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The night was nice. Yoongi’s apartment was filled to the brim with people. It wasn’t that many, in all actuality, only the seven of them, but the apartment was small, and a little cramped after the gift exchange. If anyone minded, nobody voiced it, so it was fine, Yoongi guessed. After majority of the people left (all except for Jimin), he began to clean up, the younger attempting to help, then getting distracted by one thing or another. Yoongi didn’t mind, it was fine.
Jimin was usually around recently. He would stay after when they all hung out, he would invite himself along with Yoongi to his studio, or bring him dinner on nights that Yoongi worked extra late. Jimin, at some point, had become sort of a fixture in his life. Always there. Yoongi didn’t mind.
He was just finishing the dishes when he heard Jimin screaming from the living room. Instinctively, he ran to see if the younger was okay.
“Hyung!” He was yelling as he peered out the window.
“What, what is it, are you hurt?” Yoongi rushed over to pat at Jimin’s body, searching for injury.
“No, hyung,” Jimin rolled his eyes and trained his attention outside. “Look,” he breathed. Yoongi glanced out the window and was taken aback. At some point during the night it had started snowing. Hard. There were nearly three inches on the ground already, and it was only about ten at night. Yoongi guessed none of them noticed because he usually kept the curtains closed. Jimin looked back to Yoongi, eyes shining with glee. “Can we go out?” Yoongi wondered why Jimin needed his permission when the older would, undoubtedly, agree to whatever the younger said, especially when he gave him that look.
“Sure,” Yoongi shrugged, looking back outside.
“Really?” Jimin tugged on his sleeve and when Yoongi met his eyes, they were almost gone because of how big his smile was.
“I don’t see why not,” Yoongi nodded, stepping away from the window and looking Jimin up and down. “You’re not going out in that, though.” Jimin glanced down at himself, suddenly realizing he only wore a sweatshirt and some jeans. “Those clothes won’t exactly keep you warm in the snow.”
“But I don’t have anything else with me,” Jimin’s voice was quiet.
“Well, I’ve got a full closet,” Yoongi took Jimin by the arm, effectively pulling the younger towards his bedroom.
“Are you sure I can use your clothes?” Jimin looked taken aback.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Yoongi laughed. “We’re friends, right?” Yoongi lightly shoved Jimin to sit on his bed while Yoongi tried to find clothes that would suit the weather for the both of them, effectively ignoring the mix of expressions that crossed the younger’s face. He hummed in concentration as he rummaged through his closet. He tossed a couple shirts towards Jimin, as well as a pair of joggers, and a larger pair of sweats, finding something similar for himself. “Do you have gloves?”
“No.” Yoongi threw his favorite ones at him.
“A scarf?”
“No.” Yoongi threw his favorite one at him.
“A hat?”
“No.” Yoongi threw his warmest one.
“Do I even have to ask if you have an extra pair of socks?” He sighed, throwing a pair as well, adding to the pile of fabric that Jimin had become.
“Yoongi-hyung, if you give me anything else, I’m going to be hot,” Jimin huffed.
“Well, excuse me for caring about your well-being,” Yoongi pouted as he walked toward the door, a pile of clothes in his hands. “I’ll change in the bathroom, you can change in here, and I’ll meet you in the living room.” Yoongi didn’t give the other time to answer before he walked out, shutting the door behind him.
Five minutes and two layers later, the pair sit on the living room couch looking like fluffy marshmallows, trying to tie each other's’ shoes around their gloves. It was kind of hard when neither of them could stop laughing. Eventually, though, they make it out the door in a heap of giggles and light touches.
Once they were out of the building, it was like a whole different planet. Jimin ran out a little and spun in a circle, snowflakes dancing dizzyingly around him.
“Wow,” he breathed. “The first snow of the year, isn’t it pretty, Hyung?” Yoongi stared on, watching the light from the streetlamp catch on the younger’s features, making him look like an angel surrounded by mundane things. It took Yoongi a second to realize he’d been spoken to.
“Y-yeah,” he stuttered out, silently cursing himself.
“Don’t be shy, hyung,” Jimin playfully tugged at his arm. “Let’s have a snowball fight!” His face lit up again, and Yoongi wanted death.
“No,” he said, flatly.
“Aw, come on,” Jimin pouted, leaning down to pick up some snow. “Are you scared?” He taunted as he worked the snow into a round ball.
“Jimin, no.” Yoongi’s voice was stern, but Jimin had a devilish gleam in his eyes.
“But it’ll be fun,” Jimin pouted and Yoongi knew it was fake.
“Jimin, I can name ten reasons why we should NOT have a-” he was hit in the face. Yoongi sputtered, trying to comprehend the betrayal. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, taking a deep breath, before opening them, revealing the fire that was burning behind his irises. “Jimin,” he hissed.
“Oh no, did I do something wrong?” Jimin sounded truly concerned, but Yoongi was too busy making ammo to think about it.
“Get ready, because this is war.”
