Work Text:
Jimin loved three things with alarming sincerity: flowers in convenience store wrappers, oversized hoodies that smelled like fabric conditioner, and Mariah Carey.
The problem was that only two of those things loved him back, because singing certainly did not.
“AND THEN A HERO COMES ALONGGGG, WITH THE STRENGTH TO CARRY OOOONNN~~~”
A loud bang echoed from the other side of the apartment wall. Jimin stopped mid-singing, eyes fixated at the ceiling.
Then from the next door, “Park Jimin, if you kill that note one more time, I’m telling the landlady to evict you and keep your security deposit.”
Jimin gasped dramatically. “The walls are thin enough for you to know my full name?” He yelled back.
“The walls are thin enough for me to know you missed the note by several countries.”
Honestly, that was so fucking rude.
Jimin turned the volume of his speaker down slightly, clutching his cheap karaoke microphone to his chest like an offended artist.
This was harassment. His neighbor disrespects music and art!
He muttered under his breath as he flopped onto his couch. “You don’t understand Mariah’s vision.”
The neighbor next door, Min Yoongi, apparently understood peace and quiet instead.
Unfortunately for him, Jimin had taken that as a challenge.
—————
It started innocently. Jimin only practiced signing after work because it "relieved stress.” And yes, because Mariah Carey is his Queen.
He watched vocal compilations online, watched live performances, then the whistle notes. And suddenly it was midnight on a Tuesday and he was attempting vocal runs that sounded like a cat falling down metal stairs.
Yoongi suffered through all of it, every single night.
Sometimes the singing came with interpretative dancing too, judging by the violent thumps sounds.
One evening, Yoongi finally snapped. Three sharp knocks hit Jimin’s door.
Jimin opened it while still wearing fluffy pajama shorts and holding a hairbrush microphone.
Yoongi stared at him blankly.
“Were you just fighting demons in there?”
Jimin frowned. “I was singing Emotions.”
“That’s worse.”
Up close, Yoongi looked unfairly attractive for someone so mean. He wore black oversized hoodie, sleepy eyes, and soft hair falling over his forehead.
Unfortunately, his personality was terrible.
“You know,” Jimin said, crossing his arms, “some people would pay money for private concerts.”
“Then charge someone else.”
Jimin scoffed. “You’re just threatened by my talent.”
Yoongi looked him dead in the eye. “What talent?”
Okay, that hurt a little. Just a little-little.
“Wow,” Jimin muttered. “You don’t have to be evil about it.”
“I haven’t slept properly in three weeks.”
“Well, art requires sacrifice.”
“Then sacrifice yourself quietly.” Yoongi deadpanned, pointing at the dark circles under his eyes to get his point across. “Don’t involve me with your sacrifice. Aren’t my eyebags enough contribution already?”
Jimin slammed the door in his face. Not because he was angry. Mostly because Yoongi’s mouth kept twitching like he was trying not to laugh, and Jimin found that deeply offensive for reasons he didn’t want to unpack.
—————
The annoying thing was that Yoongi kept appearing everywhere afterward.
At the convenience store downstairs, at the laundry area, at the cafe around the corner where Jimin dramatically complained to the cashier about “living beside a music hater.”
“It’s because you sound like a dying dolphin,” Yoongi said from behind him.
Jimin nearly dropped his iced coffee.
He turned around with an offended gasp. “Excuse you?”
Yoongi walked past him calmly to grab a bottle of americano from the fridge. “I’m being honest.”
Jimin made a face before playfully dancing and singing, “WHY YOU SO OBSESSED WITH ME? BOY I WANNA KNOWWW~~”
He even stuck his tongue out just to annoy Yoongi further.
Yoongi looked deeply unimpressed. “You somehow made Mariah sound unemployed.”
Jimin clutched his chest. “That was personal.”
“You scream like a fire alarm.”
“That’s because I sing with emotion.”
“That’s because you’re off-key.”
“At least I’m passionate.”
“At least some detectors save lives.”
The cashier snorted loudly behind the counter.
Jimin pointed accusingly at Yoongi. “See? This is bullying.”
“You started singing in a residential building,” Yoongi shot back. “You bullied everyone first.”
The cashier looked between them before smiling. “You two fight like a married couple.”
