People gravitated toward him without even trying, he knew everyone—what coffee they liked, what shows they were watching, whose birthday was coming up next, he laughed easily, openly, head tipping back, eyes crinkling into half-moons.
An it boy, without ever acting like one.
Yoongi watched him in pieces, reflections on glass walls, the curve of his smile when he thought no one was looking. Never directly—never for too long. The second Yoongi felt Jimin’s gaze shift his way, he’d look down at his screen, heart stuttering like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
Sometimes, when Yoongi dared to glance up again, Jimin was still looking.
Those moments ruined him for the rest of the day.
“Morning, Yoongi.”
He flinched, fingers freezing over the keyboard. Slowly, he looked up.
Kim Namjoon stood at the side of his desk, coffee in hand, tie already loosened even though it wasn’t even ten yet, his expression was calm, kind.
“Morning,” Yoongi murmured back, voice barely above the hum of the office.
Namjoon nodded toward Yoongi’s screen. “I went over your numbers last night. They’re solid. Really good work.”
Something warm bloomed in Yoongi’s chest, immediately followed by the urge to shrink into his chair. “Oh. Uh—thank you.”
Namjoon smiled, satisfied, and moved on.
Yoongi exhaled, rubbing his face briefly. Praise always did that to him—left him unbalanced, unsure what to do with his hands or his expression.
“Hyung,” Taehyung’s voice sing-songed from the neighboring desk, “you know you smiled just now, right?”
Yoongi stiffened. “I did not.”
“You did,” Taehyung said cheerfully, spinning his chair to face him. “A little one. Like this.” He attempted a terrible imitation, lips twitching.
Yoongi frowned. “Don’t look at me.”
“That’s literally impossible. We work together.”
Before Yoongi could reply, laughter burst out from the other side of the room—bright, unmistakable.
Jimin.
Yoongi’s eyes betrayed him, flicking up on instinct. Jimin was standing near the break area with Hoseok and Jungkook, animated as he talked, hands moving as if the story needed them to exist properly, Seokjin leaned against the counter nearby, pretending not to listen while very obviously listening.
Jimin laughed again, and Yoongi’s stomach flipped.
As if summoned, Jimin turned.
Their eyes met.
It lasted half a second. Maybe less.
Yoongi looked away first, heat rushing up his neck, heart hammering so loudly he was sure everyone could hear it. He stared at his screen, at lines of text that suddenly made no sense, and willed himself to breathe normally.
He didn’t see Jimin’s smile soften.
Jimin had noticed Yoongi long before Yoongi realized it was possible to be noticed at all.
He noticed the way Yoongi always chose the desk slightly out of the way, how he kept his voice low, his movements careful, like he was afraid of taking up too much space, his ears turned pink when spoken to unexpectedly, he worked harder than anyone else, quietly, without ever asking for credit.
Jimin thought it was adorable. Painfully so.
But Jimin also noticed the way Yoongi avoided him, the quick look-away, the tension in his shoulders whenever Jimin got too close. So he kept his distance—not out of disinterest, but out of respect, he didn’t want to be another overwhelming presence in Yoongi’s carefully controlled world.
So he waited.
Lunch came and went. Yoongi ate at his desk, as usual, scrolling absently through his phone between bites, Hoseok tried once to drag him to the break room, but Yoongi mumbled an excuse about deadlines, and Hoseok—mercifully—didn’t push.
In the late afternoon, a file landed softly on Yoongi’s desk.
He startled again, looking up.
Jimin stood there, hands clasped loosely in front of him, smiling gently. “Hey, Yoongi. Namjoon said you finished the projections? I need them for a meeting.”
“Oh—yeah. Yes,” Yoongi said quickly, fumbling to open the folder. Their fingers brushed for the briefest moment when he handed it over, and Yoongi nearly short-circuited.
“Thanks,” Jimin said. “And, uh… good job. Really.”
Yoongi nodded, unable to trust his voice.
Jimin lingered for a heartbeat longer, then walked away.
Yoongi didn’t look up again for the rest of the day—but his chest felt lighter, like something good had almost happened. Almost.
The elevator was already half-full when Yoongi slipped in.
He stood facing the doors, backpack hugged close to his chest, eyes fixed on the glowing floor numbers as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. Someone pressed the button for his floor before he could lift his hand.
