Chapter Text
Jimin remembers it like it was yesterday. Fresh out of college—the job hunting, the restless nights full of worry and wondering if he could even land a job, and that’s when it happened.
If anyone had told him where the email he had opened that morning when he learned that he had gotten his dream job would have led him, he would have probably laughed.
It’s been three years since he opened that email. Three years since he walked through the door of the school with nervous flutters in his stomach as he was turned around multiple times, unable to find his classroom—only to end up in the wrong classroom and set up a few of his things before a dark-haired man had stepped in, cocking his head and chuckling a bit as he asked him what on earth he was doing in his classroom.
“Oh! I am so sorry,” Jimin had practically squeaked. He was a fumbling mess as he went to grab his things. “It’s my first day a-and I got a little turned around to say the least.”
“Your first day?” the man hummed, brows furrowing. “Oh! You must be the new art teacher.”
“Y-yeah,” Jimin stammered. “Art teacher.”
“So, why did you think this was your classroom? Y’know, the one with all the instruments?”
Oh, he could have died right there as he glanced around the room and the dark-haired man wasn’t wrong, there were quite a plethora of drums and recorders and then a wall lined with cased instruments and, wow, did he feel incredibly stupid as he bowed, apologizing profusely.
The man chuckled, a breathless sound that Jimin didn’t know would come to mean so much to him before he had moved to help him gather up his things. It wasn’t much, just some pens he had already lined meticulously across the desk, and some worn out, old pastels he had brought from his own collection.
“I’m Yoongi,” he said as he handed the pastels into a set of nervous hands.
“Yoongi—” Jimin echoed, eyes looking over the soft features of the one set out before him, only to move back to his sharp eyes. “Yoongi—” he said once more and Yoongi only chuckled, and to this day, Jimin swears that a little hint of pink dusted over his cheeks.
“What?” Yoongi asked, albeit shy.
“It just suits you, that’s all,” Jimin grinned. “I’m Jimin.”
Yoongi reached a bony hand out in offer, the tips of his fingers dusted in different colors where had picked up the pastels and Jimin almost dropped everything in his hands as he reached until those rainbow-colored fingers met his own skin. “It’s really nice to meet you,” he said just as the bell rang and his eyes shot wide open, internal panic setting in because he still had no earthly clue where he was going.
Yoongi laughed softly again. “Down the hall, the very last room on the left is the art room.”
Jimin bowed again, reluctant to pull his hand away from Yoongi’s warm grasp before haphazardly tossing his supplies back into his book bag. “Thank you,” he chirped, cheeks meeting his eyes amidst a smile. “Thank you a thousand times over!”
It was later that day as Jimin was scrubbing out paint containers vigorously, tears prickling at his eyes as he bit back soft whimpers that a warm hand grasped his shoulder and he practically jerked, startled by the sudden touch and then a flood of embarrassment the moment that his wet eyes met those of the music teacher.
Yoongi’s eyes widened, his soft smile disappearing as his lips parted to speak and Jimin was quick to interject. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing, really,” he sputtered out as he turned back to scrubbing the paint cups.
“Hey, hey,” Yoongi leaned down on the counter by the sink until he could see Jimin’s face. How embarrassing, Jimin must have seemed insane to say the least to the soft-spoken music teacher. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said, reaching to turn off the faucet.
“It’s really nothing,” he mumbled, wiping his face over the sleeve of his shirt. “Just—the principal came in to evaluate me for my first day and she kept mumbling under her breath and looking at me with those beady eyes before scoffing and scribbling things down on her clipboard and—” he sighed. “I spilled paint all over my new pants right in front of her and I’m sure I made a horrible first impression.”
Yoongi cocked his head in the same way he had earlier that morning, eyes falling for a moment to the legs of Jimin’s khakis which were now an array of greens and blues before he laughed, actually laughed.
Jimin’s brows furrowed together, because maybe the music teacher wasn’t as nice as he seemed that morning and he wanted to protest, tell him he was horrible for laughing but for some odd reason, he didn’t feel mad. “What is it? What’s so funny?”
“My first day, whenever I was being evaluated, I tripped over a drum and fell over one of the kids and he cried for what felt like hours and then,” Yoongi shook his head, and the pink that Jimin swore he saw that morning had found its way back to his cheeks. “I accidently threw a drumstick while I was talking about rhythm and hit Mrs. An, the principal, square in the face.”
Jimin gasped, paint all over his pants long forgotten, fingers still settled in the colorful water in the sink wrinkling up more and more by the second. “Y-you did?”
“Yep,” Yoongi nodded, “And I’m still here. I’ve been here for almost two years. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” He smiled, reaching to turn the faucet back on before standing up straight. He only stood a little taller than Jimin and the way he had his eyes fixed on the younger made him feel like his skin was on fire.
“Green suits you,” he mumbled.
“What?” Jimin asked, quickly looking down at his own slacks, embarrassment burning bright in his very being.
“No, no,” Yoongi said as Jimin’s eyes moved back to meet his. He chuckled lightly as he pointed at his own cheek and Jimin would be lying if he said he wasn’t mortified to find out he had taught class for most of the day with green paint splattered all over his cheek.
-
It was a few weeks later that Jimin was stumbling into the teacher’s lounge, dropping paint cans and spilling leftover paste all over his favorite shirt. It had been one of those days. The kids were maniacal, and he was pretty sure one of them had actually growled at him whenever he told him that he couldn’t eat the strips of newspaper after dipping them into the glue. It wasn’t icing, and he was a little worried with how many times he had to repeat that.
His shoulders were tense. Eyes already heavy from staying up so late the night before as he prepped their craft, and he was doing his best to ignore the fact that his brand-new shoes stuck to the tile floor a little more with every step he took.
He couldn’t wait to get home, he only had to make it to the sink in one piece and then he could head home for the night and then the next day was Friday—something to truly look forward to. It was all he could think about, finally feeling caught up enough on lesson prep to finally be able to go out with his friends like he did so often back in college. If things would have went as he was hoping, he would have been out of there in twenty minutes, but Park Jimin knows that there are days when the universe is absolutely against him and that day in particular—it was out to see him completely defeated as he watched the paint cans finally crash to the ground with a near ear shattering crash and his heart sank as he watched the white floor become blanketed in purple and pink.
“Are you kidding me?” he groaned out, shoulders slumping.
