Work Text:
October 20, 1998; Tuesday, 10:43AM
Five-year old Yoongi watched with curious eyes as his mom smiled sweetly at the woman standing in front of their doorway. She had short dark hair tucked behind her ears, and when she smiled, her eyes disappeared into tiny little curves, something that little Yoongi found strangely calming. He couldn’t quite hear what his mom and the lady were talking about what with Baekho, their white Malinois, barking up a ruckus beside Yoongi (begging him for playtime).
Yoongi scrunched his nose, little fists pushing Baekho’s snout away from his face as he stretched his short little legs over the living room floor. All around them, large cardboard boxes were scattered around, his dad conversing with one of the movers. Yoongi had been so excited to leave Daegu (his mom had promised him his own room!), but so far, nothing remotely exciting had happened yet. He wasn’t even allowed to explore the house.
Baekho nudged his cheek with a wet snout, and Yoongi groaned in exasperation. “Baekho, stop it!”
The dog whined before ducking his head, seemingly sad and preparing to just lie down beside Yoongi when suddenly, his white pointy little ears perked up. Yoongi watched in confusion as their dog turned his nose up in the air, sniffing furiously. Yoongi placed a hand on his flank, eyebrows bunching up in confusion.
“Baekho-yah, what’s wrong?”
Baekho suddenly barked, surprising everyone in the immediate vicinity (Yoongi, his mom, and the woman outside included). The dog suddenly scrambled up, shooting off towards the door leading to their backyard. Yoongi tried to catch up, knowing full well that they still weren’t allowed to play anywhere lest they break something.
“Baekho, stop! Come back!”
Yoongi dashed across the house, tiny little legs and socked feet padding across the wooden floorboards softly. Behind him, he could hear his mom calling out after him, telling him not to run for fear of slipping and probably cracking his head open. He ignored her, running faster as he heard Baekho release another excited bark—followed by a soft, high-pitched squeal.
Yoongi stuttered in his steps, and as soon as he found Baekho, he almost tripped on the frame of the sliding door leading to their backyard. Amidst slightly unmown grass and his deflated Hulk rubber pool, Baekho was slumped in the middle of it all, white body curled around a tiny little person with brown hair and soft chubby cheeks. Small fists were curled around Baekho’s white fur as the dog proceeded to lick at the tiny little person’s face happily. The tiny little person—which little Yoongi finally remembered was called a baby—squealed again, the sound lilting at the end to transform into excited giggles.
“Baekho!” Yoongi called out, carefully crawling down into their backyard and glaring petulantly at the dog.
Baekho only barked in reply, tongue lolling out at the side and surprising the baby. For a moment, Yoongi thought the baby would cry, but it only proceeded to laugh loudly, leaning back from the force of it and lying completely pliant on top of Baekho.
“Baekho-yah,” Yoongi mumbled again, finally reaching the two before crouching down, “this is a baby, not a toy. Let it go.”
The dog whined, but didn’t do anything when Yoongi reached his hands out, hooking them under the baby’s armpits and pulling him into his arms. The baby giggled as Yoongi grunted in exertion, pulling the tiny little person free from Baekho’s furry clutches. Yoongi was scared of dropping the baby, so he wrapped both arms around the little person. His eyes widened when the baby suddenly reached out tiny little fists, cupping Yoongi’s cheeks and staring into his face.
Big, dark eyes stared back into Yoongi’s own eyes. “Uh.”
“There you are, Jimin!”
Yoongi jumped a little at the loud voice to his right. He turned his head, and saw the woman his mom had been talking to leaning over their yard fence from their own adjacent backyard, a relieved expression on her face as she regarded Yoongi and the baby.
“Jimin?” Yoongi repeated, and the woman smiled sweetly at him, nodding. In his arms, the baby let out gurgling sounds that sounded suspiciously like, “Dimin”.
The door to their backyard opened, and Yoongi heard his mom before he could see her. “Yoongi-yah, what are you doing with Mrs. Park’s baby boy?!”
He turned around, letting his mom take the baby—Jimin, apparently, and also a he—from his short arms. “I think Baekho tried to eat him, so I saved him.”
“Oh, honey,” the woman—Mrs. Park—suddenly piped up, amusement thickly lining her voice, “thank you for saving my little baby bun, then.”
Yoongi watched as his mom carefully transferred little Jimin into Mrs. Park’s waiting arms. He kept his eyes trained on Jimin, taking note of how he scrunched his face when he yawned, little hands balled into fists as he wrapped his arms around his own mom’s neck.
“No problem, Mrs. Park,” Yoongi responded softly, scuffing his shoes on the grass.
Mrs. Park smiled at him again, before turning to Yoongi’s mom with a slightly embarrassed look. “I’m really, really sorry about this, Mrs. Min. I don’t know how Jimin got into your yard.”
Mrs. Min suddenly bent down a little, tapping a loose board on their fence. It swayed a little under her hand, leaving a space underneath, enough for someone of Jimin’s size to crawl into. Both mothers let out soft, “Ah”s, understanding flooding their faces. Mrs. Min straightened up again, hands on her hips as she looked at the loose fence in a calculating manner.
“I’ll fix the fence, don’t worry—”
Yoongi suddenly stomped his foot, surprising his own mother. “No!”
Mrs. Min looked at him curiously, an eyebrow cocked in question. “No?”
“No!” Yoongi repeated, pouting a little. Beside him, Baekho huffed, seemingly in agreement.
“And why not, Min Yoongi?” She tried, leaning back on the fence a little. Mrs. Park looked at him, too, little Jimin starting to doze off in her arms.
“Mommy, if you fix it, how will Jimin come over again? He won’t have a place to crawl into if you fix it.”
Mrs. Min blinked at him, but Mrs. Park only laughed, her voice startling Jimin into consciousness again. In her arms, he started swiveling his head around, seemingly looking for something.
“Oh, honey, alright. We’ll leave the fence like this so you can play with Jimin anytime you want, ‘kay?”
Yoongi nodded his head, eyes flitting to Jimin who was sleepily looking at Baekho. His dark eyes suddenly flitted to Yoongi, and before Yoongi could do anything else, Jimin smiled at him, a soft giggle escaping his tiny little lips. Yoongi felt something warm erupt in his chest, and for a moment he wondered if he was sick. Either way, getting his mom not to fix the fence was the second exciting thing that happened so far—the first being him seeing Jimin curled up in Baekho’s cute furry clutches.
October 31, 2001; Tuesday, 5:53PM
“Oh, look at my little Prince Yoongi! So handsome, so dashing, so charming!”
Yoongi could feel the apples of his cheeks blushing, and he grumbled under his breath at how his mom was always over-reacting. He pulled on the shirt of his costume again—a Prince Eric costume, of all things—before turning away from the video camera in her hands. Baekho jumped around him excitedly, his designated Max for the duration of the night.
Yoongi had originally wanted to be Hulk, but both his mom and dad had been too busy with work to make him a handmade costume. The costume store also ran out of Hulk costumes (or any other cool costumes, really) so little eight-year old Yoongi was left with no choice—use the extra one that the Parks had (why they had an extra Prince Eric costume, he’s not entirely sure but on the bright side, not going as a generic ghost sheet was a Good Thing™). Mrs. Min carefully looked over Yoongi’s gelled hair (a pretty okay attempt in imitating Eric’s hair), before dragging him out of the house to meet with the Parks.