Silence. And then… “Ewww,” they both said at the exact same time.
The cashier only laughed harder.
Jimin glared at him. Yoongi stared back calmly while sipping his americano.
It should’ve been infuriating. Instead, Jimin noticed stupid things.
Like how Yoongi’s voice always sounded rough from sleep, or how he wore the same gray hoodie so often that Jimin started recognizing it from afar, or how he secretly paid for Jimin’s coffee once after overhearing him complain about payday being next week.
Jimin only realized because the cashier whispered, “You’re boyfriend already paid.”
“I TOLD YOU HE’S NOT MY—”
Yoongi was already walking away. The bastard even lifted one hand without turning around.
—————
One rainy night, Jimin got wine drunk, which was dangerous, because drunk Jimin became emotional, and emotional Jimin believed he could hit Mariah notes.
“SO TAKE A LOOK AT MEEE NOWWWW~~”
A violent pounding rattled his door. Jimin stumbled toward it, offended already.
“What?!”
Yoongi stood there in black sweatpants and visible exhaustion.
“You cannot be serious. It’s fucking almost midnight.”
“I’m expressing myself.”
“You’re expressing all forms of suffering.”
Jimin was not having it any longer. He pointed at him accusingly.
“You know what your problem is?”
“I came here to tell you YOUR problem.”
“You’ve never dreamed big.”
Yoongi blinked slowly, then his eyes narrowed slightly. This is not the typical Jimin.
“You’re drunk.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You just tried to whistle notes and sounded like a tea kettle exploding.”
Jimin burst into offended laughter, which somehow turned into hiccups, and somehow turned into him nearly falling forward.
Yoongi caught him automatically.
The apartment suddenly felt quieter.
Jimin stared up at him. Yoongi stared back.
“Oh,” Jimin said softly.
Because close up like this, Yoongi smelled warm. Like coffee and detergent and rain, and his hand on Jimin’s waist felt unfairly steady.
“You’re kind of pretty,” Jimin blurted.
Yoongi closed his eyes briefly like he was asking the universe for strength.
“You’re still drunk.”
“But am I wrong?”
“You’re unbelievably annoying.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Yoongi looked at him for a long second, then sighed.
“No,” he muttered quietly. “You’re not wrong.”
Jimin smiled slowly, a dangerous kind.
“Oh, god,” Yoongi said immediately, pointing at him. “Do not make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that means you’re about to become worse.”
Too late… because Jimin stepped closer until Yoongi’s back hit the hallway wall.
“You like me.” Jimin’s confidence was higher than Mariah’s highest notes possible.
“No, I like silence.”
“But you paid for my coffee.”
“You looked sad.”
“You came over tonight.”
“You sounded like you were dying.”
Jimin grinned. “That’s basically romance.”
Yoongi groaned softly.
Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe it was the fact that Yoongi had been looking at his mouth for the last thirty seconds.
But Jimin leaned in first.
The kiss lasted exactly three seconds before Yoongi pulled back.
“Absolutely not.”
Jimin blinked. “You literally kissed me back.”
“You’re drunk.”
“You said that already. Same, same? Maybe you’re the drunk one.”
“I’m serious.” But Yoongi’s hand was still resting on Jimin’s waist, still holding him close.
Jimin looked down pointedly before raising an eyebrow.
“...Your hand says otherwise.”
Yoongi immediately let go like he’d been burned. Unfortunately, that only made Jimin grin.
“You like me.”
Yoongi looked genuinely tired suddenly. Like Jimin himself was exhausting.
“That’s not the issue.”
Jimin’s smile faded just a little.
“Then what is?”
For a second, Yoongi didn’t answer.
The rain continued tapping softly against the windows, and inside the apartment, everything suddenly felt smaller.
Yoongi looked at him carefully, then really looked at him. Like he was trying very hard not to want something, which, unfortunately, only made Jimin want him more.
“You’ll regret this tomorrow.” Yoongi said.
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Yoongi exhaled softly through his nose before looking away for a second, his jaw tightening slightly, then… “You make it hard to think properly.”
Jimin’s entire heart malfunctioned.
“W-what?”
“I said you’re loud all the time,” Yoongi muttered, now avoiding eye contact. “And it's annoying. And you keep singing in the middle of the night.”
Jimin started smiling helplessly.