“Do you not have a sink in your classroom?”
He thought he had been alone, and his heart perked up a bit as his eyes shot over to find Yoongi sitting at one of the tables on the far side of the lounge. He smiled instantly only to be met in turn in with exhausted, bloodshot eyes and that’s when his heart fell back to the very depths of his chest.
Yoongi turned the moment that Jimin’s face contorted to worry, his eyes landing on something else in the room that was just so much more interesting.
“Are you—” Jimin was hesitant, though he remembered how Yoongi had comforted him on his first day. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he forced out a smile with his words, eyes still on something else in the room.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Jimin chanced to take a few steps closer, though unsure of whether he was welcome or not.
Yoongi shook his head, his eyes falling to his lap as he huffed and Jimin only watched carefully, doing his best to read his movements. “Sometimes I just feel like I’m not doing enough,” he whispered, biting down on his own lip.
“Hey,” Jimin soothed, sitting in the chair across from Yoongi. “We all feel that way sometimes. It’s okay to feel that way, really.”
The moment Yoongi’s eyes moved back up to meet his, he couldn’t explain why it had hurt him so badly. “For some of these kids, we’re all they have—” his lip wobbled a bit, and Jimin’s heart followed the motion. “What if I’m not doing enough to help them?”
Jimin had spent the next thirty minutes consoling Yoongi with hesitant hands moving across the worn-out plastic table, doing everything he could to ease any doubt that the music teacher had. They spent the next thirty minutes after on their knees trying to clean up the pink and purple from the white floor as they fought back quiet laughter, and to this day, there’s still a slight discoloration of pink across the white tiles.
They ended up talking in the parking lot until the sun set and Jimin was wrapping his arms around himself, shivering because that autumn had been a particularly cold one.
But the wind and goosebumps etching his skin were long forgotten as Yoongi dug in the backseat of his car to pull out a coat that somehow swallowed Jimin whole even though Yoongi really wasn’t bigger than him. He almost said no, cheeks burning hot as he promised that he would be okay, but Yoongi had insisted, slipping his coat over his shoulders without hesitance.
“You like cocoa?” Yoongi asked, quickly dipping his hands into his own pockets as his feet scuttled over the asphalt.
“Cocoa?”
“I know a place that has really amazing cocoa,” he smiled, but his eyes quickly moved down to the follow the actions of his feet.
“Yeah, okay,” Jimin smiled, trying to keep his heart from lurching the moment he saw Yoongi’s shy smile play at the edges of his lips upon hearing his words. “I like cocoa.”
“This is McDonalds!” Jimin couldn’t help but laugh the moment they pulled into the parking lot.
“Yes, and they have damn good cocoa,” Yoongi smirked as he parked the car. “Here or to-go?”
Jimin hummed, a smile still tugging at his lips. “To-go.”
“As you wish,” he moved to get out the car, swatting Jimin’s hands away as he tried to hand him his card. “I’m the hyung, it’s on me.”
Jimin still to this day doesn’t know why such a small gesture caused him to blush like it did.
Yoongi returned to the car a few moments later, two cups of cocoa in hand before sliding back into his seat after a fight to open the door without spilling a single drop. “Hope you don’t mind,” he murmured as he handed a cup to Jimin, “I had them add something special.”
Jimin thanked him, already blowing across the top of the beverage and he couldn’t help but smile as the subtle hint of mint filled his nose. It was one of his favorite flavors, and he wondered how Yoongi somehow knew.
The car fell silent for a moment, save for the low static hum of the radio fading in and out before Yoongi spoke. “So, tell me a little about yourself,” he said, eyes looking out the windshield as he sipped on his cocoa.
Jimin couldn’t help but chuckle, “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Why you became a teacher, most embarrassing moment—everything.”
The younger hummed, “I became a teacher because, well, I just love to help others and what’s better than teaching upcoming generations, especially in a world where everyone is so dependent on technology—it’s nice to teach them something a little more hands-on that they may not be learning at home. And—” he took a slow sip of the warm drink, “If you want to know my most embarrassing moment, you’ll have to take me on a date first.” He still remembers how hot his cheeks turned after his sudden outburst of boldness.
“Is this not a date?” Yoongi turned towards him with his eyes wide.
“What? I mean—maybe it is, wait—I don’t know,” Jimin stammered, reaching to roll the window down to try to stop the blush on his cheeks from traveling all the way down his neck. “I mean—who knows, why? Do you want it to be?”
Yoongi choked on his cocoa, hand quickly coming to cover his face. “I mean—Maybe.”
“What if I want it to be?”
Neither of them was looking at one another by this point, eyes fixed out the car windows—cheeks aflame.
“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” Yoongi mumbled, and Jimin couldn’t help but smile.
That’s how they found themselves walking through the park until three o’clock in the morning, and even though it was so cold, Jimin had never felt so warm in his entire life as he carried on, telling Yoongi all about his life.
He told him of his love for books, and his ever-growing collection that he would, in fact, read some day, his favorite movies—they had several different opinions there—and how he couldn’t wait to settle down one day, couldn’t wait to have kids and he thinks it may be a little silly, but Yoongi had looked at him with stars in his eyes amidst every word. Jimin thinks that might have been the night that he fell in love.
-
Most mornings, he’s pretty sure that he wakes with a smile. Even amidst a hazy fog of sleep, Jimin waits patiently for his tired eyes to focus as they find Yoongi across the bed.
They fall asleep wrapped up in one another, always waking apart, but no matter what—Yoongi always has his hand clutched tightly at the base of Jimin’s shirt, much like he will fade away if he doesn’t hold on for dear life.
They always have the weekends off, though they spend much of their time catching up on work that they weren’t able to get to throughout the week. The perks of being a music and an art teacher, however, is that they never have many papers to grade.
This is the first time since Jimin can remember in a long time that they’ve been able to clear a whole day just for themselves.
He’s spent most of his morning on the couch, curled up in Yoongi’s favorite sweatshirt. His fingers absentmindedly tug at the hem where it’s beginning to fray. He’ll have to remember to pick up some thread soon because he won’t know what to do with himself should it get much worse than it already is.
His fingers clutch a little tighter against the mug of coffee that’s resting on his knees, feeling it turn lukewarm beneath his fingertips. His eyes are distracted, and he hesitantly moves his fingers from the hem of the sweatshirt to turn the page of the photo album laying in his lap.