“Got it.”
Jimin’s voice, right behind him.
Yoongi’s spine went rigid.
The doors slid shut with a soft chime. The elevator started its slow ascent. Yoongi became painfully aware of everything at once—the closeness of bodies, the faint scent of someone’s cologne, the hum under his feet.
Jimin stood just to his side. Close enough that Yoongi could see his reflection in the mirrored wall if he looked, enough that if he shifted even a little, their arms would brush.
He didn’t shift.
Silence stretched, not awkward exactly, just… full. Jimin wasn’t on his phone, he wasn’t talking. He stood there calmly, hands loosely clasped, gaze unfocused, like he was content to simply exist in the same small space.
Yoongi’s heart beat too fast.
When the elevator stopped, people filed out in a rush. Yoongi waited until the end, head down. As he stepped forward, Jimin moved at the same time, and their shoulders brushed.
“Oh—sorry,” Yoongi blurted, mortified.
Jimin smiled. “It’s okay.”
It shouldn’t have meant anything. It meant everything.
Later that afternoon, Namjoon sent an email asking for revised documents. Yoongi printed them, carefully organized, and carried the stack across the floor, rehearsing what he’d say in his head even though it was only going to be a sentence.
“Here,” he said softly, stopping at Jimin’s desk.
Jimin turned in his chair, attention snapping into place like Yoongi was the only thing in the room. “Thanks.”
Their hands met in the middle.
It was unavoidable this time.
Jimin’s fingers brushed Yoongi’s as he took the papers—warm, gentle, smaller than Yoongi expected. Slim fingers, neat nails. The contact lasted maybe a second, maybe less, but Yoongi felt it all the way up his arm, straight into his chest.
Too small, his brain supplied uselessly. Tiny.
It hurt.
Yoongi pulled his hand back too fast, papers wobbling slightly before Jimin steadied them, his ears burning. He stared at the floor, convinced he’d somehow made it obvious what he was thinking.
“Hey,” Jimin said, not unkindly. “You okay?”
Yoongi nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yes. Just—uh—busy.”
Jimin hummed, accepting the answer even though it clearly wasn’t the whole truth. “Thanks again, Yoongi.”
His name. Again.
Yoongi escaped back to his desk and sat down like his legs might give out. He stared at his screen, at nothing, replaying the moment over and over—the warmth, the softness, the way Jimin hadn’t pulled away.
Across the room, Taehyung watched with narrowed eyes.
Interesting, he thought.
By the time evening crept in and the office lights dimmed slightly, Yoongi was exhausted—not from work, but from holding himself together through a thousand tiny moments that felt far too big for how small they were.
Jimin was laughing quietly with Seokjin, head tilted, eyes bright.
For just a second, Jimin looked over and caught him.
This time, Jimin didn’t look away.
Yoongi did—but his heart stayed behind.
Yoongi told himself—firmly, repeatedly—that it didn’t mean anything.
Jimin was like this with everyone. The kind of person who remembered names and details and smiled like he meant it. It would be stupid, arrogant even, to think any of it was special.
That didn’t stop his chest from tightening every time Jimin spoke to him.
He worked later than usual, the office thinning out until the hum of computers felt too loud in the near-empty space. His screen glowed, numbers blurring together, thoughts looping no matter how hard he tried to focus.
Tiny hands, his traitorous brain supplied again.
Yoongi groaned quietly, pressing his palms into his eyes.
Get it together.
He replayed the day against his will—every glance, every almost-touch. The elevator silence felt charged even though nothing happened. The way Jimin had steadied the papers instead of pulling back. The soft concern in his voice when Yoongi had flinched.
He’s just nice, Yoongi reminded himself. He’s like that with everyone.
And that thought hurt more than anything else.
Because Jimin laughed with Hoseok, leaned easily into Seokjin’s space, teased Jungkook without fear of being misunderstood. Jimin belonged in the center of things. Yoongi lived on the edges by choice, by habit, by fear.
What would Jimin even do with someone like him?
Someone who didn’t know how to talk without rehearsing, startled at sudden attention, preferred silence and shadows and screens over noise and light.
Yoongi imagined it—the idea of reaching out first. Saying something that wasn’t about work, holding Jimin’s gaze for more than a heartbeat.
His stomach twisted.
