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darling, you're with me (always around me)

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The rain has been falling nonstop for the past five days already. Yoongi leaves every morning with an umbrella held over his head and a coat pulled close to him. It’s chilly and wet, and the grey clouds are making him even sleepier than usual.

It’s Thursday, seven in the morning, and it’s still raining. There must be a storm or the angels must just be sad, there’s no exact explanation for the strange weather – the news broadcasts each morning report different things, most just speculate that this is merely a sign that summer’s finally over.

The rain really doesn’t help Yoongi’s morning commute – it’s hard trying to avoid pedestrians in the rain, even harder to get to your bus on time when there are more than the usual commuters waiting around. A glance at his watch tells him that it’s already half past seven and he groans because this means he’ll have to shove past all the other busy pedestrians and fight his way on the bus for a spot, or else he’ll end up being late. Again.

Before he leaves to brace another rainy morning, Jimin catches him by the elbow just as he passes by the couch, and pulls him down for a soft, lingering kiss. Yoongi could have sworn he’d seen stars erupt in the back of his eyelids when Jimin kissed him.

“Have a good day today,” Jimin smiles, hands smoothing over his slightly wrinkled shirt, fingers deftly pulling on his tie to straighten it back in place.

Yoongi smiles back, pushes a few strands of hair out of Jimin’s face, and says, “Alright, you take care today.”

Jimin’s hold around his arm drops to his hand, fingers circling his wrist loosely. Yoongi doesn’t want to look away, not when it’s a rainy and gloomy day outside, and Jimin is a soft, early morning sunrise. When Jimin kisses him again, more smiling than actual sliding of lips, Yoongi sees orange. Warm, tender, and soft orange.

He ends up missing his bus but he spends the wait smiling despite the heavy rain.


Jimin ends up dragging him out of the little house party their friends have thrown. The music is loud even out here in the garden and somewhere inside, Hoseok is laughing rather loudly with Namjoon’s voice screaming over his loud laughter.

Yoongi and Jimin are out in the garden, Jimin giggling a little bit as he stumbles beside Yoongi, their fingers laced.

“Why are we out here?” Yoongi asks, though he doesn’t exactly mind – their friends are wonderful, really, but sometimes it gets too loud, his mind getting a little bit too crowded. Jimin always manages to still the war in his mind and silence the noise that constantly rings inside his head.

Jimin presses closer to him, his body shaking a little bit from all his giggling. “Because,” he provides, not entirely too helpful.

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t want to be outside. Seokjin’s garden is pretty nice but Yoongi is afraid that they’d just stepped through a few of his flower beds in their quest to find the perfect spot to lay down on.

The hear a small vase toppling onto the grass and they both cringe, Jimin looking over his shoulder to check, “I think we just destroyed half of Seokjin’s garden,”

Yoongi snorts out a laugh and tugs on Jimin’s hand, “We can blame that on Hoseok, say he came outside to throw up and we tried to stop him – and then he ended up stomping all over the flowers.”

Jimin laughs at that, more than a little bit tipsy and absolutely in love with the mischievous and lovely boy who’s holding onto his hand, afraid that they’ll somehow end up getting lost in this garden.

They finally find a good spot, no tree branches to block their view of the sky, and Yoongi plops down, pulling Jimin a little bit too roughly beside him. Jimin ends up falling on top of him, knee pressing into Yoongi’s stomach and knocking the breath out of him.

Maybe kissing him breathless is the wrong remedy for the situation, but Jimin’s got his face framed in both of his hands and holding him still while he kisses him, a teasing little kiss that steals all the air out of Yoongi, his head lighter not and it’s not from the alcohol, either.

Jimin kisses like he means it every damn time, even when he’s drunk off his ass from at least four different types of liquor.

“Did I take your breath away?” Jimin asks, eyes fluttering in an attempt to be coy. His knee is still pressing into Yoongi’s stomach and instead of the answer he wants to hear, he gets a little shove to the chest, Yoongi pushing him away and down onto the grass.

The orange lights from the house and the moon hanging overhead cast shadows over Jimin’s face but Yoongi can see him clearly, can see his flushed cheeks and glossy eyes that instantly focus on Yoongi when he realises that he’s on his back and laying down on the grass.

It’s Yoongi’s turn to kiss him, one hand in Jimin’s hair and the other clutching at the collar of his shirt, pulling him even deeper into the kiss.

Jimin ends up laughing too much at the realisation that he’s on the ground and that they’re wrecking even more havoc on the poor flowers.

Yoongi pulls away, a grin on his face and Jimin’s laughter so fucking contagious that he doubles up on laughter, too.

“We’ve killed all the flowers,” Jimin says, wheezing a little bit.

“It’s okay, we’ll blame Hoseok,” Yoongi repeats, his face actually hurting now from smiling too much.