Jimin has always been sentimental. He snaps more photos a day than he can count, but only a few are worthy to be printed off and placed in the album.
His favorite is the first photo. It’s from their first official date when he walked out of the doors of the school to Yoongi leaning against the hood of his car, clutching a bouquet of flowers tightly to his chest. He remembers how shocked the elder looked whenever Jimin agreed to go with him, and they spent their evening by the river, not doing much else besides talking.
“You’re looking at that old thing again?” Yoongi’s voice fills the room, nearly startling Jimin. His eyes shoot up from the photos to find a sleepy smile and sleepier eyes looking at him, nearly hidden beneath a mop of black hair that’s sticking up on the side.
“Just reminiscing,” Jimin smiles, tugging his lip between his teeth.
“About what?” Yoongi asks as he steps forward to tug the coffee mug out of Jimin’s grasp, his eyes never once leave his husband’s.
“About that day we went to the park,” he shrugs, fighting a giggle at Yoongi’s scowl as he tastes how incredibly sweet Jimin’s coffee is. “It was three years ago today.”
“Was it really?” Yoongi’s eyes grow wide, scowl completely washing away from his features.
Jimin nods as his eyes move back to the pictures. They’re amazing. They make his heart swell, but they’re nothing compared to the real thing as Yoongi’s weight causes the cushions of the couch to shift.
Yoongi sighs contently and Jimin can feel his eyes burning holes through his skin.
“What is it?” Jimin asks, his cheeks igniting a bit.
“Is it just me or have you gotten prettier?” Yoongi whispers, and Jimin can smell the coffee on his breath.
Even after four years, he still makes him blush like there’s no tomorrow. Like it’s the first time.
“I’m getting old,” Jimin jokes. “Probably starting to get wrinkles.”
“Let me see,” Yoongi’s fingertips meet Jimin’s chin, forcing their eyes to connect and his husband’s gaze is nothing but warm as his dark eyes look over every feature. “Nope,” he says quickly. “You’ve definitely gotten prettier. I swear, you’ll be the death of me, Park Jimin.”
Jimin has to fight a bubble of laughter back at the sight of the goofy smile that’s now taking over Yoongi’s entire face. He can’t, though. He just settles for tugging his husband in a little closer, allowing their lips to brush before he presses a soft kiss against chapped, caramel coffee flavored lips.
“What on earth do you want?” Jimin narrows his eyes, and Yoongi’s widen a bit with his question.
“Nothing,” his husband finally chuckles out, head tipping back with the action. “It’s just that our second wedding anniversary is coming up next month and I was wondering if perhaps you had anything in mind that you wanted to do.”
It’s not that Jimin had forgotten about their anniversary, it’s more that he’s always perfectly content with everything between them. They didn’t have the money to do anything extravagant for their first wedding anniversary, and it’s never bothered him.
Jimin shrugs. “We can go eat at that one place you like.”
“I think that I chose last year,” Yoongi pokes at Jimin’s cheek. “It’s your turn.”
Jimin hums, finally closing the photo album on his lap. “It’s on a Saturday. Maybe we can visit the farmer’s market. We can buy some fresh food, make a huge dinner, get a little wine drunk. It’s been a while since we’ve been able to do something like that.”
Yoongi’s shoulders sag a little as he finishes off the cup of coffee, clearly buying a little bit of time before saying anything. “That’s really what you wanna do?”
Jimin looks back and forth between Yoongi’s eyes for a moment before nodding. He means it. It sounds like the perfect evening.
Yoongi looks back at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly before he offers a quick nod. “Then that’s just what we’ll do,” he smiles wide, gums on full display. “But what about today and tomorrow? What should we do?”
“You don’t have anything you need to work on?” Jimin asks, eyes wide. Yoongi is the worst procrastinator he’s ever met, and it wouldn’t surprise him to know he hasn’t graded any of his music quizzes in two weeks or more and was saving them for Sunday.
Yoongi shakes his head, thumbing at the rim of the coffee mug. “I’m all caught up. Graded everything yesterday during free period. Wanted to spend some time with you.”
“You did?” Jimin smiles, head hitting the back of the couch as he reaches out to intertwine his fingers with his husband’s. “You did that for me?”
Yoongi scoots over, his nose pressing against Jimin’s cheek before his lips follow suit, leaving a burning fire beneath the delicate skin. “I’ve missed you.”
-
The sun slowly dips below the far-off mountains. The sounds of the small city are dying down, and only the rushing sound of a car every now and again disturbs the silence. The warm oranges and pinks from the sun are illuminating against Yoongi’s cheeks as he sips down a little more of the cheap wine that they had grabbed on their way home from dinner.
Jimin can feel the wine beginning to course through him, he feels like he’s floating as he finishes the last of his glass.
They’ve been talking about silly things they did as teenagers for most of the night, before they knew one another. Before they found themselves. There is something so very nostalgic about talking of the times when they were just trying to find who they were supposed to be.
When there weren’t any bills in the picture, nor jobs or responsibilities. Just nights with wine coolers stolen from the refrigerator in their parent’s garage.
Yoongi is in the middle of telling the story of the first time he got drunk when he was eighteen. His friend had bought some cheap alcohol, something overly sweet, he thinks it might have been hard lemonade. Jimin already knows every detail of the story, but it doesn’t make his heart swoop any less as Yoongi scrunches his nose, embarrassed by how young and dumb he had once been.
“We were in a hot tub,” he chuckles, reaching to pour more wine into his glass. “I kept having to get out to pee, and my friend kept telling me that I couldn’t go inside because their parents were home, so every few minutes I would hop out and just go pee on the deck. It was so disgusting,” he shudders, and Jimin smiles. It’s getting close to his favorite part. “Seokjin was the only one of us who could drive at the time, so he came to pick us up to take us to some party. I threw up those god-awful drinks all over the living room.”
Jimin reaches to tug Yoongi’s wine glass from his grasp, taking a sip of it, nearly grimacing at how horrible it tastes, yet it burns just right.
“I vaguely remember—I think it was Seokjin—pouring mouthwash all over the floor, trying to clean it up,” he shakes his head. “I couldn’t stop laughing, but when I found out what I had done the next morning, when it really set in, I was mortified.”
“You left out my favorite part,” Jimin giggles, his cheeks warm from the wine.
Yoongi’s eyes widen, his cheeks are flushed too. “Which part?”