“But?”
Yoongi looked back at him, and there it was again. That softness.
That stupid softness that only appeared around Jimin.
“But somehow,” Yoongi admitted, “you’re still the first thing I look for when I get home.”
Oh.
That—that was worse than the kiss.
Jimin felt his face warm instantly.
“You know,” Jimin murmured, stepping a little closer again, “for someone who hates my singing, you spend a lot of time listening to me.”
Yoongi huffed out a laugh despite himself.
“That’s because you’re impossible to ignore.”
And honestly? That sounded better than any Mariah note Jimin had ever failed to hit.
When Jimin attempted to kiss him again, Yoongi kissed him back first.
Yeah, with Mariah Carey singing Always Be My Baby in the background.
—————
Things changed after that night. Or at least, Jimin thought they did.
Yoongi never brought up the kiss again, and Jimin pretended it had only felt real because he’d been drunk and emotional and one failed whistle note away from passing out.
But he knew.
He knew Yoongi had kissed him back. He knew the warmth of Yoongi’s hand on his waist had been real, and the look in Yoongi’s eyes that night wasn’t something he could’ve imagined.
Pretending it had been a dream was simply easier than asking what it actually meant.
—————
Jimin firmly believed that passion mattered more than talent.
Unfortunately, his next door neighbor disagreed.
“I NEVER KNEW I COULD HURT LIKE THIS—”
“Wrong key.”
Jimin stopped singing mid-note and whipped around toward the shared apartment wall.
“You can hear that?”
“Yes,” the voice deadpanned from the other side. “Unfortunately.”
Jimin narrowed his eyes. It was 8:37PM, which meant Min Yoongi was home, which meant Jimin’s nightly concert now had a live critic.
“Okay first of all,” Jimin yelled back, “Mariah’s songs are hard.”
“So is listening to you attempt them.”
Jimin gasped dramatically. “You know what? You’re a hater.”
“Tonight you sound like a smoke detector running out of batteries.”
“That’s so specific!”
“Because it’s accurate.”
Jimin stared at the wall in betrayal before grabbing his karaoke microphone again.
Fine. If Yoongi wanted war, then war he would get.
Jimin inhaled deeply.
“THERE CAN BE MIRACLES–”
“Not with that pitch, apparently.”
“MIN YOONGI!!!!”
—————
It became a routine after that.
Jimin would come home from work, microwave something unhealthy, light his scented candle, and begin what he called Vocal-Slash-Stress Relief Training.
Yoongi called it a human rights violation.
“WE BE-LONG TOGETHERRR—”
“You and the note clearly don’t.”
“Can you shut the fuck up?!”
“Can you?”
Jimin threw a sock at the wall.
It accomplished nothing except making Yoongi laugh.
The asshole actually laughed.
—————
One Friday night, Jimin decided he’d had enough.
He marched next door in bunny slippers and aggressively knocked on Yoongi’s apartment door.
Yoongi opened it wearing gray sweatpants and an expression that suggested he already regretted existing.
“What.”
Jimin pointed a finger at him immediately.
“You’re ruining my artistic freedom.”
“You’re ruining my REM sleep.”
“You keep criticizing me!”
“Because you keep singing like Mariah owes you money.”
Jimin looked deeply offended.
“That was below the belt.”
“You haven’t even reached the belt. Your notes are underground.”
“Okay wow.”
Yoongi leaned against the doorway calmly.
“What do you want, exactly?”
“I want constructive feedback if you’re going to be annoying.”
Yoongi blinked. “You want me to coach you?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Coward.”
“I’m not wasting my Friday night teaching you how music works.”
Jimin crossed his arms. “Scared you’ll fall in love with me?”
Yoongi snorted instantly. “I’d rather eat denim.”
That was rude, but also strangely flirtatious.
Jimin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You think I’m attractive.”
Yoongi stared at him blankly. “You just threatened me with a high note ten minutes ago.”
“That’s not a no.”
“That’s a cry for help.”
—————
The next evening, Jimin escalated things.
If Yoongi insisted on being a critic, then he would receive the full concert experience.
Jimin dragged his speaker closer to the shared wall. Then dramatically announced:
“This next song is dedicated to my jealous neighbor.”
From the other side came, “I’d rather die.”