He’d mess it up, say something wrong, freeze or make it awkward. Worse—make Jimin uncomfortable.
The thought alone was enough to make him shut down entirely.
So he did what he always did: folded the feeling in on itself and hid it away. Tucked it somewhere quiet and locked the door.
Across the room, Taehyung paused mid-sentence with Jungkook, eyes flicking toward Yoongi’s desk.
“He’s doing it again,” Taehyung murmured.
“Doing what?” Jungkook asked.
“That thing where he looks like he’s thinking too hard.”
Hoseok glanced over, following Taehyung’s gaze. “About Jimin?”
Taehyung hummed. “Obviously.”
At the sound of his name, Jimin looked up from his phone, brow creasing slightly. “What?”
“Nothing,” Hoseok said too quickly, grinning. “Just—are you heading out soon?”
“In a bit,” Jimin replied, gaze drifting back toward Yoongi without him quite realizing it. Yoongi’s shoulders were tense, posture drawn inward like he was bracing against something invisible.
Jimin frowned.
He wondered, not for the first time, what went on inside Yoongi’s head—and whether he’d ever be brave enough to ask.
Yoongi packed up quietly, slipping his bag over his shoulder. As he stood, he hesitated, eyes flicking toward Jimin’s desk one last time.
Don’t, he told himself.
He left without saying goodbye.
Jimin noticed anyway.
Jimin noticed patterns. It was one of his quieter talents.
He noticed who liked their coffee sweet and who pretended they didn’t care when meetings ran long. He noticed when Namjoon was stressed before Namjoon said anything, when Seokjin was joking to cover up tiredness. He noticed when Hoseok laughed louder than usual, when Jungkook went quiet.
And he noticed Yoongi.
He noticed the way Yoongi always chose the same seat in meetings, slightly angled away, notebook already open like armor, he listened more than he spoke, but when he did speak, everyone leaned in without realizing it. The way his hands hovered before touching anything new, cautious, deliberate.
Jimin noticed how Yoongi never quite looked at him.
Or—no. That wasn’t true.
Yoongi looked. Just never long enough.
Jimin caught it in reflections, in the shine of elevator doors, in the brief second before Yoongi’s eyes dropped back to his screen. Like he was afraid of being caught wanting something.
It did something to Jimin’s chest every time.
He liked Yoongi. That part was simple, almost embarrassingly so, like the softness under the quiet, how hard he worked without asking for praise, how his ears turned red when someone said his name too suddenly.
Liked the way he existed, carefully.
What wasn’t simple was the distance.
Jimin was used to people stepping closer, not away. Used to easy conversations, teasing smiles, invitations that didn’t feel like risks. With Yoongi, everything felt like it needed to be handled gently, like one wrong move might make him retreat further into himself.
So Jimin stayed where he was.
He didn’t sit at Yoongi’s desk uninvited, didn’t force small talk, didn’t corner him in the break room. He kept his smiles soft, his voice calm, his presence unobtrusive—hoping, maybe foolishly, that Yoongi would come to him when he was ready.
Still, there were moments that slipped through.
Like the elevator. Jimin had felt Yoongi stiffen the second he stepped in behind him, and had seen the tension in his shoulders in the mirror. He’d made himself still on purpose, hands folded, breathing slow, trying to make the space feel safer instead of smaller.
When their shoulders brushed, Jimin almost smiled.
Or the files. Jimin hadn’t planned to touch him, he just hadn’t pulled away fast enough.
Yoongi’s fingers had been warm then gone, like Yoongi had shocked himself.
Jimin had wanted—briefly, selfishly—to take his hand again, to tell him it was okay, that he didn’t have to disappear like that.
Instead, he let him go.
From across the office, Jimin watched Yoongi retreat into his chair, posture folding inward, gaze fixed on his screen like it might protect him from being seen. The fondness in Jimin’s chest twisted into something heavier.
Does he think I don’t want him near me? Jimin wondered.
Because the truth was almost the opposite.
Jimin wanted to sit beside him during meetings. Wanted to hear what he sounded like when he talked about things he loved instead of things he was assigned. Wanted to know what made him laugh when he wasn’t trying to be quiet about it.
But wanting wasn’t enough if it scared Yoongi.
So Jimin waited.