“The part where you danced on the stripper pole!” he giggles out breathlessly, words laced in a hiccup. He doesn’t remember being such a lightweight, but they don’t get to do things like this often, so it must just be that his tolerance has gone down.
His head rests against the back of the patio chair, his eyes never leaving Yoongi as his husband scrunches his nose once more. “I left that part out on purpose,” he murmurs and Jimin sighs.
“You told me that story on our first real date when you were trying to trick me into telling you my most embarrassing story,” he reaches far, nearly toppling out of the chair as he pokes at Yoongi’s cheek. “Don’t think that I’ve forgotten. I have every detail of it burned into my mind.”
“I’m still convinced that the story you told me isn’t your most embarrassing,” Yoongi side eyes him, playfully nipping towards Jimin’s finger, though he bites down on his lip instead and winces.
“Oh?” Jimin giggles, suddenly sitting up and crossing his legs as what little is left of his wine sloshes around. “You mean the one where I worked at that chicken place?”
“Don’t,” Yoongi groans.
“And we were about to close, so I was doing the clean-up, singing my heart out and turned to find a customer standing there, wide-eyed and then he started clapping as he told me I put on an amazing performance?” he winks playfully and Yoongi scowls.
“I said don’t!” Yoongi pouts.
“You jealous?” Jimin sticks his tongue out and jostles around on the chair a little more, nearly losing his balance as he reaches for his husband’s hand.
Yoongi is a little dramatic, especially when he’s had enough to drink and Jimin knows this—it’s why he can’t help but to egg him on. “More jealous of the part where you two went out a few times after.”
“Aw, Yoonie,” Jimin muses, unable to bite back his smile. “You know, he was the most handsome guy I had ever seen, and I used to blush like an idiot every time he would come into the store.”
“Way to rub it in,” Yoongi’s pout protrudes a little more when he finds that the bottle of wine is empty.
“The most handsome guy,” he whispers, scooting forward and forcing the chair to screech across the concrete of their balcony with it. “Until I met you.”
The way Yoongi instantly hides his face for a moment has Jimin swooning. The wine has completely taken over, and he knows that portions of this evening will be fuzzy for the rest of his life, but he tries really hard to engrave the pink across Yoongi’s cheeks into his mind.
It takes a moment before Yoongi looks back to him. His shyness still hasn’t gone away even though they’ve been together for so long, and that’s why the way that he reaches to grip the back of Jimin’s neck to pull him into a kiss takes him by surprise.
He nearly drops his glass of wine, but even if he did, he wouldn’t care. He’s putty beneath Yoongi’s fingertips as they graze lightly over the skin of his neck, playfully dipping beneath the collar of his sweater that he thought he needed because it seemed to be getting chilly out on their way home.
Yoongi grips the back of his neck, his fingers pressing in a little more, coaxes Jimin to tilt his head and fall pliant. It’s always been like this. He’ll always melt, and even more so as Yoongi’s tongue playfully swipes over his own lip before he’s pulling back.
He watches the way that Yoongi’s tongue darts out to lick his own lips in the fading light of the sun. It’s a mere moment later that his husband smiles, wide, and a low chuckle washes into the air.
“God, you taste like shitty wine,” he teases and Jimin slaps his forearm before pulling him into another dizzy kiss.
-
Jimin wishes he could have fixed a better dinner since their weekend of doing nothing but being together is coming to an end. As teachers, they really don’t make much money. Most of their income goes to bills and paying for their apartment that they really don’t need, but when Jimin imagines living somewhere without the view of the mountains like their home—well, he actually really can’t imagine it.
So, while trying to save money, they’ve also been cutting down on food waste. He really hated to repurpose the chicken he had made Friday night into a stew, even felt a little ashamed as he sat it down on the table in front of Yoongi—though he shoveled every spoonful into his mouth and told Jimin how delicious it was.
He wishes he could do more for his husband, and perhaps he’s still feeling a little worn down from the wine hangover he had woken up with that morning, but he’s exhausted. He’s only 23, but for some reason, his bones hurt today.
He pins it on the lack of water he drank in between his much too full glasses of wine, swears he can still taste the cheap drink on his tongue.
He’s in the middle of washing dishes, imagining how good it’ll feel to finally sink down into their mattress. He’s nearly done, rinsing out one of the last bowls, and can hear Yoongi humming from the living room over the running water.
It’s faint, barely there, but he recognizes the tune instantly. He can’t help but smile, and everything is so warm in a way that he can’t pin it on the glass of wine he had with his soup. It’s warm in the way that he can see hues of peach decorating the horizon through the kitchen window, and he swears that they’ve melted into the kitchen, wrapping around him like a blanket.
The moment he turns off the water, already reaching for a towel to dry his hands, he notices that the humming has stopped and can hear the faint sound of rustling paper where Yoongi is reading over his lesson plan. The song has stopped, but Jimin knows where he left off as he begins to put the dishes back in their rightful place.
“How deep is your love? How deep is your love?” he sings softly, remembering the first time he heard the song through the low static hum of the radio in Yoongi’s car that night when they went out for hot cocoa. “I really need to learn. ‘Cause we’re livin’ in a world of fools, breaking us down—”
The sound of papers rustling has stopped. The last dish is in its home.
Everything is so warm, and even more so as Yoongi’s hands are suddenly on Jimin’s waist to spin him around, and he’s smiling that same smile that he did in the teacher’s lounge when there was green on Jimin’s cheek.
“When they all should let us be,” Jimin giggles out as Yoongi moves in to nuzzle against his cheek and he’s already forcing the younger to sway his hips, and he can practically hear the music—he feels it in his veins, his bones, and even his soul as Yoongi husks out a quiet,
“We belong to you and me.”
His breath washes over Jimin’s jawline with the words of the song. The one from all those nights ago, and then from their wedding night as the goofily danced amongst friends, creating their own little world as they sang out the lyrics at the top of their lungs with mouths that tasted like the cheapest wine they could buy in bulk.
“You are getting prettier,” Yoongi says, like he’s had some sort of revelation as his fingertips trace of Jimin’s cheek and even over the dark circles under his eyes because he’s still exhausted, but for a moment, he’s forgotten that his bones hurt.
Jimin can’t help but smile as Yoongi starts humming out the second verse to the song, and they always get lost in one another. It’s one of the reasons they make their coworkers sick, one of the reasons their friends make faces when they’re all together.