Ever since they moved into the neighborhood, Yoongi and Jimin have been trick or treating together. This was their fourth time, and despite his grumbling of how uncomfortably tight his princely pants were, he was low-key excited to see what Jimin was wearing (he had been a man named Charlie Chaplin one time, Wizard Mickey the second, and a cabbage the third, all of them his choices, apparently).
Yoongi doesn’t know why, but whenever Jimin was around, it seemed like all the bad things were always at bay (bad things being booboos, vegetables, stupid kids, and tired moody parents). Jimin was always smiling at him, giggling over his badly timed jokes, and always had Yoongi’s hand in his whenever one of them was over at the other’s house. Jimin always made him feel warm and loved and nice, and Yoongi liked that feeling.
“Jihae-yah,” Mrs. Min called out, knocking on the Parks’ door, “we’re here! Is Jimin ready?”
“Yeah, but, uh, h-hold on, he won’t keep still!” Mrs. Park’s muffled voiced wafted through the door, and Mrs. Min laughed.
Yoongi smiled a little, too, imagining a very excited Jimin running around in their living room with Mrs. Park probably holding some last finishing touches for his ensemble. He was probably in a superhero costume this year. Jimin had been gushing over that new superhero show recently—
The door suddenly opened, and something pink and red suddenly darted out, burying itself into Yoongi’s arms, warmth spreading all over Yoongi’s limbs. He blinked down at Jimin (who, after three years, was definitely bigger and more eloquent with his words—he could pronounce his name properly now instead of a gurgled Dimin). “Yoongi-hyung! Look at me!”
Jimin lifted his head up, chin pressed against Yoongi’s chest. He beamed up at him, cheeks flushed from excitement, one of his front teeth adorably missing. Jimin let go of him to step back and twirl in front of him, and Yoongi could only stare at him because—
“Are you—you’re dressed up as Princess Ariel?” Yoongi asked, and Mrs. Min was positively cooing beside him, reaching a hand out to poke Jimin’s temporarily dyed red hair.
Mrs. Park groaned in false exhaustion beside Jimin, a fond smile stretching her lips as she leaned closer towards Yoongi. “He wanted to be ‘part of your world’ this year, Yoongi-yah.”
“Mama! You’re not supposed to tell! That was our secret!” Jimin huffed, visibly embarrassed as he crossed his arms over his chest, the blush on his cheeks reddening even more.
Mrs. Park laughed loudly prompting Jimin to let out a stifled giggle (cute), his arms uncrossing as his hands came up to cover his mouth. Baekho (designated Max, and chaperone for the day) trotted over to Jimin curiously, sniffing at his face and licking his cheek. Jimin only broke out laughing, almost doubling over as Baekho fussed over him. He looked at Yoongi again, hands coming down to pat his pink dress proudly.
“What do you think, hyung? We’re partners this year!” Jimin declared excitedly, jumping up and down in glee, the skirt of his pink gown bouncing.
Yoongi found himself blushing, because if he was Prince Eric, and Jimin was Princess Ariel, then that meant that Jimin was his princess. Jimin was a boy, but oddly enough, it didn’t bother Yoongi in the least. He reached a hand up, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. Jimin was looking at him with sparkling eyes.
“You,” Yoongi started, heart thudding wildly in his chest, “you look cute, Jiminnie.”
Jimin grinned, teeth clamping down on his plump lower lip before he stepped forward eagerly, arms circling around Yoongi’s own and tugging him off their porch. “Hyung, come on! The good candies will run out! Let’s go, let’s go!”
Their moms stayed on the porch, waving at them and reminding them not to stray too far. Trotting dutifully after them, Baekho followed with his ears perked up at full alert.
After walking past two houses, Jimin suddenly spoke up, voice small and shy as his grip around Yoongi’s arm tightened a little. “Do you think everyone will like my princess outfit, Yoongi-hyung?”
Yoongi peeked at him, before shrugging. “Maybe. Why’d you go as a princess, anyway? I thought you’d dress up as a superhero.”
Jimin pouted, a soft whine emanating from him. “Superheroes are overrated. Besides, princesses are way cooler, don’t you think? They’re all so determined to find their happy endings! And they’re also very pretty.”
Yoongi laughed softly, and Jimin snuggled closer. Baekho kept on following them. “Do you want to be very pretty, too, Jiminnie?”
Jimin hummed in response, turning his head to look up at Yoongi through his eyelashes. He slid his arms down, grasping Yoongi’s hand in his own and squeezing gently, fingers lacing together. He nodded. “Do you think it’s weird that I want to be pretty? I’m a boy, and boys are supposed to be handsome, right?”
Before Yoongi could answer, somebody suddenly laughed in front of them. Yoongi turned to look ahead, and found himself frowning. It was Jaekyung, Yoongi’s classmate. He was generally a quiet kid (mainly because he doesn’t always know the answer to their teachers’ questions), but during breaks, Jaekyung was always hovering over the smaller kids in school, swiping their food or toys and taking advantage of his age (he was one year older than Yoongi). Yoongi always steered clear of him, not wanting trouble, but this Halloween was proving to be a pretty special day.
“Park Jimin, are you seriously dressed up as a girl?!” Jaekyung bellowed, clearly amused as he blocked the sidewalk. He was dressed as a mummy, if Yoongi was correct.
Jimin whimpered subtly, moving behind Yoongi a little, hands still holding on to Yoongi’s. Jaekyung seemed to notice this, as he suddenly leaned forward with his eyes squinted, a teasing smirk on his face. Somehow, he was actually dumb enough to ignore Baekho growling lowly behind Yoongi and Jimin.
“Is Min Yoongi your boyfriend?!” He screeched, some of the other kids walking down the sidewalk glancing at them curiously.
If possible, Jimin only cowered closer to Yoongi, and for a moment, Yoongi’s breath stopped as he felt something wet and warm soaking the back of his shirt. Jimin’s body gently trembled, just slightly, but Yoongi has known Jimin for three years. They were together almost every day. He knew Jimin. And Jaekyung just made Jimin cry. His little Jiminnie.
Yoongi wrenched his hand free from Jimin’s hold, eliciting a surprised sob from Jimin. He stalked forward, leaving Jimin with Baekho. He could still hear him sobbing softly, clearly distraught over someone making fun of his princess outfit which he obviously loved so much.
Yoongi stomped forward, noticing how Jaekyung tensed a little. Yoongi was way smaller than him, barely reaching up to his nose, but right now, Yoongi didn’t care. He stepped into Jaekyung’s personal space, fists balled up at his sides.
“Yeah, so what if Jimin’s a princess and I’m his boyfriend? So what?” Yoongi demanded, stomping his foot for emphasis. “At least we’re not dressed up as a big ugly roll of soggy toilet paper!”
Jaekyung’s face reddened with anger, and he almost pushed Yoongi if not for Baekho suddenly barking. Jaekyung shrieked in surprise, before glaring at Yoongi and running off. Yoongi swears he could hear Jaekyung sobbing.
He turned around, and Jimin wasn’t crying anymore. He had his little hands fisted into the pink material of his gown, eyes downcast as Baekho nudged him gently from behind, the dog obviously aware of Jimin’s plummeting mood. Yoongi approached him carefully, taking his hands into his and squeezing them gently.