As the day wound down and people started packing up, Jimin noticed—like he always did—that Yoongi left, slipping out without drawing attention, without goodbyes.
Jimin watched his empty desk for a moment longer than necessary.
Soon, he promised himself.
When he 's ready.
Until then, he would stay right where Yoongi could see him—warm, open, and patient.
Even if it hurts a little.
The email hit everyone’s inbox at exactly 4:12 p.m.
A short subject line. All caps. Too many exclamation points.
WE DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🎉
The office reacted instantly—chairs scraping back, phones chiming, Hoseok whooping loud enough to make someone from another department peek over the partition. Jungkook fist-pumped. Seokjin clapped once, sharp and satisfied. Even Namjoon smiled openly, pushing his glasses up as he reread the message.
Yoongi stared at his screen.
He read the email twice. Then a third time.
The project had been approved. Fully. No revisions. No pushback. A clean yes from the client, with specific praise for the projections—the ones Yoongi had spent nights refining, chasing perfection because it felt safer than stopping.
His chest tightened.
He hadn’t expected the pride to feel so… frightening.
“Yoongi,” Namjoon said, already walking toward him, “this was you.”
Yoongi looked up, startled. “I—I mean, it was the team—”
Namjoon shook his head, firm but kind. “It was your work. You carried this.”
A ripple of agreement moved through the office.
“That’s our genius,” Hoseok said brightly. “Knew it,” Jungkook added. Seokjin nodded. “You did well.”
Yoongi’s ears burned. He ducked his head, fingers curling into the edge of his desk like he needed something solid to hold onto.
Before he could retreat fully into himself, someone else spoke.
“We should go out.”
Jimin.
The room turned toward him naturally, like it always did.
“Drinks,” Jimin continued, smiling easy. “Nothing wild. Just… celebrate.”
A chorus of yeses followed immediately.
Hoseok was already pulling out his phone. “I know a place.” “Hyung,” Jungkook said, grinning at Yoongi, “you’re coming, right?” Taehyung just watched him, eyes sharp and unreadable.
Yoongi’s pulse spiked.
“Oh,” he said, too quickly. “I—I don’t usually—”
“You have to,” Hoseok interrupted, pointing at him. “This is literally your win.”
Yoongi shook his head, small, reflexive. “I’m really okay. I should probably just—”
“Yoongi.”
Jimin’s voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t cut across the room. It didn’t demand attention.
It just… reached him.
Yoongi looked up despite himself.
Jimin stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, expression open but careful. No pressure. No teasing. Just sincerity.
“We’d like you there,” Jimin said. Then, softer, like it was only meant for him: “But only if you want to.”
That was worse.
Because now it wasn't an obligation. It was a choice.
Yoongi swallowed.
He thought about the hours he’d spent alone with spreadsheets and cold coffee. The way he’d told himself it didn’t matter if anyone noticed, as long as the work was right. The way he always left first, always said no, always stayed safe.
He thought about Jimin’s hands.
“I…” His voice wobbled, then steadied. “I’ll come.”
The room erupted.
Hoseok cheered. Jungkook grinned like he’d won something. Seokjin immediately started negotiating departure times. Taehyung’s mouth curved into a knowing smile.
Jimin just smiled at Yoongi—bright, unmistakably pleased—and nodded once, like he’d been careful not to hope too hard.
“Great,” he said. “We’ll go after work.”
Yoongi nodded back, heart already racing with delayed panic.
As everyone returned to their desks, the reality settled in.
Drinks meant noise and—being seen by Jimin.
Yoongi stared at his screen, pretending to work while his thoughts spiraled. Across the room, Jimin glanced over, catching the tension in Yoongi’s shoulders.
He smiled softly to himself.
Tonight, he thought, gently.
We’ll take it slow.
The bar was louder than Yoongi expected. Not overwhelming—just enough noise to make his thoughts feel slippery. Warm light, clinking glasses, music low enough to talk over but high enough to fill the pauses. Everyone crowded around a long table, jackets shrugged off, ties loosened.
Yoongi sat between Namjoon and Taehyung, hands wrapped tightly around his glass like it might anchor him.
“One drink,” he’d told himself.
Then Hoseok ordered a second round. Then Jungkook nudged a fresh glass toward him with a grin. Then Seokjin clinked his own against Yoongi’s and said, “To hard work.”
