Work Text:
Yoongi doesn’t remember falling in love. Falling in love with Jimin, specifically.
He remembers the exact moment he fell in love with music - when he was eleven and he first listened to Epik High and he was so blown away by the lyrics to “Fly” and the way Tablo rode the flow of the song and he felt his heart grip with something that never really let go of him since.
He remembers the exact moment he fell in love with making music - when he was twelve and he was interning at a local studio and he was allowed to toggle with the equipment for five minutes while the producers were out for lunch. He had never felt so electrified by possibilities. He immediately locked himself in the toilet and messily jotted down his very first lyrics in a flurry.
He even remembers the exact moment he fell in love with the stage - when he was seventeen and he rapped his own composition for the very first time in front of exactly two people, the bartender and the waiter, and his heart swelled and swelled and swelled until it felt like a helium balloon ready to take him off the ground.
But he doesn’t remember falling in love with Jimin.
Jimin, who had always conveniently been there. Jimin, a regular Busan boy Yoongi watched transition from some scrawny, bespectacled, mushroom-head into a man who oozed sensuality with every sway of his hips. Jimin, who injects fondness and awe into every Yoongi hyung he utters that makes Yoongi’s heart trip over its own rhythm.
Yoongi shakes his head and tries to focus on his current draft instead of his messy fogged-up thoughts. He’s propped up in his bed, the duvet carelessly tangled between his legs, and for some reason, Seokjin’s nowhere to be found.
Probably in Namjoon’s room doing God knows what, Yoongi concludes with a scoff before fixing his headphones and concentrating on his beats.
The company finally gave the members a break, after they had whisked them away on a world tour sandwiched between variety shows and comebacks. Yoongi barely had any time to breathe, no less mull over his supposed feelings for Jimin (When exactly did he fall in love? Was it even considered love?)
But now that they’re finally given space, his thoughts filled the room, expanding and expanding and bearing its pressure on Yoongi’s edges until he couldn’t help but let out an exasperated sigh. Yoongi was a methodical and analytical man. He climbed up the ladder that reached his dreams with careful precision and a rugged determination. There were steps to this. Blocks that materialised before him to scale as he advanced to the next stage and doors of opportunity that opened up for him to pass through.
He couldn’t do that for his feelings for Jimin. They weren’t solid matter - Jimin and his overwhelming feelings for him were soft , fluid, kind of like water or air. It was impossible to hold, though the capacity to fill up any volume was huge. And somehow, within the span of three years, Jimin had somehow filled in the cracks in Yoongi’s mind where his dreams and ambitions — which is all he really cared about before — couldn’t, flooding him with colours that he didn’t even know of and light brighter than the stage lights or the sun and so much, so much warmth.
Yoongi cursed under his breath for letting his mind wander to Jimin Land again. He has to admit though, it’s a really nice place to dwell in. Stop it, he mentally berated himself. Focus focus focus.
He turned up the volume and clicked ‘play’.
In fact, he became so immersed in the music that he didn’t even realise the door slowly inching open and footsteps padding tentatively to the corner of his bed. A soft hand pats him gently on the shoulder. Once, twice. Thir—
Yoongi looks up.
Speak of the devil. Yoongi thinks, then immediately corrects himself. Scratch that, Jimin’s basically an angel.
“What do you want, Jimin?” Yoongi grunts in a gravelly tone, coming out harsher than he intends to.
Jimin’s hair is still slightly wet from his shower, individual strands clumping together and falling into his eyes such that his blonde hair is darker, almost black and reminding Yoongi of their pre-debut days. He has on his white oversized sweater that he wears only at home because it’s so worn out, fingers curling around the sleeves. It dips right above his knees where his Spongebob boxer shorts are peeking out. Yoongi tries his best not to stare.
“Did I disturb you?” Jimin asks with widened eyes. Grinning apologetically, he whispers, “Sorry.”
“Is’kay.” Yoongi shakes his head, removing his headphones and letting them fall around his neck. “Did you want something?”
“Hyung—” Jimin starts in a sweet pleading tone. He hugs his huge pillow closer to his chest and places his cheek on top of it, probably because he knows he’s cute like that. He knows the effect it has on Yoongi’s quivering heart. “Can I sleep here tonight?”