“Well,” Yoongi started, crouching down a little and tilting his head to the side to meet Jimin’s gaze, “Jaekyung’s gone, Jiminnie. The candies are going to run out if we don’t hurry.”
“I want to go home, hyung,” Jimin whispered, voice breaking as he fought back a sob.
Yoongi frowned, glancing at their empty plastic pumpkin buckets that they had hung on Baekho’s harness a while ago. “But we don’t have candies, yet. I’m fine with that, but you love candies, don’t you?”
“I want to go home,” he repeated, softer and sadder, and oh—he’s crying again. He pressed his little fists against his eyes, shoulders shaking with each sob.
Yoongi crouched down fully, looking up at Jimin. “But you look so pretty, Jiminnie. Very pretty. Don’t you want to go to Old Kim, or Granny Lee? I’m sure they’d love to see how pretty you are. Hyemi-noona, too! She’s pretty, but you’re prettier. Are you sure you want to go home?”
Jimin shook his head, sniffling and using his sleeve to wipe at his eyes and nose. “B-but—hyung got in a fight b-because of me, b-because stupid Jaekyung thought you were my boyfriend a-and—”
“But I am,” Yoongi cut him off, effectively shutting Jimin up and making the younger’s cheeks color red, “I’m a boy, and I’m your friend—best friend, even—so Jaekyung can go be a sad toilet paper roll because I’m happy to be your best boyfriend—boy best friend? I don’t know, but you understand, right?” He squeezed Jimin’s hand in his, making the younger smile again.
“…want to go to Hyemi-noona? She has Hershey’s this year, I think, a-and I want to show her how pretty I am,” Jimin whispered shyly, and Yoongi smiled up at him, Baekho yipping beside them excitedly.
“There we go,” Yoongi mumbled, standing up and tugging Jimin forward, their hands still linked, “you’re prettier when you smile, so keep on smiling, okay?”
Jimin nodded, a smile on his face. His smile only grew wider when Yoongi suddenly, but softly, placed a kiss on the top of his temporarily dyed hair.
March 4, 2009; Sunday, 2:03PM
“You’re going to be in high school starting tomorrow, hyung.”
Yoongi grunted from his perch on the floor, legs stretched in front of him with enough space between his legs for his bag. He looked to the side where he had placed his notebooks, textbooks, and pencils. Sprawled on his stomach on Yoongi’s bed and expertly annoying the fuck out of Yoongi was Jimin, bouncing on the bed and making the mattress springs squeak in protest. Yoongi shot him a glare (for the nth time) before Jimin grinned sheepishly and stopped.
“You’re going to be in high school starting tomorrow, hyung,” Jimin repeated (minus the damned spring-squeaking), and Yoongi rolled his eyes.
He shoved his notebooks into his backpack before finally looking up, resting his arms on his backpack and cupping his face with one hand. “I know, Jimin. You’ve stated that very obvious fact since you came over five fuckin’ hours ago.”
Jimin scrunched his face in mock hurt, rolling over so that he was on his back, face upside down as he gazed at Yoongi. “Because you wouldn’t talk to me!”
“I’m busy packing my shit for tomorrow,” Yoongi deadpanned, leaning back and resuming his task, eyebrows furrowing as he wondered how many pencils he needed in high school.
A comfortable silence fell over them, Jimin occasionally humming a song into the silence and Yoongi’s frequent mumbled curses dotting the air. When he was done, he zipped his bag up, the sound loud in the room. He stood up, stretching his limbs and back a little before he walked over to place his bag on his desk. Jimin, who had at one point crawled under Yoongi’s sheets and turned himself into a burrito, suddenly spoke, quiet and measured.
“I’m still your best friend, right?”
Yoongi glanced at him briefly, unimpressed, before sighing deeply and shuffling over to the bed. He sat down on the edge, looking at Jimin who was trying very hard not to make eye contact with him. “Okay, kid, spit it out.”
“Spit what out?” Jimin mumbled, voice muffled under the blanket.
“What’s bothering you?” Yoongi clicked his tongue, landing a flick on Jimin’s exposed forehead.
Jimin burrowed deeper into the burrito. “…well. You’ll be in high school tomorrow. You’ll meet cool, older kids. I just thought…I mean, what does a thirteen-year old, eighth grader like me have in comparison to cooler, older kids?”
Yoongi sighed again before he flopped down on the bed, Jimin squeaking as he bounced from Yoongi’s added weight. He wrapped his arms around the blanket burrito before burying his face on what was supposedly Jimin’s shoulder, tightening his hold around him.
“Yeah, sure, they’ll probably be cooler. Definitely older. I can probably meet people around my age and not hang around a kid who still worships LEGO blocks,” Yoongi mumbled into the blanket, and he felt Jimin squirm in protest, “but you see, they’re not you, Park Jimin, and I very much like a dork named Park Jimin best.”
Jimin stopped squirming, and without even looking at his face, Yoongi knew full well that Jimin was smiling and blushing. Jimin squirmed harder, wiggling out of his burrito. When he was out, he quietly wrapped his arms around Yoongi’s middle, the older of the two reflexively wrapping one arm around Jimin’s shoulder and pulling him closer.
“Yoongi-hyung, I love you,” Jimin whispered, lips brushing against Yoongi’s neck.
Something warm fluttered in Yoongi’s stomach, just like it always did when Jimin so much as talked to him. “Hm. Love you, too, brat.”
“Don’t forget me, okay,” Jimin warned, arms tightening around Yoongi, right leg hooking over his waist.
“How can I forget you, Mrs. Park demanded that we still go home together,” Yoongi snorted into Jimin’s hair, and Jimin laughed brightly.
“See you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah. Wait for me, alright?”
“Got it.”
March 16, 2009; Monday, 5:12PM
“Yoongi-hyung!”
Yoongi looked up from unlocking his bike, and he raised a hand in greeting as Hoseok and Namjoon jogged over to him before he resumed unlocking the complicated lock on his bike. Trust his mom to get him something too complicated.
“Hyung, you going home already?” Hoseok asked, stopping before Yoongi and wordlessly helping him with the lock.
Yoongi grunted in thanks before shrugging his shoulders. “Yep. What’s up?”
Hoseok grinned at him suddenly, perfect teeth on display as he leaned too close into Yoongi’s face. “You sure you want to go home already? We kind of, uh, got you something. Late birthday gift, if you will.”
Yoongi quirked an eyebrow. He looked back at the lock on his bike as he finally unlocked it. He slipped it into his bag before gripping his bike handles, holding it up. “We’ve known each other for like, two weeks, but I’m confident enough to say that you two coming up with an idea is bad for my health. No thanks, assholes.”
Hoseok pouted, hand clamping on his chest as he fell dramatically into Namjoon’s arms. He almost didn’t catch him. “Hyung, you wound me!”
“My pleasure,” Yoongi grinned, starting to walk his bike out of school grounds.
Hoseok and Namjoon jogged after him, tugging on his sleeve like needy little children. “Hyung, come on, humor us!”
“Yeah! It’s not easy to set up a mixer with that all-girls school at the city!” Namjoon piped up, his eyes widening suddenly.
Hoseok punched Namjoon on the arm, and Yoongi rolled his eyes, wheeling his bike faster. “I told you, I don’t have time for mixers or shit like that.”