Jimin ignored him. The song Obsessed blasted through the apartment.
“WHY YOU SO OBSESSED WITH MEEE—”
“You’re flat.”
“IT JUST STARTED.”
“Preparation matters.”
Jimin gritted his teeth and kept going.
“BOY I WANNA KNOW~~~”
“You sound like you’re asking for directions.”
Jimin pointed angrily at the wall. “You know what your problem is?!”
“I have tons. Continue.”
“You’re emotionally unavailable!”
“You just rhymed ‘know’ with ‘know.’”
“That’s the lyrics!”
“Mariah suffered enough writing them. Don’t make her suffer twice.”
Jimin collapsed onto his couch screaming into a pillow.
How was this man real?
The worst part?
Yoongi’s feedback slowly started helping.
Not emotionally, it will never happen. But technically.
“Support from your diaphragm,” Yoongi yelled through the wall one night.
Jimin paused.
“Excuse me?”
“You keep straining your throat.”
There was silence. Then, “Wait, are you actually helping me?”
“No. I’m helping myself.”
“Oh my god.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
Jimin immediately became unbearable. The next few weeks turned into nightly vocal sessions against Yoongi’s will.
“Again,” Yoongi called lazily through the wall.
Jimin glared at the plaster. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m really not.”
“Liar.”
“Hit the note properly, Beyonce.”
“This is Mariah! I am Mariah!”
“Same level of delusion.”
Jimin cackled loudly. Then accidentally inhaled wrong and started choking.
A loud sigh came from next door.
“You alive?”
“Yes.”
“Disappointing.”
—————
One night, during an especially dramatic performance of Angel’s Cry, the power suddenly went out. The entire building went dark.
Jimin froze. “Hello?”
Rain hammered outside, and somewhere in the hallway, somebody cursed.
Then came three knocks on his door.
Jimin opened it to find Yoongi holding a flashlight under his chin like a horror movie character.
“You look terrifying.”
“This is your fault. The angels literally cry because of your goddamn voice.”
Yoongi walked into the apartment without invitation, flashlight sweeping around lazily, the darkness softened him somehow.
Without the constant sarcasm, he just looked sleepy.
Pretty, annoyingly pretty.
Jimin sat on the couch while Yoongi checked the breaker near the kitchen. Then, because silence made him nervous, Jimin quietly started singing again.
“I’M THINKING OF YOU~~ IN MY SLEEPLESS SOLITUDE TONIGHT~~~”
Yoongi sighed deeply.
“Jesus Christ.”
“What now?”
“You sound better.”
Jimin blinked. “Wait, really?”
“Marginally.”
“That’s huge coming from you!”
“Don't get excited. You still sound like you’re fighting the song.”
Jimin grinned brightly anyway. Yoongi looked away immediately.
Interesting… Very interesting…
“You know,” Jimin said slowly, “for someone who hates my singing, you sure listen carefully.”
Yoongi scoffed. “The walls are thin.”
“Hmmkay.”
“And you’re loud.”
“Hmmkay.”
“And annoying.”
“Hmmkay.”
Yoongi narrowed his eyes.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
Jimin leaned forward slightly.
“Because I think you secretly like hearing me.”
“I secretly considered moving out.”
“But you didn’t.”
“That’s because rent is expensive.”
“But you stayed.”
Yoongi stared at him for a long moment. Then muttered under his breath, “You’re even more annoying when you’re happy.”
Jimin beamed. And just to make Yoongi suffer, he started belting again.
“ALL III WANT FOR CHRISTMAAAAS–”
Yoongi threw a couch pillow directly at his face.
—————
The thing about enemies was that they weren’t supposed to learn each other’s routines.
Jimin learned Yoongi’s anyway.
He learned that Yoongi came home at around 7:15PM most nights, shoulders slumped beneath dark hoodies, smelling faintly of coffee and cigarette smoke even though Jimin had never actually seen him smoke.
He learned Yoongi like chocolate ice cream, and anything that is chocolate.
He learned that Yoongi is indeed a musician who stayed up late producing music because faint instrumentals sometimes leaked through the walls after midnight.
And unfortunately, Yoongi learned things about Jimin too.
Like how Jimin danced while brushing his teeth, or that he cried over commercials involving old people, or that he sang louder whenever he was stressed, which explained why one particular Wednesday night sounded especially catastrophic.