“And you come to me on a summer breeze,” Jimin sings out, voice turning shaky as Yoongi’s lips meet the column of his neck, but only for a moment before his husband is smiling and looking back into his eyes.
“Keep me warm in your love, then you softly leave,” he mumbles as his fingers intertwine with Jimin’s and he’s being led to the living room where there are papers scattered across the coffee table, but neither of them pay them any mind. Yoongi still whispers out the words of the song, “And it’s me you need to show.”
It’s like a whirlwind. Jimin is seated on Yoongi’s lap in the blink of an eye. His knees are on either side of Yoongi’s hips, digging into the worn-out cushions of their couch—the one they found at a yard sale.
Yoongi’s fingertips trace over Jimin’s plush lips, his eyes hold a universe while he looks at his husband like he is the universe. His ministrations cause Jimin’s song to come out with a giggle.
“How deep is your love?”
And then Yoongi is laying Jimin down on the couch, his hands tracing the outline of his body. Jimin wishes that he had a camera to remember this moment, he wants to remember the way that Yoongi is looking at him before he leans down to capture his lips, and the younger can’t help but sigh into the kiss as he easily becomes undone beneath such loving touches.
Papers fall onto the old hardwood floor of their apartment, and they couldn’t care less.
-
Jimin can’t remember how he made it to their bed last night. He remembers faint whispers in the dark of their living room, and maybe that’s when Yoongi coaxed him into following him to their bedroom.
The other side of the bed is empty, and the alarm clock on Yoongi’s side of the bed is going off. Jimin tries to reach across the bed without having to move his whole body, but then he’s inching his way onto Yoongi’s side, trying to get that incessant sound to stop.
A faint light from the bathroom becomes brighter as Yoongi opens the door and it floods the entirety of their room. Yoongi is already dressed, struggling with the button on the sleeve of his dress shirt as he steps across the room and tugs Jimin’s hand away from where it’s reaching toward the button of the alarm clock. The horrible buzzing stops.
“Morning gorgeous,” he says quietly, and Jimin’s brows furrow as his tired eyes still try to adjust to the light, but a weak smile tugs at his mouth as Yoongi brings the back of Jimin’s hand to his lips.
“You’re up early,” Jimin starts burrowing back into the sheets, realizing how dry his mouth is. His head is nestled against Yoongi’s pillow the moment his hand is free.
“Need to finish my lesson plan,” Yoongi shrugs as he grabs the pair of socks he had left on the foot of the bed like he does every morning.
Jimin’s eyes widen, and he shoots up from the bed and he winces as he notices the dull throb at the base of his head, and Yoongi looks back at him in a silent question. “I didn’t even start on mine,” he mutters, hand flying up to massage at the spot because now the throbbing is moving up toward the top of his head.
“You’ll do great,” Yoongi chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to Jimin’s temple before he leans back, and his eyes are already full of concern. “You alright, babe?”
“Don’t,” Jimin huffs. “Don’t feel so well.”
“You can’t play sick just because you didn’t finish your lesson plan,” Yoongi teases as he stands up to slip on his shoes.
Jimin rolls his neck, cringing a little with how many times it cracks before he huffs. He’s going to be late if he doesn’t get a move on. He stretches out his legs, and then his arms, before swinging himself over to plant his feet on the cool hardwood of their room.
“We’re never drinking wine again,” Jimin huffs. “Feel like my veins are dried up.”
Yoongi turns, brows furrowed as he rounds the bed. “You didn’t drink enough to feel like that,” he murmurs, pressing his hand to Jimin’s forehead. “You really feel that bad?”
Jimin shrugs. Maybe it’s just the stress from work, an eerie sadness lacing itself within him because his weekend alone with Yoongi is over. “Probably dehydrated.”
Yoongi kneels, his hands dipping lightly into the skin of Jimin’s bare thighs. “Want me to run to the store to get you anything? The one on the corner should be open—”
Jimin shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll have some water, take a nice long shower. I’ll be okay,” he smiles, and Yoongi returns it in full force before leaning up to steal a quick kiss, but he playfully grimaces after.
“Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” he jokes and Jimin reaches to smack his husband, but Yoongi is already in front of the mirror of their dresser, fumbling with his tie. “Is it okay if I take the bus to work? The drums need to be tuned and it’s hard to do it in a room full of loud kids.”
Jimin pouts slightly. Their commute to work is one of his favorite things, but nevertheless he forces a nod. “Yeah,” he says, stretching his arms out one more time as he watches Yoongi’s brows furrow over the knot in his tie. “But you can’t skip out on the ride home. We need to get groceries and you know I don’t like to go alone.”
Yoongi is silent, his eyes still fixed on his tie as he undoes it, focusing on it and Jimin finally stands before making his way to where his husband is. He grabs the silky material and forces Yoongi to turn to him. “Did you hear me?” he says, trying not to giggle at how annoyed Yoongi looks over his tie.
He’s already readjusting the tie and Yoongi’s eyes are all over him, makes him feel like his skin is on fire in the best of ways as he crosses the material over itself.
“Of course, baby,” Yoongi says, his fingertips coming up to brush the dark mess of waves out of Jimin’s eyes. “Otherwise, you’d forget the milk.”
Jimin chuckles as he tightens the knot of the tie, his own fingertips tap over the material and he nods. It looks good. Yoongi has never been good at tying his own ties.
His husband leans forward to capture his lips quickly once again, and Jimin knows his kiss too well. It’s his silent goodbye until he sees him at work in a little under two hours. “Be safe for me, alright? I left the keys to the car on the counter. The battery in the remote is dead, so you’ll have to manually unlock the doors, okay?”
“I know, I know,” Jimin smiles, finally tugging out of Yoongi’s grasp—already missing the warmth where his fingers were twisting into the material of his shirt. “I’m gonna go shower. Don’t forget your bus pass.”
Yoongi’s eyes widen, and Jimin bites back a smile before his husband is tugging it out of the drawer that he keeps it in with Jimin’s jewelry. “Dunno what I’d do without you,” he says quickly, and he’s stepping across the dim light of their bedroom once again to press a quick kiss to Jimin’s forehead. “See you soon,” he says, and Jimin nods, already moving toward their bathroom.