“Namjoon, what the fuck, you weren’t supposed to tell him yet! You know he won’t readily come with us if he knows it’s a fuckin’ mixer,” Hoseok whispered harshly, and Namjoon ducked his head sheepishly, grinning in apology.
“Enjoy yourself, guys, need to go.” Yoongi waved his hand, before swinging his leg over the seat and pedaling forward.
(Hoseok dragged Namjoon at an inhuman speed as they sprinted along the sidewalk, trying to keep a black-haired boy on his bike in their sight. Namjoon was close to passing out, but Hoseok was hell-bent on finding out the reason why Yoongi was always refusing their after school hangouts.
Yoongi considerably slowed down as he neared the local junior high school. Hoseok and Namjoon skidded in their tracks as Yoongi suddenly pulled on the brakes in front of the school gates. Hiding behind a tree, Hoseok and Namjoon watched in silent surprise as a short boy with brown hair, chubby cheeks, and plump lips suddenly came running out of the gates. He was obviously laughing about something as he stopped, rather cutely, in front of Yoongi, eyes bright and lips pulled into a pretty smile. They talked some more, and to their surprise, the short boy suddenly leaned forward to wrap his arms around Yoongi’s waist.
“What—” Namjoon almost shrieked if not for Hoseok elbowing him in the gut.
Yoongi ruffled the short boy’s hair, before holding his hand out. The short boy shrugged off his backpack, giving it to Yoongi who casually slung it over his own shoulder, before carefully scrambling onto the backseat of the bike. Short arms wrapped around Yoongi’s waist as Yoongi prepared to kick off. He turned back, saying something that made the shorter boy laugh and press his face against Yoongi’s back. Yoongi was smiling as well, the happiness never leaving his face even after they took off and left Hoseok and Namjoon staring at nothing.
“Does,” Hoseok started, licking his lips in confusion, “does hyung have a boyfriend still in junior high?”
Namjoon shrugged, still clutching his middle where Hoseok had elbowed him hard.
Hoseok found himself smiling. It was refreshing to see such an unguarded expression on Yoongi’s face.)
October 10, 2010; Sunday, 4:51PM
“Why don’t you two just get married,” Mrs. Min deadpanned as she passed by the living room of their house.
Jimin let out a half-assed groan, only snuggling closer into Yoongi. They were currently watching a tearjerker dog movie at Jimin’s request, and Yoongi had somehow been roped into being Jimin’s personal human heater. Jimin was perched comfortably in between Yoongi’s legs, the older boy’s arms wrapped around Jimin securely. Jimin leaned his head back enough so that if Yoongi ever decided to turn his head a little, he could plant a kiss on Jimin’s temple (which, truthfully, he had already been doing the past few minutes whenever Jimin was close to tears). Baekho decided to use Jimin’s thighs as his pillow.
“Mama Min, I’m too young to marry Yoongi-hyung, I’m only fourteen—no, wait, fifteen—I’m just turning fifteen in three days,” Jimin mumbled, voice just a tad bit nasally as he tried to hold back tears.
“That’s your main concern?” Yoongi asked, pulling Jimin closer into his chest as the boy started sliding off the couch again.
Jimin wiggled back, trying to fix his position. On his lap, Baekho turned his head a little as he got jostled. “Hm. Is there any other point of concern aside from us being minors that I should be worried about?”
Yoongi rolled his eyes, deciding not to point out the blatantly obvious fact that they both had dicks, but for some reason, thinking about Jimin’s reaction to that (which, obviously, would be him crying and looking very dejected because any notion of him and Yoongi not being together was enough to bring out his tears) was enough to shut Yoongi up. He didn’t want to think about him, Jimin, and the word impossible in one sentence, weirdly enough. He’s not exactly sure why. He tightens his arms around Jimin, making the younger look up at him questioningly, but he pretends he doesn’t see him. He also pretends that he doesn’t feel the way his insides tumble around inside him at Jimin’s gaze. It’s not like he knows what it means, anyway.
November 27, 2010; Saturday, 10:58AM
“You can do it, Jiminnie, I know you can.”
Jimin stared back at him with wide eyes nodding hesitantly before proceeding to shake his head furiously, eyes shutting tight, seemingly trying to drown out the noise of the crowd waiting behind the curtains.
For the past months, Jimin had been so ecstatic about this singing competition, constantly telling Yoongi about it, sending him random videos of himself singing bits and pieces of his piece. Yoongi knew how important this was for Jimin (a few performing arts university agents were in the audience, obviously looking for someone worthy). Yoongi knew Jimin was worth more than a university, he was worth more than tiny stages, but Yoongi didn’t want to say anything that might make Jimin even more nervous.
He gripped Jimin by the shoulders, just as the host outside started his introductory speech for Jimin. Jimin’s eyes shot open, face paling so quickly, Yoongi wondered if he was going to pass out. When Jimin’s name was called, Jimin almost shrieked, but Yoongi was faster. He swooped in, pressing his lips against Jimin’s soft chubby cheek, just a little too close to the corner of his lips.
Jimin blinked up at him, the color returning to his face all of a sudden (and possibly, even redder than usual). “What—”
“Go get ‘em, Jiminnie,” Yoongi whispered, giving his shoulders one more squeeze before pushing him towards the stage.
(As soon as Jimin disappeared past the curtains, Yoongi groaned, running his hand through his hair and rubbing it down his very warm and very, very red face. Why did he have to be so embarrassing and cheesy? Hoseok suddenly appeared out of nowhere, nudging him with his elbow.
“Smooth, hyung. Smooth,” Hoseok mumbled, tugging him out of the backstage room and towards the main hall so they could watch Jimin.
“What are you talking about?”
Hoseok gave him an unimpressed look. “The kiss, hyung. If you’re still not dating after this, I’m going to commit murder.”
Yoongi frowned at him. “I don’t want to date Jimin, what the fuck?”
Hoseok’s eyes widened. “…you like him, right? I mean, it’s not even a question. You like him.”
“’course, I do. The kid’s my best friend. Childhood friend. Like a little brother, really.” Yoongi decided to just stand by the side of the hall, eyes trained on the stage.
“Are you for real?” Hoseok asked incredulously, but Yoongi waved him off just as Jimin stepped out onto the middle of the stage. Despite the host’s initial reminder of only clapping and cheering after the event, Yoongi let out a loud hoot, much to Hoseok’s amusement.)
(Jimin, of course, nailed the competition. Yoongi’s not even surprised. Jimin was that amazing.)
March 6, 2011; Sunday, 5:56PM
“Ah, there’s my little high schooler,” Yoongi mumbled in a singsong tone, kicking Jimin’s bedroom door shut behind him with a soft click.
Jimin beamed up at him with a bright smile, his things for tomorrow (first day of high school, how exciting!, Jimin had screamed at him a week prior) already packed the night before. Unlike Yoongi, Jimin was neater and more organized. Yoongi flopped down on the bed next to him, who instantly curled up into his arms. Yoongi laughed softly.
“Are you excited for tomorrow?” Yoongi asked, easily wrapping an arm around Jimin and pulling him close.
“I suppose,” Jimin mumbled into his shirt, small hands fisting the hem of his shirt, “have lunch with me tomorrow, okay? I don’t know anyone at the high school.”