Yoongi drank because it felt rude not to.
Because his chest was tight.
Because Jimin was sitting across from him, smiling softly every time their eyes met, not looking away this time—and Yoongi didn’t know what to do with that.
Alcohol loosened things slowly, treacherously.
The buzz crept in before Yoongi noticed it, warmth spreading through his limbs, tension easing from his shoulders. The room felt softer at the edges. The fear dulled just enough to let something else rise to the surface.
Want.
He laughed once—quiet, surprised by the sound of it—and Taehyung glanced at him, eyebrows lifting.
“See?” Taehyung said lightly. “You’re fine.”
Yoongi nodded, though his head felt a little too light. He took another sip without thinking.
Jimin watched him carefully.
Not in a hovering way—just attentive. Like he was tracking the moment Yoongi crossed some invisible line. Their eyes met again, and this time Yoongi didn’t look away.
Jimin’s smile faltered, just a little.
“You okay?” Jimin asked, leaning closer so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice.
Yoongi nodded too hard. “Yeah. I’m—yeah.”
His words felt loose in his mouth.
Conversation flowed around them—Hoseok telling a story with wild gestures, Jungkook laughing too loudly, Namjoon chiming in with a correction no one asked for. It all blurred together, background noise to the way Yoongi’s focus narrowed until there was only Jimin.
The thought hit him suddenly, painfully clear: If I don’t say it now, I never will.
His heart started to pound—not with fear, but with something hot and urgent and reckless.
“Jimin,” Yoongi said.
It came out louder than he meant it to.
The table quieted—not completely, but enough.
Jimin turned fully toward him. “Yeah?”
Yoongi stared at him, words crowding his throat, pressing against his teeth. He felt dizzy, emotional in that unguarded way alcohol allowed, everything too close to the surface.
“I—” He swallowed. Laughed weakly. “I’m bad at this.”
A few smiles around the table, no one is alarmed yet.
Yoongi’s gaze dropped to the table, then lifted again, determined and terrified all at once. His eyes were glassy and his ears burned.
“I like you,” he blurted.
Silence. Too much silence. Yoongi sucked in a breath, panic flaring—but the words were already out, unstoppable now.
“I like you so much it hurts.”
The room froze. Hoseok’s smile vanished. Jungkook’s eyes widened. Seokjin inhaled sharply. Namjoon went very still. Taehyung didn’t look surprised at all.
Yoongi realized—too late—that everyone had heard him.
The rush drained out of him instantly, replaced by mortifying clarity.
“Oh,” he whispered. “Oh no.”
His chest tightened. His vision blurred.
“I—I'm sorry,” he rushed out, words tumbling over each other. “I didn’t mean—I mean I did but I shouldn’t have said it like that, not here, not in front of—”
His voice cracked.
Tears welled, hot and humiliating.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, smaller. “I ruined it. I ruined everything.”
Jimin stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
“That’s enough,” he said—not sharp, but firm. Protective.
He moved around the table, crouching slightly in front of Yoongi. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”
Yoongi shook his head, hands curling into his sleeves, shoulders caving in. “I’m so sorry—”
Jimin reached out, hesitation flickering only for a second before he gently touched Yoongi’s wrist. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
Then he looked up at the others.
“I’m taking him outside,” Jimin said. It wasn’t a question.
No one argued.
Jimin helped Yoongi to his feet, steadying him carefully, shielding him from the stares, the noise, the moment he’d never be able to take back.
As they stepped out into the cool night air, the door closing behind them, Yoongi finally broke—soft, breathless sobs shaking his frame.
“I didn’t mean to,” he cried. “I tried so hard not to—”
Jimin pulled him close.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice low and steady against Yoongi’s hair. “I’ve got you.”
The night air was cool, sharp enough to cut through the fog in Yoongi’s head.
They stood just outside the bar, neon light bleeding onto the sidewalk, the muffled sound of laughter and music leaking through the door behind them. Jimin guided Yoongi a few steps away, toward the quieter side of the building, one hand steady at his elbow, the other hovering like he wasn’t sure how much was okay.
Yoongi was shaking.
“I didn’t want to do that,” he said, words slurring just a little, tears slipping down his cheeks unchecked. “I really didn’t. I tried so hard to be normal.”