-
The shower had done nothing to alleviate Jimin’s headache. He had drunk down a whole cup of coffee before leaving, hoping the caffeine would help, and then two glasses of water right in a row. But, no matter what he does, he seemingly only feels worse.
It doesn’t help that his lesson plan is far from complete, doesn’t help that half of the kids aren’t listening while he tries to remember what on earth he taught on before the weekend. He settles for abstract painting, however, though he knows it’ll end poorly, but it allows him to let the kids go to work on their own, so he can take a moment to breathe and sip on another cup of water.
He rolls his neck, trying to get it to crack. He’s pretty sure he’s coming down with a fever, and how wonderful, he thinks. The chills taking over his skin have him reaching for the cardigan he keeps folded away in his desk drawer. He tugs it tight, trying to keep from allowing any of his skin to be exposed, but his fingers move to his tie, loosening the knot. His chest feels heavy, can already feel the tickle in his throat, knows he’ll be coughing soon enough.
He can’t remember the last time he felt so bad, can’t remember the last time he had gotten sick, but he’s thankful that it waited until the weekend was over. He would have felt even worse if his time alone with Yoongi had become his husband taking care of him.
“Mr. Jiminie,” a small voice draws him back to reality from where he’s been zoning out, drowning in how awful he’s realizing he feels. He almost groans the moment his eyes finally focus on his student. Her cheeks are an array of different colors, and he feels a rush of relief that he had made sure they all had smocks on before letting them get to work because her whole front is painted red.
“Yeah? Everything alright, Hana?” he forces a smile, sitting forward to be more level with the little girl and she’s staring at him a little wide-eyed. “It’s okay that you got paint on you, don’t worry, it’ll wash right off—”
The little girl chews on her lip for a moment before she finally speaks, eyes darting all over Jimin’s face. “Mr. Jiminie looks funny.”
“What do you mean?” Jimin’s brows pinch together, and he wonders if he somehow got paint on him too.
Hana shrugs, the hair that rests against the side of her face falls into the paint splattered across her cheek and Jimin is forcing himself up from the chair, heading toward the sink to wet a clean rag. “That’s not very nice, Hana,” he says as he makes his way back toward the little girl. “You can’t just tell people they look funny.”
He crouches and begins wiping the rag over the little girl’s cheek, gently. “Sorry,” she mumbles, and Jimin forces a smile and nods.
“It’s okay, little love,” Jimin’s lips quirk up a little, and suddenly he doesn’t even feel that sick anymore as he nods for Hana to get back to painting. He can’t wait for the day that he and Yoongi can have kids, but they wanted to wait until they had saved to buy a house—to get a place that they could truly make theirs with little handprints everywhere, toys on the floor, and photos lining the walls.
He spends the rest of the class walking through the room, making sure no one else paints the entirety of their faces or ends up with rainbows in their hair. It’s not until the end of class that he’s started on his coughing fits, a horrible rattle in the depths of his chest that he had been waiting for—it’s then that he realizes he shouldn’t be around the kids. He makes them all wash their hands thoroughly, and he’s quick to tug the mask he keeps in his drawer out as well.
He’d never forgive himself if he was careless and one of his students got sick because of him.
-
“I dunno, Jimin,” Hoseok shrugs as he looks at the thermometer. “It says your temperature is perfectly fine.”
Hoseok had started working at the school as the nurse around the same time that Jimin had first started. They became quite close during their first few weeks when they would each have a little mishap that would send them running to hide in the janitor’s closet. They spent more lunch breaks than they could count laughing over their mistakes and promising one another that they would grow from it. From Hoseok’s misdiagnoses and Jimin’s painting accidents whenever Mrs. An was in the room, he was more than thankful to have someone around him that was fresh blood.
“Evaluations are coming up,” Hoseok hums, shaking the thermometer like an etch-a-sketch, like it’ll show different results. “You sure you’re not just faking so you have more time to prepare?”
“As much as I wish I had more time to prepare,” Jimin fires back, grabbing the thermometer from Hoseok’s grasp to pop it in between his lips. “As much as I would like to get the highest pay raise possible, I don’t see much hope for me. The board hates me, and I’ve gone through more paint than any other art teacher has. They think I’m wasteful.”
“You’re the art teacher,” Hoseok rolls his eyes as he rummages through his medicine cabinet, “don’t you think it shows that you’re, I dunno, actually doing your job?”
“Most of it ends up on the floor,” Jimin groans around the thermometer as it begins beeping and he scowls when the number is lower on the screen this time.
“Ah,” the blond nods as he pulls a dark bottle out and starts shaking it. “We only have liquid meds,” he says. “You know, for the kids. But, this is pain reliever, it’ll help if you’re aching and feel like you’re coming down with something. Only take one dose since you’re not actually running a fever, hopefully it’ll just take the edge off until you can go see your doctor.”
“Wow,” Jimin grins, fighting back a chuckle, “you sound so professional. Like an actual doctor.”
“Nurse,” Hoseok corrects. “Just because I work at a school doesn’t mean I didn’t put in all my time and take all the courses. But, like I said, you should definitely go see your own doctor.”
Jimin’s brows furrow a little as he reads the directions on the bottle. He highly doubts that this liquid goop tastes anything like strawberries, still, he pours out the instructed amount into the little cup that Hoseok hands to him. “I don’t have a doctor,” he says plainly. “I haven’t been in—I dunno—seven years?”
He already knows the look that Hoseok is shooting him, in fact, he tries to avoid it. But the blond forces himself into Jimin’s line of vision, his brows pinched together. He usually never looks anything but happy, but right now, he looks perplexed.
“Why,” he starts, eyes searching around the room like he’ll find the answer somewhere, “why would you do that to yourself? It’s very important to—”
“I know,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “Look, I just really hate going. Maybe I just haven’t found a good doctor, but if I don’t get to feeling better before the week is over, I’ll definitely go.”
“You better,” Hoseok nods, proud of himself.
Jimin nods, a silent promise. They both jump a little once the bell rings, and Jimin is off to prepare for his next class as he tugs his mask back over his nose, ready to get the day over with.
-
“Oh!” Jimin exclaims, jumping a little in the passenger’s seat. “Yoongi!”
Yoongi nearly jumps, and his eyes are wide as he looks over at Jimin for a split second before focusing back on the road. “You can’t just shout while I’m driving,” he chuckles.
“Did you see that new bookstore back there?” he’s already whipping out his best pout, and Yoongi only narrows his eyes.