Yoongi hummed in affirmative, turning his head to press his lips against Jimin’s soft brown hair—fluffy and smelling strongly of flowers and strawberries (Mrs. Park must have gotten the wrong shampoo again, Jimin insisting that he wanted the adult shampoo and not the baby one because mama, I’m in high school! I don’t want to smell like a baby!, but really, he secretly loves his strawberry scented shampoo. Yoongi thinks that Jimin is still definitely a Baby—not that he’d want that to change anytime soon). Jimin sighed contentedly, letting Yoongi lean the two of them back against the bed’s headboard.
To be honest, Yoongi is aware that the things he did with Jimin—like the cuddling, the soft pecks on the cheek, the hand-holding—were not things normal best friends did. Yoongi was seventeen, turning eighteen in a few days, and was well aware of things that pertained to romance, or something like it. Hoseok has had his fair share of puppy crushes (when it didn’t end well, Namjoon and Yoongi were his designated Diaries). Even Namjoon—resident nerd in their little trio—had his eyes on that pretty guy from the university he was aiming to get into (Yoongi never asked after their love lives—he knew, for some reason, that they’d ask him about Jimin, but he didn’t have any answers to that).
“Hyung?” Jimin whispered, snuggling even closer as he tangled their legs together, Yoongi clicking his tongue when Jimin’s cold toes brushed against the exposed sliver of skin between his jeans and socks.
“Yeah?” Yoongi snapped out of his thoughts, carding his left fingers through Jimin’s hair. Jimin leaned into his touch, cheeks pressed against Yoongi’s right shoulder.
“Do you ever think about getting a girlfriend?”
Yoongi frowned, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that no, not really. He’s never thought of getting a girlfriend, nor has he ever looked at a girl that way. When he thought about things like hand-holding, the only hand he’d always think about was Jimin’s small ones—warm and soft to the touch, his pinky fingers a little shorter than normal. When he thought about cuddling, all he’d ever think about was Jimin’s soft but firm body in his hold—comforting, familiar, and feeling like home. When he thought about dates, he’d always end up thinking about Jimin dragging him to random places during their days off from school, making Yoongi pay for ice cream or hotdog sandwiches. When he thought about a girlfriend, or a relationship for that matter, all he could ever see was Jimin.
Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.
Yoongi suddenly bolted up from their position, accidentally jostling Jimin too hard. He slipped out of Yoongi’s grasp, his head hitting the headboard with a loud thunk followed by a soft whine of pain. Yoongi wanted to at least soothe the pain on his head by petting it or something, but at that moment, his mind was on overdrive, heart racing a mile a minute at the sudden realization. Well, it wasn’t more of a realization, really, but more like a wake-up call. He was aware that Jimin was special to him in a lot of ways, but he never thought that it would possibly be in that way.
“Yoongi-hyung, that hurt! Tell me if you’re going to stand up or something, ow,” Jimin whined, pouting at Yoongi as he rubbed his own head, trying to ease the dull throbbing on the back.
“S-sorry, I just,” Yoongi mumbled, suddenly feeling his heart dive out of his throat at the sight of Jimin pouting up at him, shorts riding up a little too high to reveal the inner sides of his thighs and well, were they always that smooth and soft-looking and flawless? “I, uhm, I remembered something? I have to do? I think?”
Jimin quirked an eyebrow at him before smiling, a soft breathy giggle escaping his lips. He waved his hand in a shooing motion, cheeks a little pink. Yoongi suddenly feels the urge to kiss his cheek (he always kisses Jimin, anyway—a childhood habit he’d never really gotten around to letting go of—but somehow, he just can’t bring himself to do so now). “Ah, is that so? It’s fine, hyung! Go on! I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”
He giggled again, and Yoongi nodded once—rather stiffly, making Jimin laugh again—before jolting out of Jimin’s room (much to the younger’s confused amusement).
(Yoongi’s fucked.)
March 07, 2011; Monday, 8:39AM
“Ah, look at the young ones trickling in to this sad, desolate place of suffering,” Hoseok griped forlornly, arms hanging out of their third floor classroom window.
Yoongi rolled his eyes beside him, elbows propped up on the windowsill as he looked over the crowd of new students, first year high schoolers wearing crisp new uniforms and each of them looking antsy but excited, as they left the school auditorium from the opening ceremony. “It’s called a school, Hoseok.”
Standing on Hoseok’s right, Namjoon laughed a little. “Why are you so bummed out, anyway? We have another year to go before we’re off to college!”
“Well, unlike you, I don’t have some hot stud waiting for my pretty ass,” Hoseok countered in mock bitterness before he turned to Yoongi, “and unlike you, Yoongi-hyung, I don’t have a cute boyfriend who can make my last high school year fun and bright and shit.”
“Wha—” Yoongi could feel his cheeks burning up at Hoseok’s words, but before he could complete his sad excuse of a denial, Hoseok’s scowl had suddenly turned into his signature bright smile.
He leaned over the window precariously, both Namjoon and Yoongi grabbing on to his blazer to try and not let him fall to his imminent death. “Jimin!! Park Jiminnie!!”
Yoongi could feel the tips of his ears burning in embarrassment. He pulled Hoseok back in before peeking out of the window. True to Hoseok’s words, Jimin was walking along with the other first years, brown hair still as soft and fluffy. He turned his head around in alarm, obviously surprised at hearing his name. He must have caught the frantic waving of Hoseok’s arms, because as soon as he looked up at them, his plump lips were already stretching up into a wide, toothy smile.
Yoongi could feel his heart clench gently at the image.
“Ah! Yoongi-hyung, good morning!”
Hoseok whined at not getting his greeting first and at getting blatantly ignored (considering that Jimin was very close with him after Yoongi had begrudgingly introduced his two idiot friends to his other idiot best friend), but Yoongi ignored him, too. He deftly pushed Hoseok away from the window with his hip, waving coolly at Jimin. Honestly, he had wanted to walk with Jimin to school, but his realization the previous day had kept him up all night, resulting in him waking up late and leaving the house later than Jimin did.
“Lunch later, okay!” Jimin cupped his mouth with his hands, scrunching up his nose cutely as he yelled up at Yoongi.
Yoongi felt another twinge in his chest, and he determinedly ignored it as he nodded his head, watching as Jimin gave him one last smile before catching up with his fellow first years, all of them trickling into the building for an obligatory school tour. Yoongi continued staring even when Jimin wasn’t in his sight anymore. As the last first year stepped in, the school courtyard empty and deserted, Namjoon poked him harshly on his side.
“So. Is Jimin your boyfriend?”
Yoongi scowls at him, landing a weak punch on his left upper arm. “No, he’s not.”
November 02, 2011; Wednesday, 8:23AM
Jimin and Yoongi both stared—quite hard, really—at the bright pink envelope lodged in between Jimin’s school shoes inside his locker. Jimin reached for it, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and lips slightly pouted as he turned it over in his hands. Yoongi spotted Jimin’s name meticulously written inside a pink heart right beneath the envelope’s flap.
“Uhm,” Jimin started, poking at his name like it was an explosive that could go off at the slightest touch, “sh-should I open it, hyung?”