“I CAN’T LIIIIIIIIVE~~~”
A knock interrupted the screeching. Jimin opened the door mid-song.
Yoongi stood there holding two convenience store ramyeon cups.
“You missed the note so badly I got concerned.”
Jimin narrowed his eyes. “You brought food.”
“You sound emotionally unstable.”
“That’s not denial.”
Yoongi sighed like his life was exhausting and walked past him into the apartment anyway. At this point, neither of them questioned it anymore.
Jimin shut the door behind him.
“You know,” he said suspiciously, “normal neighbors don’t just enter people’s apartments.”
“Normal neighbors also don’t attempt to sing Mariah Carey songs after emotional distress.”
“That’s profiling.”
“That’s survival.”
Yoongi sat on the floor by the coffee table while Jimin prepared hot water.
The apartment settled into comfortable noise after that, steam rising from ramyeon cups, while raining outside.
Jimin hummed absentmindedly. Yoongi suddenly looked up.
“You do that less now.”
Jimin blinked. “Do what?”
“Sound like a dying vacuum cleaner.”
Jimin gasped loudly. “Oh my god.”
“I’m serious.”
“That’s NOT a compliment.”
“It means you have improved.”
Jimin stared at him dramatically. “You believe in me.”
“I believe you’re slightly less terrible.”
“That’s basically love.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward anyway.
Jimin noticed.
Unfortunately for Yoongi, Jimin noticed everything lately.
Like how Yoongi automatically handed him the egg from his own ramyeon because Jimin liked it more, or how he stayed longer now, or how his gaze lingered sometimes before looking away quickly.
Interesting… Very interesting…
—————
The next night, Jimin decided to test a theory.
He deliberately sang badly. Like, offensively badly.
“I STILL BELIEVE~~ SOMEDAY YOU AND ME~~~”
A beat of silence, then, “You’re doing that on purpose.”
Jimin grinned. “You can tell?”
“You sounded better drunk.”
“Wow.”
“You skipped breathing support halfway through.”
Jimin blinked slowly. That was weirdly specific.
“You’ve been paying attention.”
“No I haven’t.”
“You know my breathing patterns.”
“I know suffering.”
Jimin stared at the wall thoughtfully before smirking to himself.
This was getting fun.
He walked closer to the shared wall and lowered his voice dramatically.
“Yoongi.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say.”
“I know enough.”
Jimin bit back a laugh.
“Come over.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“I bought a cake.”
Another pause.
“What kind?”
“Chocolate.”
Five seconds later, there was knocking at his door.
Jimin opened it with a smug grin.
“You came fast.”
Yoongi looked unimpressed.
“You said cake. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Hmmkay.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Hmmkay.”
Yoongi narrowed his eyes immediately.
“Why do you keep saying it like that?”
Jimin leaned against the doorway.
“Because you like me.”
“No I don’t.”
“You literally came over for cake at 10PM.”
“I came over because you can’t be trusted alone with frosting.”
“That sounded affectionate.”
“That sounded concerned.”
Jimin laughed brightly as he moved aside to let him in.
Yoongi stopped for half a second. Just half.
But Jimin caught the way his expression softened hearing the laugh. And suddenly, the teasing felt different now.
Less sharp, warmer, like neither of them actually wanted to win anymore.
—————
“Absolutely not.”
Jimin pouted dramatically from the couch. “What do you mean absolutely not?”
Yoongi held the karaoke microphone away from him like it was a weapon.
“You cannot attempt Emotions again.”
“You’re limiting my artistry.”
“I’m protecting civilians.”
Jimin lunged for the microphone. Yoongi dodged easily, one hand on Jimin’s forehead to keep him away.
“Give it back!”
“You don’t deserve rights after that whistle note.”
“It was close!”
“It scared my soul out of my body.”
Jimin kept trying to grab the microphone while Yoongi laughed quietly for the first time in front of him.
Actually laughed, not the sarcastic little huffs.
A real laugh—soft and sudden and unfairly pretty.
Jimin froze. Yoongi froze too.
The apartment suddenly became very quiet.
“You have cute gums,” Jimin blurted out.
Yoongi’s face immediately flattened.
“What a horrifying sentence.”
“I’m serious.”