Jimin stopped walking.
“Hey,” he said gently, turning Yoongi toward him. “You are normal.”
Yoongi laughed weakly, a broken sound. “You don’t understand. I always do this. I think too much, or not enough, and then I say something stupid and—” He choked, breath hitching. “Everyone heard.”
Jimin reached up slowly, deliberately, giving Yoongi time to pull away if he wanted to.
Yoongi didn’t.
Jimin cupped his face, thumbs brushing under his eyes to wipe the tears away. His touch was warm, grounding. Real.
“It’s okay,” Jimin repeated. “You’re safe. No one’s mad. No one’s laughing.”
Yoongi shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“I want to,” Jimin said softly.
The words landed heavy.
Yoongi sagged forward then, like his body had finally given up on holding itself upright. Jimin caught him immediately, arms wrapping around him, pulling him close.
The hug was firm, protective.
Yoongi pressed his face into Jimin’s shoulder, fingers clutching the fabric of his jacket. He cried quietly, shoulders trembling, the sobs losing their sharp edge as Jimin held him without flinching.
“Breathe with me,” Jimin murmured near his ear. “Okay? In… and out.”
Yoongi tried. Failed. Tried again.
Jimin stayed patient, rocking them just slightly, one hand smoothing over Yoongi’s back in slow, steady motions. When Yoongi’s breathing finally evened out, Jimin pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Yoongi froze for half a second, then melted.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice raw.
Jimin pulled back just enough to look at him. “Can I say something?”
Yoongi nodded, eyes red, lashes wet.
“I’ve been waiting,” Jimin said. “For you to feel comfortable enough to say anything at all. Even this.”
Yoongi blinked, confused. “You… have?”
Jimin smiled, small and sincere. “Yeah.”
Silence stretched between them—not heavy this time.
“I like you too,” Jimin added, quietly. “I just didn’t want to scare you.”
Yoongi’s breath caught.
“You don’t,” he said immediately, panic flaring. “I mean—you do, but in a good way. I just—” He gestured helplessly at himself. “I’m like this.”
Jimin’s smile softened. “I know.”
A shiver ran through Yoongi—not from the cold, but from the way Jimin said it, like it wasn’t a flaw, just a fact.
“You’ve had a lot to drink,” Jimin said gently. “And you’re exhausted. Let me take you home, okay?”
Yoongi hesitated, the word home felt loaded.
“I don’t want to be alone,” he admitted, barely audible.
Jimin’s thumb brushed over his knuckles. “Then you won’t be.”
Yoongi nodded.
Jimin slipped an arm around his shoulders and guided him down the street, away from the noise, away from the office and the bar and the moment that had cracked everything open.
For once, Yoongi didn’t look back.
Jimin’s apartment was small, warm and lived-in. Nothing fancy—soft lighting, clean but not sterile, the faint scent of laundry detergent and something citrusy in the air. The door clicked shut behind them, and the quiet settled immediately, wrapping around Yoongi like a blanket.
Yoongi swayed slightly as his shoes came off.
“Sit,” Jimin said gently, guiding him to the couch.
Yoongi obeyed, folding in on himself, hands clasped together in his lap. Without the bar noise, without people around, the weight of everything hit him all over again, his head throbbed, his eyes stung.
Jimin disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and some medicine.
“Drink first,” he said. “Slow.”
Yoongi nodded, taking small sips like he was afraid of spilling—not the water, but himself.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
Jimin smiled. “Anytime.”
He moved carefully, like sudden motions might startle Yoongi. Helped him wash his face, handed him a clean t-shirt when Yoongi admitted, embarrassed, that he didn’t feel great about sleeping in his bar clothes.
Jimin turned his back while Yoongi changed. That mattered more than Yoongi could put into words.
“You can take the bed,” Jimin said once they were both in the bedroom. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Yoongi froze. Panic flickered again.
“You don’t have to—” He stopped, swallowing. “Could you… stay? Just—sleep. I mean.”
Jimin didn’t tease.
“Yeah,” he said easily. “Of course.”
They lay down with space between them at first, both facing the ceiling. The room was dark except for a thin strip of streetlight slipping through the curtains.
Yoongi’s breathing was uneven. His head pounded. His thoughts wouldn’t settle.
“I don’t usually drink like that,” he said quietly.