Yoongi glanced at Jimin, expecting to see a blush or an excited smile on his face, but Jimin was staring up at him expectantly, a certain gleam in his eyes that Yoongi couldn’t quite decipher. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the uncomfortable clenching in his gut.
“Well, it’s addressed to you, isn’t it? You should,” Yoongi mumbled a little too quietly, far too low and bitter from how he had originally wanted to say it.
Jimin briefly frowned, something flitting across his face before he schooled it back into something normal, something close to awkward confusion. “…okay.”
Yoongi stepped away to give him some privacy, and he watched (with a heavy heart) as Jimin hunched himself over the letter, reading it slowly. During the time it took him to read the whole letter, Hoseok and Namjoon had arrived, as well. They glanced at Jimin before turning to Yoongi with questioning looks on their faces, but Yoongi only shrugged as he hitched his bag higher up his shoulder.
“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi called out, startling Jimin slightly, “we’ll go ahead, ‘kay, I’m on morning duty.”
Jimin turned to him, eyes wide. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly clamped it shut in the next moment. He nodded meekly, fingers almost crumpling the letter in his hand. “Okay.”
“Hm. Later.”
“…later.”
(“Uh,” he mumbled awkwardly, a hand on the back of his neck as he stepped around the school gym and onto the seemingly deserted little clearing behind the building, “is this from you?”
A petite girl was standing in the middle of the clearing, hands clasped together as she pressed it under her chin, like she was praying. She jumped at Jimin’s voice, and her cheeks instantly darkened when she saw Jimin. She moved forward one step, but Jimin quickly waved his hands dismissively, awkwardly.
“Ah, I’m sorry!” He blurted out, and he could feel the tips of his ears burning. He felt bad. “I’m, uhm. Sorry.”
The girl visibly deflated, hands falling a little from beneath her face. She was a pretty little thing, with a sweet face and pleasant aura. But. Well. She’s not Jimin’s type. Not even close.
“…sorry?” She asked quietly, head tilting to one side as she regarded Jimin sadly.
“Y-yeah. Uhm. You look like you’re a nice girl,” Jimin breathed out, fists clenching and unclenching beside him, “but I already like someone else.”
The girl sighed heavily, hands finally unclasping and dropping limply to her sides. She smiled up at Jimin, a little sad, but there was resignation in her face. “I kind of figured that out, to be honest, but, you know—figured it was better that I tried. For closure, if anything.”
Jimin nodded his head, not exactly sure what to say.
The girl folded her hands behind her back, swaying a little. “It’s…It’s one of the sunbaes, isn’t it? One of those three boys you’re always with…the one who always looks grumpy?”
Jimin couldn’t help but laugh, cheeks coloring at the girl’s words. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his blazer, looking at his feet for a brief moment. Yoongi would probably be a little offended at being called grumpy, because Jimin knows he really wasn’t. He just tended to always look mad from staying up late too much. Jimin looked up at the girl again, and let himself smile softly.
“Yeah, it’s the grumpy sunbae,” he confirmed softly, and the girl smiled at him—genuine, soft, still a little sad.
“You look good together.”)
November 02, 2011; Wednesday, 9:26AM
“What was that all about?”
Yoongi grunted in response, slumping down in his seat even lower. He felt a little bad (okay, so he felt like a major dick for leaving Jimin all by himself), but it was, well, it was a spur of the moment thing, Yoongi defends weakly. When he saw Jimin reading that love letter, he had felt something big and weird and ugly claw its way against his insides, making him feel all sorts of terrible and insecure.
It was a very foreign feeling to Yoongi.
“Hyung,” Hoseok suddenly said, a little loudly, before planting himself on the seat in front of Yoongi, chest pressed against the backrest so that he could place his palms on Yoongi’s table and glare at him, “what happened earlier?”
Yoongi glanced up at him, and then at Namjoon, before he sighed in frustration, head tilting forward. His forehead hit his desk with a loud, painful thunk. He groaned softly, feeling the tears of pain prickle his eyes.
“…you like Jimin, don’t you,” Hoseok stated, not even asking.
Yoongi took a deep breath—one, two, three—before he nodded. Just a subtle nod, but enough to make Hoseok slam the table with a loud cheer. Yoongi shot up in surprise, his forehead sporting a large red spot in the middle, but he couldn’t focus on it, not when Hoseok had one palm stretched out towards Namjoon, fingers wiggling as Namjoon slipped out his wallet.
“You lost, man, cough it up,” Hoseok trilled happily, and Namjoon grumbled in annoyance as he fished out a handful of bills, dumping it forcefully on Hoseok’s open palm.
Yoongi scowled at them, raising a foot and kicking whoever was within his reach (it was Namjoon—his left shin, to be exact). “The fuck, did you guys bet on me or something?”
Hoseok shrugged his shoulders as he carelessly counted the money in his hands. “Yeah, man. Namjoon thought it’d take you until college, or like, until Jimin was married or something before you realized your feelings. I figured you weren’t that stupid.”
“Fuck you, too,” Yoongi groused drily, and Hoseok smiled brightly at him.
“Love you, too, asshole-hyung. So!” Hoseok pocketed the money (much to Namjoon’s obvious dismay and longing), before slamming his hands on Yoongi’s desk again, “earlier. What happened? Jimin got a love letter?”
“No, he got a note in his shoebox from the principal calling him to his office,” Yoongi rolled his eyes, and Namjoon actually laughed.
Hoseok gave him an unimpressed look before forging ahead. “He got a love letter, and your constipated ass couldn’t figure out that you were feeling jealous so you just left him there. Am I right, or am I right?”
“You’re an asshole,” Yoongi quipped weakly, but the erratic beating of his heart at Hoseok’s words betrayed his own words.
“Oh, hyung,” Hoseok tutted annoyingly, reaching a hand out and patting Yoongi’s hair, “you’re so cute.”
“I am not—”
“So, do you want to be Jimin’s boyfriend, then?” Namjoon cut in, leaning closer as he sat on the desk to Yoongi’s right.
“What? Boyfriend? I-I don’t want to be Jimin’s boyfriend!” Yoongi denied—a little quickly, a little too defensively—much to the two’s amusement.
“Well,” Namjoon leaned a little closer, eyeing Yoongi’s face curiously, “what do you want, then?”
Yoongi could feel his cheeks warming up, and he noticed how Hoseok’s gaze flitted briefly to his ears (they were probably super red, too), but everything was already out. Cards on the table, so to speak. He took a deep breath, looked down at his curled fists on his lap.
“I-I don’t know, okay,” he mumbled, eyebrows furrowed together as he squirmed in his seat, glancing up at his two friends, “I just…I just want to be with him all the time. I-I, uh, I want to know about his day, and tell him about mine. I want to hold his hand and smell his hair, but—b-but I don’t want to be Jimin’s stupid boyfriend!”
A loud clatter suddenly caught their attention. Yoongi looked away from Hoseok and Namjoon, gaze going past them and settling on the lone figure standing under the doorframe at the back of the classroom. Yoongi’s eyes widened in surprise, along with the foreboding sensation that came with Majorly Fucking Things Up™.
“J-Jimin-ah?” Yoongi stuttered out, throat suddenly parched because as clueless as he was to his own feelings, he knew he had fucked up. Quite grandly, too, if he was being modest.
“I, uh,” Jimin started, eyes darting around the room as his lunchbox lay scattered around his feet, something drenching the hem of his school pants, “sorry. I need to, uhm, go. I think.”