Yoongi visibly gulps. “What for? You have your own bed.”
“Yeah, a bed that Jeon Jungkook that dumbass has fallen asleep on.” Jimin begins to pout, tone petulant. “You know how he is when he’s asleep. Dead like a rock. Said something about Namjoon and Jin hyung being gross and then collapses on my bed, out like a light.”
“Oh yeah, okay.” Yoongi winces, his heart softening. But he clears his throat and steels himself. “But still, sleep on Tae’s bed or Hobi’s bed or something. Why my bed? Here,” he gestures towards Jin’s bed. “Sleep on Jin hyung’s bed. Doubt he’s coming back in tonight.”
“But—” Jimin’s whiny again, eyes downcast. He rocks on the balls of his feet as he explains, almost shyly. “I like sleeping with you, hyung .”
Oh fuck. Yoongi has to subtly place a hand over his chest to quell the sudden acceleration of his heart rate. He doesn’t say anything, momentarily tongue-tied.
Jimin takes his silence as disapproval, so he elaborates further, in a lower tone this time, “Somehow, your smell and your presence makes me think of home and I—I really miss home. It makes me sleep better.”
Yoongi’s eyes dilate even as he lightheartedly teases, “I’m from Daegu, Jimin.”
Jimin nervously sucks his lower lip, clenching harder on his pillow. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Okay okay,” Yoongi says finally, throwing his hands up in surrender. Jimin visibly brightens and Yoongi is such a sucker for that puppy-dog expression on his face. He shifts towards the left to make room for the younger boy and peels the blankets off, inviting him in.
“Thanks, Yoongi hyung! You’re really the best.” Jimin scrambles onto the bed, bouncing once or twice in excitement before fluffing up his pillow and pulling the thick duvet up to his nose, burying himself completely in it.
He looks like the most adorable burrito bundle.
Yoongi muffles a cough at the back of his hand as if trying to rid these thoughts out of his system. He dares a look at Jimin and says sternly, “Stay quiet, I’m doing my work.”
“Aye aye, captain!” Jimin beams back, a cheeky smile playing on his lips.
However, literally fifteen minutes later, Yoongi feels a hand peek out from the blankets and pressing against his own hand that’s idly hovering over the mousepad. Jimin’s chubby fingers are still slightly cold from the shower, and immediately Yoongi stiffens as his own hands threaten to turn clammy and sweaty from the sudden contact.
When Yoongi eyes Jimin but doesn’t say anything, Jimin scoots closer, flips Yoongi’s hand over such that his palms are facing up, and proceeds to weave their fingers together in a tight enclasp.
“What are you doing Jimin,” Yoongi sounds almost resigned, forehead collapsing. “You know I can’t work on my laptop with just one hand.”
“Then don’t,” Jimin’s transparent eyes shine innocently, though there’s a playful lilt in his voice that gives him away. “Come cuddle with me.”
Yoongi internally curses Jimin for proposing such an adorable idea in such a sinfully endearing voice. With half his face smushed up against the pillow, hair fanning out and bangs swept to the side, Jimin is the epitome of Irresistibly Cute and Yoongi cannot deny such advances, platonic or not. He knows Jimin likes skinship, and he doesn’t mind it himself either, especially if it’s with the younger boy, but does he know what he does to Yoongi’s heart of steel? Goddammit.
The way Jimin’s eyes pierces into Yoongi with genuine longing has the older boy hypnotised. He finds himself putting away his laptop and lowering himself into the blankets without a single noise of protest and the delight dances in Jimin’s eyes.
“Yay,” he whispers in giggly celebration, and his minty breath fans over Yoongi’s ear, sending a shudder down the older boy’s spine.
Yoongi frowns without malice, scrunching up his nose before bopping the younger’s little button nose in pretend offence.
Jimin giggles again but immediately beckons himself closer to the older boy, as if yearning for the platonic contact. He haphazardly throws a leg over Yoongi, locking him gently in place. Yoongi’s breath hitches though Jimin’s gaze remains unfaltering.
However, both boys are slightly tinged red in the cheeks, though neither of them point it out.
They’re pushing the boundaries, to find where the perimeters of their grey area start and end. How much can this mass of confused feelings and awkward pining expand?