“I figured,” Jimin replied.
“I meant what I said,” Yoongi added, voice small but steady now. “Even if I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
Jimin turned his head to look at him. “I know.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It felt… held. At some point, Yoongi shifted without thinking, drifting closer in his sleep, his fingers brushed Jimin’s sleeve, and he stilled—waiting to be moved away.
Instead, Jimin adjusted the blanket and let their shoulders touch and Yoongi relaxed instantly.
By morning, they were closer still, warmth shared without either of them remembering how it happened.
Yoongi woke up slowly.
The first thing he noticed was the headache—dull, persistent. The second was that this was not his ceiling.
Panic shot through him.
He pushed himself up too fast, dizziness washing over him. “What—”
“Hey,” Jimin said, groggy. “Easy.”
Jimin was right there, hair messy, still half-asleep. Memory rushed back in fragments—the bar, the words, the crying, the hug.
Yoongi’s face burned.
“I’m so sorry,” he blurted, scrambling for distance. “I can leave, I didn’t mean to—thank you for letting me stay, I promise I’m not usually—”
Jimin sat up and reached out, gently pressing two fingers to Yoongi’s lips.
“Stop,” he said softly. “You’re okay.”
Yoongi froze.
Jimin smiled, fond and unmistakably warm. “You don’t have to apologize.”
Yoongi’s eyes stung again. “I made things weird.”
“No,” Jimin said. “You made things honest.”
Before Yoongi could spiral again, Jimin leaned in and kissed him, not rushed, not deep at first but just enough to quiet the noise.
Yoongi made a soft sound of surprise, then leaned in, hands fisting lightly in the sheets. The kiss deepened naturally, slow but intense, months of held-back want pressing into the space between them.
When they finally pulled apart, Yoongi was breathless, eyes dark.
“That,” Jimin said gently, forehead resting against his, “is only happening because you want it to. Sober.”
Yoongi nodded, heart pounding. “I do.”
Jimin smiled.
Morning light filled the room, soft and forgiving.
The elevator doors slid shut again before Yoongi quite realized what he was doing.
Jimin’s hand was already on his waist, firm now, unmistakably there. Yoongi’s back met the cool metal wall, the contrast making him gasp softly.
“Jimin—” he started, but the name barely left his mouth before Jimin kissed him again. Deeper this time.
Not rushed, but hungry in that quiet, contained way—like they’d both been holding themselves back for far too long. Jimin tilted his head, guiding the kiss slowly, deliberately, giving Yoongi time to breathe, to choose.
Yoongi chose him.
He leaned in, hands finding Jimin’s jacket, fingers curling tight like he was afraid Jimin might disappear if he didn’t hold on. Jimin made a low sound against his mouth—soft, surprised, pleased—and it sent a shiver straight through Yoongi.
Jimin’s thumb brushed over Yoongi’s hip, grounding him, keeping him steady as the world narrowed to warmth and breath and the press of mouths moving together like they’d practiced in dreams.
When they finally pulled apart, Yoongi’s lips tingled, his chest rising fast.
Jimin rested his forehead against Yoongi’s, eyes dark but gentle. “You okay?”
Yoongi nodded, breathless. “More than okay.”
Jimin smiled—slow, devastating—and kissed him again, softer now, lingering, like a promise instead of a question.
The elevator chimed. They broke apart just in time, both flushed, both smiling like they’d shared something secret and precious in a space that had once only held silence.
Yoongi adjusted his glasses with shaking fingers.
Jimin squeezed his hand once before letting go.
They stepped out together.
No one said a word when they returned to the office—but Hoseok’s grin was wide, Namjoon’s smile was knowing, and Taehyung lifted an eyebrow like finally.
Yoongi sat at his desk, heart still racing, lips still warm.
For the first time, the quiet didn’t feel lonely.
They didn’t kiss again right away.
That was the problem.
Yoongi sat at his desk, glasses slightly crooked, pretending to read an email he’d already read three times. His mouth still felt warm. His heartbeat hadn’t slowed down yet. Every time he shifted, he was acutely aware of Jimin a few desks away—of the memory of Jimin’s hand at his waist, the way he’d looked at Yoongi like he was something precious and wanted all at once.
Yoongi wasn’t used to feeling wanted.
But he felt it now.