Without waiting for Yoongi, Jimin sped off, leaving the sad remains of his lunchbox behind. Yoongi blinked, heart threatening to burst out of his chest. Hoseok suddenly clapped him on the shoulder.
“Man, you need to go,” he said, just as Namjoon pulled him out of his seat, “no matter what, Jimin probably didn’t want to hear those words.”
“But—”
“Dude, go.”
Yoongi’s never moved faster in his life.
(Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, because he clearly remembered almost flying across the park when a seven year old Jimin almost slipped off from the jungle gym at the park near their houses—but, okay, whatever, Yoongi digresses.)
November 02, 2011; Wednesday, 10:21AM
They were skipping class, Yoongi knew, and that was bad, especially for a graduating student like him, but at the moment, he didn’t think about that. All that ran through his mind was Jimin—Jimin standing under the doorway looking like a kicked puppy, plump lower lip jutting out in a slight pout, trembling as an alarming and telltale red color rimmed his eyes, his chubby cheeks flushed in his effort to not break out in tears. This Jimin was all Yoongi could think about, and the longer he thought about Jimin, the harder his heart clenched painfully in his chest.
He didn’t know where to look—Jimin loved the whole school, had too many favorite places. It was also hard to search freely seeing as it was class hours, and Yoongi had to keep out of teachers’ sights lest he get detention, or something. He was close to giving up when he reached the school gym for the second time. He stopped by the door, about to go in when he heard a soft sobbing.
Yoongi stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as he listened to where the sound came from. He followed it carefully, quietly as he stepped around the gym, and onto the supposedly deserted clearing behind the building (the clearing used to be the dodgeball area but dodgeball had been banned after someone got their teeth knocked out).
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the clearing was none other than Jimin, hands pressed against his face as he sobbed quietly.
It pained Yoongi terribly to see Jimin’s shoulders shaking with each sob, to know that he might very well be the cause of his tears. He took one step closer, not entirely sure what he was going to say, but definitely determined to stop Jimin’s tears. It’s one of the things he did best, to be honest.
“Jiminnie,” Yoongi called out softly, voice soft and close to a whisper, “it’s hyung.”
Jimin visibly tensed. His sobs stopped abruptly, an uncomfortable and thick silence enveloping the two of them. He turned around slightly, if only to glance at Yoongi, before turning back and pulling his knees up to his chest.
“Please go away, hyung.”
Yoongi’s not going to pretend it didn’t hurt.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi started, feeling a little stupid (a whole lot) at his generic words.
“Yeah, well,” Jimin retorted, sniffling and exhaling shakily.
“…will you listen to me, please?” Yoongi tried again, and Jimin, as always, caved in.
The younger boy didn’t say anything, but he didn’t ask Yoongi to go away, either. He stayed sitting on his spot, back turned to Yoongi.
Yoongi took that as his cue. He slowly approached Jimin, stopping only when he was an arm’s length away. He licked his lips, nerves threatening to rip his senses apart and just make him backtrack the fuck out of there, but he stood his ground. Jimin was, well—Jimin has always been the first in everything for Yoongi. No matter how he felt, he would always put Jimin first, and he didn’t want Jimin to go home with a big, ugly misunderstanding between them that could quite possibly ruin whatever they had.
“So,” Yoongi started, hands clenching into fists near his hips, “I’m a guy.”
Jimin scoffed at this, turning his head a little to look at Yoongi incredulously.
“I-I’m a guy, and there’s also this other boy I know,” Yoongi continued, and he watched as the frown on Jimin’s face smoothened a little, “I sometimes tell him I love him, and it just. It comes naturally, you know? Maybe because we’ve been together since we were in diapers—or well, when one of us was still in diapers. This boy, he…he has really, really beautiful eyes, and an even more beautiful smile, and I’m just always thrown for a loop when I see him, you know?”
“…really,” Jimin breathed out, the frown on his face gone, his expression scarily blank.
“R-really. And, he’s very sweet, too. An angel, if you will. Admirable and honest and just really, really fuckin’ great and incredible. I don’t know when I realized it, but I kind of want to always cuddle him and kiss his cheeks and tell him just how fucking amazing he is, but to be honest, I kind of already do,” Yoongi exhaled deeply, crouching down on his haunches and rubbing his hands down his warm face, “we’ve always been touchy-feely with each other, and other people would’ve found it unusual, but I’ve never felt that way. In fact, it feels so perfect when I’m with this boy, and I just…”
“…you’re just?” Jimin whispered, now facing Yoongi fully, hands clenching the material of his own pants tightly, his knuckles white with exertion.
“I just…I’m, kind of panicking? Because I don’t know what to do, and—”
“Kiss me,” Jimin blurted out, his cheeks coloring a deep pink, lashes damp from his tears previously.
Yoongi gaped at him, and he could feel his own cheeks coloring at Jimin’s words, at Jimin’s command, but surprisingly (not really), Yoongi wasn’t scared. He doesn’t know when it happened, or how it happened, but like the snap of his fingers, like the way a lightbulb flashed on, Yoongi remembered all the times he’d wanted to kiss Jimin—not on his cheeks, no, but on his lips. His pink, plump lips that always had a smile ready for anyone who needed it, aware or not. His pink, plump lips that only knew how to utter sweet, kind things for anyone who needed it, aware or not.
Yoongi leaned forward on his knees, his weight still resting on the balls of his feet. He reached out to Jimin, fingers wrapping around the back of Jimin’s neck. Jimin leaned in to his touch, small hands finding purchase on the unbuttoned lapels of Yoongi’s blazer. Yoongi let his gaze travel all over Jimin’s face—pretty Jimin, beautiful Jimin, perfect Jimin—until it stopped on his lips.
Yoongi closed the distance between them, lips pressing against lips.
It was, to Yoongi’s delight, as sweet and gentle as he imagined it to be. Jimin tasted like home, whatever that is, because Yoongi can’t put it into words. Jimin felt like home, like something safe. His lips were so soft, so pliant under his own. Yoongi tilted his head a little, slotting their lips a little better, a little deeper, and Jimin hummed contentedly, a breath escaping his lips when they parted for air.
Yoongi pressed his forehead against Jimin’s, his eyes closed. His heart was beating like he’d just run a marathon, or how it always did when he and Jimin woke up just a little too late and had to run to school with crazy bed hair and mismatched socks, laughter ringing in the air at how silly they must look. He felt himself smiling, and a small contented laugh escaped his lips when he felt Jimin brush his fingers against his cheek, running up to tangle through his hair.
“You said you didn’t want to be my boyfriend,” Jimin whispered, a teasing lilt to his voice that Yoongi was glad to hear, “what was that kiss, then?”
“What do you want it to be?” Yoongi asked, eyes fluttering open, his heart doing at least three flips when he saw Jimin’s face up close—pretty Jimin, beautiful Jimin, perfect Jimin.
Jimin smiled shyly, his cheeks adorably flushed as his eyes disappeared into crescents. “The first of our many kisses to come.”
Yoongi laughed, brightly, happily. He pulled them both up, Jimin giggling along with him, occasionally wiping away some stray tears on his face with his sleeve. When they were both standing up, he pulled Jimin flush against him, the younger boy squeaking at the action. Yoongi wrapped an arm around his waist, his other hand cupping Jimin’s jaw, thumb running circles on the apples of his cheek.