Jimin’s stare is almost feverish as he reels Yoongi closer, chest hitting chest with imaginary sparks flickering around them, charging up the air. Jimin repositions himself such that he can rest his chin comfortably at the curve of Yoongi’s neck.
Heat pools at the bottom of Yoongi’s gut, spreading everywhere.
Their hands are still intertwined.
Jimin’s lips are in such close proximity that Yoongi will only need to dip a little closer before there is negative space between them. Before they are kissing. And he wants to know how it will feel like, his lips over Jimin’s. The thought is electrifying.
But here’s the thing: they can hold hands, but they can’t kiss.
Because they’re suspended in grey area. They’re members that get affectionate with each other in the most platonic way possible. Jimin does this to all of the members, doesn’t he? He’s a touchy-feely guy. And everyone indulges him, precisely because he’s Jimin.
But Yoongi is in love. It’s different.
He wants to laugh. It’s almost dysfunctional, what Jimin wants from him, and what he wants from Jimin.
There’s a faint rumble in Yoongi’s chest as the incredulous laughter begins. Jimin feels it reverberate through him and looks at him inquisitively, as if asking what’s up?
Nothing, nothing. Yoongi reassures wordlessly with a half-hearted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, his free hand reaching out to mindlessly card through Jimin’s now almost-dry hair, over and over and over again. It probably feels good, because Jimin involuntarily lets out a noise that sounds like a mewl or a high-pitched whimper.
“Sorry,” Jimin says, embarrassed. Yoongi chuckles.
Eventually, Jimin drifts into unconciousness, draped across Yoongi’s chest and holding the older boy tightly. His lips are slightly parted and he looks absolutely peaceful, especially with the corners of his lips still slightly lifted in a dreamy smile.
Yoongi can’t fall asleep, his hand stilling in Jimin's hair.
He tries to steady his breaths so his chest doesn’t rise and fall so erratically, but his mind is a tornado gaining speed and the heat won’t dissipate from his system. Jimin is so warm; he glows even in the dark. The boy is stunningly beautiful.
Jimin seems to sense the tension in Yoongi’s nerves, because his eyes flutter open as he stirs awake. He rubs his eyes and looks up with lids barely-open, tilting his head to the side.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” Yoongi apologises.
“What’s wrong, hyung?” Jimin asks, voice thick with sleep.
“Thinking about work," Yoongi says dismissively.
Jimin smiles sleepily, words slightly slurring as he shakes his head and snuggles closer, hands clutching the front of Yoongi’s shirt. Burying deeper against Yoongi’s space, such that the smell of his shampoo is almost overpowering for the older boy, he murmurs, “Go to sleep, hyung.”
“Okay, I will,” Yoongi says, pressing his lips together tightly as something ripples in his chest. There’s an unfinished question hanging on his lips.
Out of the blue, Jimin suddenly breaks the silence and asks, “Hyung, I’m your favourite right?”
A little taken aback, a smile spreads onto Yoongi's face. “Yeah, yeah. If you say so.”
“No, like—” Jimin blinks a few times, tone insistent. “I really am right?”
Yoongi pauses for a second before finally saying, with honesty, “Yes, Jimin. You really are.”
“Good,” Jimin says, a smile evident in his voice. The younger boy props himself up to nuzzle his nose against where he thinks is Yoongi’s nose because he’s too lazy to open his eyes in the darkness, then clumsily places a kiss on Yoongi’s face, which lands just at the corner of the lips.
“Good night,” Jimin curls back into the blankets. A little softer, almost too soft that Yoongi wonders if he actually heard it, he adds, “I love you.”
The echoing words that almost leave Yoongi’s lips linger above them like precipitation.
The air in the entire room seems to swell with the three syllables, twirling and whirling and pirouetting in the similar graceful way that Jimin dances. Yoongi’s breath is briefly arrested as his heart thumps thumps thumps, trying frantically to find back its steady rhythm. It can’t. His heart chambers threaten to fall apart as the words playback in his head.
Here’s the thing: The ‘I love you’ that Yoongi eventually whispers into Jimin’s hair isn’t the same ‘I love you’ that Jimin had first uttered. Yoongi can tell Jimin he’s his favourite, but he can’t tell Jimin that he’s fallen irrevocably in love.