“If you get any more books, we’re going to have to get a new shelf,” he deadpans. “We already could probably use one. The stack of books beside the shelf nearly reaches the ceiling and—no, absolutely not.”
They’re at a red light now, and Jimin is digging into the depths of his soul to conjure up fake tears. He told Yoongi about his book obsession that night in the park, how he always collected them based on the covers that jumped out at him, tugging him in instantly—only, he has still hardly read any of them.
“Yoonie,” Jimin tries, but his husband is already shaking his head.
“When was the last time you read one of those books?”
“That’s beside the point!” Jimin whines, nearly panicking because he knows that the light will change soon, and they won’t be able to turn around once they pass the next intersection. “I just wanna look—”
“We have milk in the trunk.”
“So?”
“It’s warm out and it could go bad.”
Jimin huffs, slumping back in the seat. “I would be really fast. Ten minutes.”
Yoongi’s fingers drum over the steering wheel in time with the low bass that’s thrumming through the car, a song that Jimin doesn’t recognize. “You said that last time, little love.”
“I mean it,” Jimin holds out his pinky, eyes moving back and forth between the traffic light and Yoongi’s unamused expression. “You don’t even have to go in with me, I just want to look. Just wanna see—”
“Fine,” Yoongi says in a serious tone, but Jimin can see the smile threatening to explode on his face as he checks to make sure the road is clear to turn around. “But if you’re in there for too long and the milk goes bad, you have to drink it anyway.”
“Deal!” Jimin chirps.
“Thought you were sick,” Yoongi mutters, side-eyeing his husband as he finds a good place on the street to park.
“Whatever Hoseok gave me is helping a lot,” he says, readjusting the mask until it sits just beneath his chin. “Plus, I drank a lot of water. I was probably just dehydrated, s’why I felt so weak.”
“You still have that nasty cough,” Yoongi says, correcting him as he reaches to tug the mask back up over Jimin’s mouth. “You should really take the next few days off. Mrs. An wouldn’t be happy if something started spreading around the school like last year.”
“She doesn’t like anything I do,” Jimin’s brows pinch together.
“Well, I wouldn’t like it if our whole wing got sick because of you,” he says as he shuts the car off. “Besides, you have a lot of sick time built up, might as well use it.”
Yoongi is right, he knows he is. It’s been so long since Jimin came down with something, and their sick time rolls over from year to year. It wouldn’t hurt to take the rest of the week off, let someone else take over the class. He would miss them though. But as he feels his chest rattle again, like he’s about to have another coughing fit from the simple act of breathing—he may just have to give in.
“What on earth am I supposed to for a whole week while you’re at work?” Jimin climbs out of the car, trying to shoot Yoongi his best cynical look even with a mask covering half of his face.
Yoongi’s lips fall into a thin line the way they do when he’s thinking something over before he points his finger, “Ah,” he grins wide as he rounds the car to take Jimin’s hand and walk across the street toward the shop. “You could always read some of your books.”
“It’s not time!” Jimin chuckles, even more so when Yoongi bows playfully as he stops to open the door open for the younger, granting him entry.
“When will be the right time?” Yoongi asks in a hushed tone that’s already dropped several octaves since they’ve entered the shop.
“I dunno,” Jimin shrugs, already finding a shelf of books that’s caught his eye. The tips of his fingers brush lightly over the spines, he has a good feeling about this shelf, like there is one that needs to come home with him. “I’ll know when I know. Guess I’m just waiting for something.”
“Sounds sinister,” Yoongi chuckles, leaning against the edge of the bookcase. The music teacher reads in his spare time, but he’s not taken by books like Jimin is. In fact, when they go shopping, Yoongi’s eyes barely leave Jimin as he watches him scour through multiple shelves of books, fingertips dancing along each one until a specific title catches his attention.
Even though Yoongi isn’t in love with books, he’s in love with Jimin. Jimin can feel it, even as he wanders farther into the shop toward the higher shelves. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, but with the dust floating in the air alongside the sun that’s casting an orange hue along Jimin’s cheeks, he just has a feeling that he’s going to find something great.
It’s quick, almost misses a beat. The way that Jimin sees a book on the shelf from across the way and he can’t move quick enough to grab it. He moves in the way like he’s trying to race to get it, like someone else may have it before he can—and that’s silly, he thinks, because he’s fairly certain that he and Yoongi are the only ones in the shop.
He tugs it off the shelf, carefully by its spine. His eyes read over the words again, it’s oddly familiar. He thinks he may have read it back in school, but he can’t say for certain. But suddenly, as he flips open the cover page and his eyes scan over the first few lines, he can see that this isn’t the one and his ten minutes are nearly up.
He wants to find the one, and he does as he lowers the book and his eyes find Yoongi, still leaning against the bookshelf. The sun is peeking in, and there’s a dusting of pink across his cheeks where the sky is quickly turning to cotton candy. Within his hands is a book, and for once, his eyes are downcast and not fixed on Jimin.
It takes a moment before Yoongi can feel Jimin’s gaze on him, before his eyes lazily move up to find Jimin’s and he only smiles as he shuts the book, holding it out. “I think you’d like this one,” he whispers as he places it into Jimin’s hands.
“It’s fantasy,” he says, as Jimin’s eyes widen at the cover. “I read this one when I was a kid. Been a long time since I’ve—”
“I read this one when I was a kid too,” Jimin smiles. “It was always my favorite.”
“Mine too,” Yoongi smiles.
And then their ten minutes are up.
-
There is a knock on the bathroom door. Their apartment is nice, but it’s not very big. He knew he wouldn’t be able to be quiet the moment he awoke in the dark quiet of their room, feeling as if he couldn’t breathe. He was already choking on another cough, throwing the covers from himself as he stumbled to the bathroom for some water.
Yoongi had done some cleaning the night before. The glass he always uses to rinse out his mouth is missing and settling for drinking water that’s puddled in his hands isn’t doing the trick. He feels like he’s nearly drowning as he doubles over the counter. He’s becoming light-headed as his chest rattles, feeling as if his lungs are on the verge of collapsing. It’s gotten to the point where the constant coughing is causing his ribs to be sore, as if they’re about to crack.
There is another knock on the bathroom door, and Jimin is clasping his hands over his mouth, trying to muffle out the wretched sound leaving his body.