“May I get started with the second one now?” Yoongi asked cheekily, leaning in and not waiting for an answer from Jimin, who could only laugh against his lips, arms coming up to wrap around his neck.
A little late, perhaps, but still better than never—Yoongi kissed him. Pretty Jimin, beautiful Jimin, perfect Jimin—his Jimin.
(“So,” Yoongi asked, opting to lend Hoseok his bike so he could walk home with Jimin hours after their kiss(es), “when did you realize that you liked me?”
Jimin’s cheeks, which had finally returned to a rather normal color, erupted into an adorable shade of pink again. “Uhm, don’t laugh, okay?”
“I won’t,” Yoongi promised, squeezing their linked hands together gently.
“Uhm,” Jimin fidgeted a little, pressing closer to Yoongi in an attempt to hide his burning face, “r-remember when we went as Eric and Ariel during Halloween? When we we’re like…six and eight, I think?”
Yoongi could feel himself smiling. “Ah, that day.”
“Yeah,” Jimin grinned sheepishly, running his thumb mindlessly over Yoongi’s knuckle, “Jaekyung, was it? That other kid? He was picking on me for being a princess, and you stood up for me and told him you were my boyfriend.”
“That I did, yeah,” Yoongi recalled fondly, smiling as he remembered how little Jimin looked so adorable in a pink gown, jumping up and down in excitement.
“Well, you just…you seemed so princely, then, you know? And, well, I think it was from that point on. I told Mama, too, and she was laughing about it, but you know, over the years, I noticed that it wasn’t just a silly crush, and well, here we are now,” Jimin stuck his tongue out cutely, and Yoongi suddenly leaned in to peck him on the cheek, flustering him.
“Hm, well,” Yoongi mumbled after, slipping his hand out of Jimin’s hold only to sling an arm over his shoulder, pulling him close against his side. Jimin wrapped his arms around his waist on reflex, “I’d stand up for you anytime, princess.”
Jimin scrunched his nose at the nickname, and Yoongi laughed.
“No to princess, huh. How about…darling? No? Oh, sunshine? Baby?” Yoongi tilted his head to look at Jimin’s gradually reddening face, and noticed how Jimin tightened his hold at baby. Yoongi smiled at him happily, gums on full display. “You like baby, I see.”
“I-I don’t,” Jimin muttered, but if him pressing his face against Yoongi’s chest was anything to go by, it was that he Really Liked It.
“Oh,” Yoongi sighed deeply, a grin still on his face, “alright. I understand, baby. I won’t call you that. I’ll respect your wishes, baby.”
“Hyung!” Jimin whined, letting go of Yoongi so he could cover his burning face.
Yoongi couldn’t help but laugh, stopping their walk home and pulling Jimin in for a hug, his arms gong around Jimin’s small, narrow frame. Jimin melted into his touch.
“Ah, you’re so cute, baby,” Yoongi teased, swaying the two of them softly and successfully earning them curious glances from other students walking home.
“Hyung, you’re going to make me die of embarrassment, and I don’t want to die yet—I want to go on dates and stuff,” Jimin whispered, and Yoongi chuckled in response, placing a kiss on the top of his head.
“Alright, alright, hyung’s sorry.”
Jimin peeked through the cracks of his fingers, and Yoongi quirked an eyebrow at him. “But…uhm. You can use that nickname. S-sometimes.”
“Which one?”
“…baby.”
Yoongi grinned. “Yes, baby?”
Jimin groaned, making Yoongi laugh, the older stepping away as he doubled over in glee. Jimin couldn’t help but frown at him in mock disdain, but a smile broke its way through his face, and soon, they were laughing together, hands linked together as they walked home.)
(“Hyung, people say that love should take time, or something, but I think I’m in love with you already. Is that too fast?”
“What’s wrong with being too fast?”
“…then, I think I love you, Yoongi-hyung.”
“I think I love you, too, Jimin-ah.”)
November 02, 2016; Wednesday, 10:38PM
Jimin came home to his apartment to find Yoongi standing in the middle of the hall, a bunch of colorful balloons in his hand, a white stuffed polar bear wedged under his arm, and a nervous smile on his face. Jimin quirked an eyebrow at him, tentatively dropping his books and bags on the table by the doorway. He kicked off his shoes, padding across the hall to loop his arms around Yoongi’s neck, who still hadn’t moved an inch since Jimin walked in.
“Hey there, tough guy,” Jimin greeted, the nickname stuck ever since that night a year ago when a drunk Yoongi had challenged everyone to a jousting tournament and declared his undying love for Jimin in a shady bar where Seokjin—Namjoon’s boyfriend—had decided to hold his graduation party.
“Hey, baby,” Yoongi mumbled back, leaning in to press their lips together in a quick kiss.
“…what are you planning,” Jimin asked, squinting his eyes at the balloons and the undeniably adorable stuffed polar bear peeking from under his boyfriend’s arm.
Yoongi shoved them into his hands rather unceremoniously (much to Jimin’s amusement), but the smile quickly melted away, replaced by a shocked expression when Yoongi suddenly got down on one knee. A hand was hidden in his coat pocket, and Jimin just stared at him.
“Jimin,” Yoongi started, voice just a tiny bit shaky as he pulled his hand out of his pocket, a cute little pink box enclosed in his hand, “uhm.”
“Min Yoongi, I’m still in college, hold the fuck up—”
“No, no, let me finish! You’ll ruin the moment!” Yoongi whined, hand dropping a little.
Jimin nodded, eyeing him warily.
“Jimin,” he started again, holding his hand up and carefully opening the box as he proffered it to his boyfriend, “baby, will you move in with me?”
Jimin’s eyes dropped on the silver key with the blue ribbon resting on the silk cushion in the box. He blinked once, twice—before letting out a loud laugh, giggling so cutely and breathlessly that he had to lean forward and hold on to Yoongi’s shoulder lest he just fall down and continued laughing on the floor.
Yoongi frowned a little, and was about to speak up when Jimin shushed him, finger pressing against his lip.
“Min Yoongi,” Jimin whispered, leaning forward until their lips brushed against each other lightly, tips of their noses rubbing softly, “of course, I’d move in with you. I love you too much to say no.”
Yoongi’s shoulders slumped in relief, and he hummed happily as Jimin leaned forward to kiss the breath out of him, the box dropping to the floor and the key making a soft clattering sound.
“Oh, thank God,” Yoongi breathed out, hands gripping at Jimin’s hips, “I thought you were going to say no.”
Jimin smiled into the kiss, his hands snaking under Yoongi’s coat and slipping them off his shoulders. “I would never.”
(Moonlight streamed in through the window, the pale strokes of the moon casting a dim light across two bare bodies on the bed, legs tangled together, skin glistening with the lightest sheen of sweat. Slim, long fingers carded through silver locks of hair, a soft hum of contentment ringing out through the room from the smaller body curled up on the center of the bed.
“I love you.” A whisper—sleepy, soft, melodic, and sweet. Ringing of one single promise, of one bright future.
“I love you, too.” A declaration—certain, raspy, solid, and firm. Ringing of the same promise, of the same bright future.)
(“Happy fifth anniversary, my love.”)