“You need to stop looking at me.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Yoongi stared at him for a second too long. Then sighed softly and looked away first, which felt significant.
Jimin’s stomach flipped weirdly.
To recover, he snatched the microphone back dramatically.
“Fine,” he announced. “I’ll sing something easier.”
Yoongi looked tired already.
“What now?”
Jimin grinned.
“All I Want for Christmas Is You.”
“It’s August.”
“And?”
“You’re mentally exhausting.” But he still stayed.
Stayed while Jimin sang badly on purpose just to hear Yoongi complain.
Stayed while sharing cake straight from the container.
Stayed until almost 3 AM, lying sideways on Jimin’s couch while absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.
At some point, Jimin started humming quietly again, softer this time. No dramatic belting, just gentle.
Yoongi glanced at him from the couch.
“That one sounds nice.”
Jimin looked over in surprise.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Jimin smiled unconsciously. And because he was terrible at handling sincerity, he immediately ruined the moment.
“You’re falling for me.”
Yoongi didn’t even look away this time.
“That sounds like a threat.”
—————
It happened slowly after that, which was annoying.
Jimin expected something dramatic for their eventual love story.
A kiss in the rain, maybe. Or a passionate confession. At the very least, a dramatic background soundtrack.
Instead, he got this:
“Move.”
“You move.”
“You’re sitting on my leg.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
Yoongi glared at him from beneath messy black hair while Jimin remained sprawled across his couch like an oversized cat.
Movie night had somehow become a regular thing now. So had late-night convenience store runs, and morning texts.
Yoongi was stealing Jimin’s hoodies while pretending he just got cold, which was ridiculous because the hoodies were pastel yellow and had tiny cherries on them.
“Yoongi,” Jimin said suddenly.
“What.”
“You’re wearing my hoodie again.”
Yoongi looked down at himself lazily. “Hm.”
“That’s boyfriend behavior.”
“That sounds fake.”
“You literally fed me strawberries earlier.”
“You almost choked.”
“You blew on the strawberry first.”
“You’re emotionally dramatic.”
Jimin narrowed his eyes, then paused. Because Yoongi’s hand was still absentmindedly resting on his ankle. It was warm, comfortable, natural, like they’d been doing this forever.
Something soft settled in Jimin’s chest.
Oh. Oh no.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” Yoongi asked slowly.
Jimin blinked. “...I think I’m in love with you.”
Silence. The movie continued playing, forgotten in the background.
Yoongi stared at him blankly, and then, “That’s awful timing.”
Jimin burst into offended laughter.
“What?!”
“You said it during a car chase scene.”
“I was having a moment.”
“You interrupted explosions.”
Jimin shoved him hard enough to make Yoongi laugh quietly.
And there it was again… That stupid laugh.
The one Jimin had become embarrassingly attached to.
Yoongi looked at him for a long second after that, fond in a way that made Jimin’s stomach feel weird. Then he sighed.
“You’re so annoying,” Yoongi murmured.
“That’s not a confession.”
“You sing like a broken ambulance.”
“Min Yoongi.”
“You leave your socks everywhere.”
“Oh my god.”
“You cry over animal videos.”
“Because they’re emotional!”
“And somehow,” Yoongi continued quietly. “I still look for you first when I get home, searching for the sound of a dying duck that I’ve mistakenly heard but actually you are singing I Stay In Love with You, and I am actually in love with you.”
Jimin’s breath caught.
Yoongi looked mildly horrified at himself for a second before muttering, “There. Happy?”
Jimin stared at him, then grinned so hard his cheeks hurt.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “You’re obsessed with me.”
“Like how you’re obsessed with Mariah.”
“Yoongi…” Jimin blushed so hard.
Yoongi immediately grabbed a pillow and shoved it into his face.
“I'll take it back.”
“You can’t take it back after my emotional vulnerability!”
“I absolutely can.”
Jimin laughed into the pillow before pulling it away.
“So, you love me too?”
Yoongi looked at him carefully, straight in his eyes with so much tenderness and honesty, like it really mattered.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do. I love you, Jimin.”
And maybe Jimin should’ve responded normally, maybe he should’ve kissed him gently, maybe he should’ve said something meaningful. Instead…
“DURURUTDUT— DURURUTDURUTDURT OH YEAHHH”
Yoongi groaned loudly as Jimin tackled him into the couch laughing.