He feels horrible, having woken Yoongi up. His husband was so excited to sleep in since it’s a Friday.
Another knock, and Yoongi’s voice is seeping in through the door. “Jiminie, you okay?” his words are laced with sleep, and Jimin is laced with guilt as he tries to catch his breath.
He takes a moment to find composure, reaching to turn the faucet on for a little more water before he answers and his heart stills when he sees red across the palm of his hand. His eyes find himself in the mirror where there is more red at the corner of his mouth, and he forgets that he needs water. His only concern is getting the blood off his face and hands.
There is another knock and then the door is opening, and Yoongi looks disheveled in the way that warms Jimin’s heart, but right now his heart won’t slow down. His husband’s eyes are wide as he steps into the bathroom, brows furrowing. “Everything okay, love?” he asks in a whisper, like their neighbors will hear.
“I’m sorry,” Jimin forces a smile, taking a quick look at his hands to be sure he had rinsed them enough before he’s stepping toward Yoongi and brushing the hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Just another stupid coughing fit. I’m so sorry, I know you wanted to sleep in.”
Yoongi’s eyes look over Jimin’s face, and he’s suddenly afraid that there may still be red painting the corners of his lips, even more so with the way his husband frowns. “You should probably go get that checked out, baby.”
“Yeah,” Jimin smiles again, trying to force his husband’s lips to quirk up. “I can go on Monday when you’re—”
“You need to go today,” Yoongi interrupts, tugging Jimin in. “I know you don’t like to go, but I’m sure they can give you something to at least help that nasty cough.”
Jimin hates going. It’s silly. He’s an adult, and all he can think of is who will hold his hand in the waiting room.
“I can’t wait until you come back?” Jimin pouts, and Yoongi finally smiles.
“You know I have to go to this stupid retreat. I’ve avoided them for as long as I can. But you need to go get this checked out before it turns into something worse. I would never forgive myself if you ended up with bronchitis while I’m gone,” he presses a kiss to the spot just below Jimin’s ear. “Who would take care of you if it got worse?”
“Fine,” Jimin mutters as chills run up the back of his neck from the feeling of Yoongi’s lips on his skin.
“Fine, what?” Yoongi chuckles.
“I’ll go.”
-
Honestly, everything has been so loud to the point that Jimin hasn’t heard a single thing. He just remembers the grim look on the face of the doctor as he listed out his symptoms, felt a cold stethoscope against his warm skin. The man scribbled down a few things here and there, not really saying much. And that’s the problem with doctor’s offices, Jimin thinks.
They’re so quiet. They don’t tell you a single thing. That’s why he didn’t want to come here.
A simple check-up led to so much more. He expected to be in and out within an hour or two after the wait, but he’s been here all day, been taken to different parts of the building. Parts that he never even knew existed.
And now, after a plethora of loud banging from a cylindrical machine that wasn’t as calming as they promised it would be, even with the soft rendition of Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor weaved in and out of the banging.
Oh God, he wouldn’t have known it was Mozart if it wasn’t for Yoongi, and that fact along, his chest feels as if a rock, no, a boulder is sat upon his ribcage.
And even more so, as he’s led to a quiet office, the size of a broom closet—the lights in the machine were too bright, but these lights are too dim as Jimin stares at his hands in his lap.
The doctor, whose name he never caught, he thinks it might be along the lines of Choi or Kim, maybe Kim—his best friend is a Kim, Yoongi’s best man was a Kim.
The room is silent, and somehow, he finds himself missing Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor before he chances to glance up at the doctor, noticing the way his eyes flicker to the silver ring on Jimin’s finger.
“Is there,” he clears his throat, “is there someone you want to wait for? Someone to be here with you?”
Jimin’s fingers thread together. Why are his hands shaking so much?
He shakes his head, “My husband is away at a teacher’s retreat.”
“Do you want to call him? Is he far away? Perhaps we can—”
Jimin shakes his head.
“Should we get to the point, or do you need moment?” the doctor’s voice is calming, Jimin thinks, that’s good.
“Like a bandaid,” Jimin smiles, though his hands are shaking, he makes the motion of ripping off a bandaid, but receives no expression in return.
“Mr. Park,” he begins, his glasses sliding down his nose and he pushes them up at the metal rim with his finger—no eye contact, just looking at his paperwork. “It’s incredibly difficult to say, but our tests came back positive and we’re so sorry, but it seems that you have a very advanced case of SCLC.”
What does that even mean? Aren’t those just letters?
Jimin scratches the back of his neck, wracking his brain as he tries to remember what he learned back in anatomy at school.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. They never speak in a way that we can understand, and that’s why I hate it here. “What does that mean, exactly?”
The doctor finally looks up, “Jimin, if I may call you that, you have small cell lung cancer and it’s unfortunately spread to both lungs—possibly further. I can go over treatment options with you, but are you sure you don’t want your husband to be here?”
“How bad is it?” He wishes he could hear Mozart’s Requiem again.
“I would say, unless we begin looking at treatment options immediately—we’re looking at 9, maybe 10 months at best.”
Jimin laughs. “How ironic,” he’s not even sure what his eyes are fixed on. “I’ve never smoked a day in my life.”
“It’s very rare—” the doctor sighs as he leans down to meet Jimin’s eyes. “As a matter of fact, there wasn’t any way to catch this unless you had been coming in for regular check-ups. It’s very fast spreading.”
“But I don’t smoke.”
“I understand, Jimin. We do have a variety of treatment options, but I want you to know that I am so deeply sorry.”
Jimin finally looks up, fingers fidgeting with his ring. “What are the chances?”
“Maybe 10% with how advanced it is, if it’s not already spread to your bones or further. We are still waiting for the tests to come back to find that out, and we had to send some of the scans to a different specialist, but it may take a few days.”
“But,” Jimin laughs again, “our anniversary is in three weeks.”
“Mr. Park,” his words snap Jimin back to reality, a reality that he can’t believe is real. Everything is crashing down right before his very eyes as the doctor looks over his paperwork again. “We can go over treatment options if you wish,” he says, but even Jimin can hear within the doctor’s voice that there isn’t a shroud of hope.
10%. His life rides on 10%.
Jimin finally nods, but everything the man says afterwards goes in one ear and out the other. The lights are too dim, and Jimin can’t hear a thing.
The only thing he can hear is the question that’s constantly echoing in his mind.
How is he going to tell Yoongi?