When the office quieted again—people slipping into work mode, keyboards clicking—Yoongi stood up before he could overthink it.
He walked to Jimin’s desk.
Jimin looked up immediately, like he’d been waiting.
“Hey,” Jimin said softly.
Yoongi leaned down just enough that only Jimin could hear him. His voice was low, calm in a way that surprised even himself.
“You know,” Yoongi said, fingers resting lightly on the edge of Jimin’s desk, “I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”
Jimin’s breath caught, just barely.
Yoongi continued, eyes steady behind his glasses now, not looking away. “In the elevator. I just… didn’t think I was allowed.”
Jimin swallowed. “You are,” he said quietly. “Very allowed.”
Yoongi nodded, like that settled something.
“Good,” he murmured. Then, softer—almost a confession again, but this time chosen—“Because I still want to.”
Jimin stood up so fast his chair rolled back a few inches.
He glanced around—no one paying attention, or pretending very hard not to—then stepped closer, invading Yoongi’s space just enough to make his heart kick hard.
“After work,” Jimin said, voice low, smiling like he was barely holding himself together. “I’m not risking another elevator right now.”
Yoongi smiled.
“I can wait,” he said. Then, after a beat, added, “But I might kiss you again if we’re alone.”
Jimin laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re dangerous.”
Yoongi adjusted his glasses, cheeks pink but eyes steady.
“I know.”
He walked back to his desk feeling taller somehow. Across the room, Taehyung watched him go and mouthed, Oh wow.
And Jimin sat there, stunned, smiling to himself, thinking—so this is what bold looks like on him.
They leave together. Not obviously—no hands intertwined in the lobby, no dramatic glances—but close enough that Yoongi can feel Jimin’s presence beside him like a constant warmth. The sun is already dipping low, the city softer at this hour, less demanding.
They walk in comfortable silence for a block or two.
Yoongi stops first.
Jimin turns. “Everything okay?”
Yoongi nods, then hesitates, fingers curling into the strap of his bag. For a second, it looks like the old instinct might win—the urge to retreat, to swallow the moment whole.
Instead, he steps closer.
“I meant what I said earlier,” Yoongi says quietly. “About wanting to kiss you.”
Jimin’s expression changes instantly—soft, attentive, open. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Yoongi takes a breath. “I just… wanted to do it like this. Not rushing or hiding.”
Jimin smiles, slow and genuine. “I like that.”
Yoongi reaches out, tentatively only for a heartbeat before his hand settles at Jimin’s wrist, thumb brushing warm skin. He looks up through his lashes, eyes steady now.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
Jimin answers by leaning in.
The kiss is unhurried. Deep in that careful, intentional way that says I’m here, I’m staying. Jimin’s hand cups Yoongi’s jaw, grounding him, while Yoongi melts into it, confidence threading through the softness.
When they part, Yoongi rests his forehead against Jimin’s.
“I’ve never been good at first moves,” he admits.
Jimin laughs quietly. “You’re doing great.”
Yoongi smiles—real, unguarded. “I think I just needed to know you wanted me to.”
“I do,” Jimin says without hesitation. “I always did.”
They kiss again, shorter this time, like punctuation instead of a paragraph.
They walk the rest of the way together.
It becomes office knowledge in the most natural way possible: Yoongi arriving with Jimin’s coffee one morning, Jimin waiting for Yoongi after meetings, then sitting closer than necessary during lunch.
Everyone notices. No one makes it a joke.
Hoseok is the first to say it out loud, clapping his hands together once like he’s concluded an important meeting. “Okay. Official stance: they’re adorable.”
“Agreed,” Namjoon says immediately.
Seokjin nods, satisfied. “Took long enough.”
Jungkook grins. “Hyung smiles more now.”
Yoongi overhears that part and freezes—then relaxes when no one laughs, no one stares. Jimin squeezes his hand under the table, subtle and reassuring.
Taehyung watches them with quiet triumph. “I love it when a plan works out.”
Yoongi still works quietly, prefers early mornings and flinches sometimes when attention lands too suddenly.
But now, when he looks up—Jimin is there.
Choosing him every day.
The elevator becomes just an elevator again and the office becomes a place where he belongs.
And Yoongi learns, slowly and surely, that being seen—especially like this—doesn’t have to hurt at all.