The kiss happened somewhere between laughter and bickering—messy, smiling, perfect.
—————
Dating Yoongi changed surprisingly little.
Yoongi still insulted his singing daily. Jimin still sang anyway.
The only difference now was that Yoongi kissed him in between complaints.
“I thought you said Kokak. Are you a frog or something?”
“You kissed me five minutes ago.”
“And?”
“That should count as emotional support.”
“That should count as harassment.”
Jimin grinned before dramatically belting again.
“LOVE TAKES TIIIIIME~~~”
“You belong in vocal lessons.”
“Wow.”
But Yoongi was smiling when he said it.
He was always smiling now, especially when he thought Jimin wasn’t looking.
—————
Three months later, the apartment building officially turned against Park Jimin.
“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP SINGING!” Someone banged against the wall downstairs.
Another neighbor yelled from the hallway. “It’s midnight!”
Jimin froze mid-note, horrified. “Oh my god.”
From beside him, Yoongi barely looked up from his laptop.
“Rude.”
“You agree with them?”
Yoongi scoffed immediately.
“No.”
“But–”
A loud voice echoed from outside again. “HE CAN’T SING!”
That’s it. Yoongi’s expression flattened instantly.
Then, before Jimin could react, Yoongi stood up and marched toward the apartment door.
“Yoongi? Where are you go–”
He swung the door open aggressively.
“What?” He asked the neighbor.
The hallway neighbor froze. “He… He’s loud.”
“So are you.”
“He sounds terrible!”
Yoongi scoffed. “He’s improved.”
“That’s your defense?!” The neighbor argued.
“He used to sound worse.”
Jimin blinked. “...W-wow. Thank you for that?”
“You’re encouraging him!”
“No,” Yoongi replied calmly. “I’m dating him.”
Silence—complete, horrifying silence.
Jimin’s soul physically left his body.
The hallway neighbor blinked slowly. “Y-you’re what?”
Yoongi’s expression flattened. “What? Do you want to fight?”
“Yoongi,” Jimin whispered emotionally from behind him. “That was the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”
Yoongi turned to him with a level of furiousness, and said, “Stay inside.”
“You defended my honor.”
“You don’t have honor.”
“Eh? Wow? I thought we were allies here? Hello, Yoongi? This is me, oh?”
Yoongi crossed his arms and turned back to the neighbor. “And yet none of you complained when that couple in Room 4B kept moaning like dolphins for three months.”
Yoongi turned to one neighbor complaining. “And you, you never heard us complain about your awful acting.”
The hallway went silent.
Jimin stared from the couch in disbelief.
The neighbor sputtered. “That’s different!”
“No, it’s not.”
“He’s screaming!”
“He’s practicing!”
“He’s murdering Mariah Carey songs!”
Yoongi narrowed his eyes slightly. “And he’s doing his best.”
The neighbor looked too stunned to answer.
Meanwhile, Jimin’s entire soul ascended from his body, because—because Min Yoongi was defending his singing–his terrible, tragic, off-key singing.
Yoongi looked genuinely annoyed now.
“If you have a problem with his singing,” he continued flatly, “buy headphones.” Then he slammed the door shut.
Silence filled the apartment, and Yoongi turned around calmly, only to find Jimin staring at him with suspiciously shiny eyes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Jimin clutched his chest dramatically, like close to Mariah Carey’s emotional breakdown under the rain in a music video dramatic level.
“You defended me.”
“Because you looked sad. I don’t like you sad, never.”
“You basically threatened them.”
“They were being annoying.”
“You love me so much.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes and walked back toward the couch. Unfortunately for him, Jimin launched himself forward immediately.
“You’re whipped.”
“Get off.”
“You called my singing practice.”
“Technically, you are practicing.”
“You’re the best boyfriend ever.”
“You still sound bad.”
“But you love me so much, right? Even if I cannot hit Mariah’s notes?”
“I love you because of, in spite of, and despite everything. I love everything about you, Park Jimin. Don’t ever forget that.”
Jimin smiled widely, fighting back tears.
“Hmmkay.”
“Now, just do your thing. Go. Sing the next song. I’m listening.”
♡♡♡♡♡