It went on for a good ten minutes before they both got tired and decided to just sit in the snow. Yoongi’s adrenaline had worn off, and he was starting to feel slightly cold again, and he was sure Jimin felt the same way.
To anyone else it would looks strange. Two grown men sitting next to each other at nearly 11:30 pm right next to a sidewalk in front of an apartment building. But, to them, it was nice. Yoongi didn’t mind. They sat in silence for awhile before Jimin spoke.
“I won,” He said quietly, almost tiredly.
“Of course,” Yoongi agreed, even though he was sure it was obvious to them both that that was false. Yoongi stood, reaching out his hand for Jimin to take.
It all happened so fast that Yoongi wasn’t even sure what had happened until it was already over. Jimin stood, slipped on some ice, his arms wrapping instinctively around Yoongi’s neck, the latter’s hands finding the younger’s waist. The sudden shift in the air was impossible to ignore at such proximity. Yoongi knew that Jimin felt it too.
“Are you okay?” He asked, breath mingling with Jimin’s.
“I think so.” But neither of them moved. They stared into each other’s eyes as Yoongi tried not to think about what was different between them. If this were anyone else, he would have let them fall, and even laughed at them. But not Jimin. Never Jimin.
Yoongi brought his fingers to brush Jimin’s hair from his eyes. The blonde locks had snowflakes scattered throughout them, and Yoongi lightly touched one and whispered “Beautiful.” He wasn’t sure if he was talking about the snow anymore. It was fine. Yoongi didn’t mind.
They were brought out of their brief reverie by a loud horn honking somewhere close by. They jumped back from each other on impulse.
“Inside?” Yoongi suggested a little too quickly.
“Yes.” Jimin agreed just the same. “Inside,” his voice was quieter.
Ten minutes later, they were cuddling on the couch, layers upon layers of clothes scattered about, forgotten in their attempt to get the wet fabric off their chilled bodies. Shivering, Yoongi had brought out his fluffiest blanket, both of them curling into the other for warmth.
“Jimin?” Yoongi poked the younger's cheek with the hand that had been curled around his shoulder.
“Hmm?”
“Hungry?”
“A little.”
“Wanna make some cookies?” Jimin turned his head to meet Yoongi’s eyes.
“It’s like 11:30,” Jimin scrunched his nose.
“Well, you planned on staying the night anyway, didn’t you?” Yoongi asked incredulously.
“I did?” Jimin looked genuinely surprised.
“Well,” Yoongi shrugged. “Sure, I mean, like you said, it’s 11:30, and you’d have to walk home, which is like a solid ten minutes, so…” Yoongi trailed off, face heating up. “I just assumed.”
“Good point,” Jimin sighed. “Cookies it is then,” his face shifted into a bright smile that Yoongi thought should be illegal, because since when did his heart do that?
Yoongi worked around Jimin with ease. The latter had no real baking experience, so it was mostly Yoongi doing all of the baking, and Jimin reading him the recipe. Yoongi didn’t mind. It was fine.
Except for the fact that the pair literally couldn’t even make eye contact without blushing like teenagers. It was a little difficult to breathe with how thick the air felt.
Yoongi pushed the tray of cookie dough into the oven, and straightened up to close it, but when he turned around, he was pressed chest to chest with Jimin.
“Sorry!” The younger squeaked without moving. “I was just putting the cooling rack on the counter, I’m sorry.” Yoongi could smell the hot chocolate he’d had earlier on Jimin’s breath, and he wondered if his lips still tasted like it.
“It’s okay,” Yoongi’s voice was lower than he’d meant it to be. Once he was able to stop tracing Jimin’s mouth with his eyes, Yoongi looked to see that Jimin was staring back at him with a questioning gaze, and the older knew that he was feeling the same thing. They slowly inched toward each other, hesitantly, before Jimin finally closed the distance. The peck was short, sweet, and definitely tasted like hot chocolate and a little bit of something that tasted suspiciously like cookie dough, but Yoongi didn’t question it. When Jimin pulled back, scared, Yoongi chased after him, backing the younger up so the small of Jimin’s back was against the counter, and Yoongi caged him in with his arms.
Jimin’s hands felt their way up Yoongi’s body, settling in his hair, lips still moving languidly against one another. It was slow, passionate, exactly like Jimin. Yoongi tilted his head to deepen the kiss, but Jimin pulled back, emitting a sound of displeasure from the back of Yoongi’s throat.
“Yoongi,” he was out of breath, and his lips were swollen, and Yoongi could look at that all day. “You have to watch the cookies,” his eyes were still closed, breathing heavy and labored.
“I’m more than 90% sure that I forgot to turn the oven on,” Yoongi spoke softly, still attempting to memorize Jimin’s face.
“You’re a mess,” Jimin said lightly, and Yoongi brought their foreheads to rest against each other, closing his eyes as well.
“Yeah,” he breathed, ducking back down for another kiss. “I am.”