A tug on his shirt pulls him back down on top of Jimin, their lips clashing together in a pressing kind of kiss, less tongue and more biting. Jimin is a panting little mess under him, face red enough that Yoongi makes it out even with the dim lighting.

“Come on, did I take your breath away this time?” Jimin is practically mouthing the words against the side of his mouth, his kisses hot and his touches even hotter.

They might have killed a good half of Seokjin’s flowers but with Jimin splayed on the grass, intoxicated, and absolutely beside himself with a drunken kind of glee and want, Yoongi still thinks that he’s capable of making even the rarest flower blossom in the desert.

Jimin’s laughter can shake the leaves off of the trees, rivalling that certain kind of magic that fall has, and his kisses can make even the smallest flower bloom in Yoongi’s mind.

When Jimin kisses him again, hands locked around his neck to hold him steady and pull him even closer, Yoongi starts to think that Jimin isn’t just capable of making one flower blossom in his mind – Jimin is green, a breath of fresh air, of something new – he’s Spring.

Jimin is capable of starting a whole garden inside of Yoongi’s mind.


The phone practically slips out of Jimin’s fingers when Yoongi walks into the room. He sees the panic in his face, his eyes wide, the hurt clear and evident. He crosses the room, his strides long and quick, and before Jimin could even blink back the tears, Yoongi is already holding onto him, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Jimin is a shaking, sobbing mess against him, his tears soaking through Yoongi’s shirt.

He holds Jimin steady, controls his breathing and clears his mind – Jimin needs him to be a pillar of strength tonight. Jimin needs him, that’s it, and when Jimin needs him, Yoongi will be there. He’ll always be there.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin’s calmed down a little bit but he’s still crying, his eyes puffy and his nose red already. Yoongi pulls back to get a better view of him and wipe at his tears, smiling a little bit sadly at the sight of him.

Looking at Jimin all broken down and crying has Yoongi feeling like his heart is in a vice-like grip, cold and tight – almost suffocating.

Jimin’s voice is barely audible over his sobbing, his shoulders shaking. “Mom’s sick,”

Yoongi’s hand stills in Jimin’s hair, his heart skipping a beat at the news.

Jimin continues, clutching desperately at Yoongi as he stares straight into his eyes – he’s searching for something, searching for compassion, for pity, for love, for understanding, for sincerity, he’s searching, and Yoongi hopes he finds what he’s looking for because when he looks at Jimin, he sees not just the boy he’s loved since he was eighteen, but a boy who’s got the whole world held in his fingertips.

Jimin takes a deep, rattling breath, and blinks furiously. Yoongi is so close that he can see tear drops cling to Jimin’s eyelashes.

It seems that Jimin’s finally found what he’d been searching for inside of Yoongi because he falls weakly against him, his voice broken when he says, “Mom’s sick and my sister said she doesn’t want to see me. That hospital visits should only be for family,”

“Family, Yoongi. She doesn’t even think of me as her son anymore,” And just as Yoongi thinks that maybe Jimin’s done crying, a fresh wave of tears starts again, dampening Yoongi’s shirt even more.

But he doesn’t mind, he doesn’t care about the state of his shirt. In this one moment, all he cares about is Jimin, about the beautiful, broken boy whose heart is crushed at the realisation that his mother hasn’t forgiven him, that he’s been practically disowned, and erased from their family tree.

It’s not fair, Yoongi thinks, Jimin deserves the whole world and more – he deserves all the love there is, the purest kind of love, and it’s such a fucking shame his own family can’t give it to him.

Yoongi,” Jimin’s voice is rising, high pitched and panicked. It’s so painful that Yoongi finds his own hands trembling as they go around Jimin again. His heart is racing and his head is about to explode. “I don’t have a family anymore,”

Jimin is blue, hurt and desperation the only thing in his eyes, his voice breaking on every syllable, and his tears hot and wet streaming down his cheeks.

Yoongi holds him tightly, doesn’t even think about letting him go. There is only one definite thing in Yoongi’s life and it’s Jimin.

“Jimin, Jimin, hey, look at me,” Yoongi finds that his voice isn’t sounding any stronger than Jimin’s, but he’s trying, he’s trying so fucking hard to be strong for the both of them right now. “Babe, Jimin, baby, come on, look at me. I need you to look at me,”

He hears a deep inhale, feels Jimin shivering against him, but he looks up at the sound of Yoongi’s voice, their eyes locking the second he lifts his head.

“You have a family,” Yoongi tells him, one hand cupped against Jimin’s cheek. “You have me – if that’s okay with you –“

Jimin eyes are still brimming with tears, his lips so red from biting down onto it too hard, and his voice hoarse but insistent when he says, a little bit frantically, “It’s okay – Yoongi – you’re more than okay – “

“Then,” Yoongi starts again, his eyes softening now, tender and fond. Whereas Jimin’s are brimming with tears, Yoongi’s are overflowing with love, pure and beautiful for the helpless boy in his arms. “You have a family. We’re a family.”

The look on Jimin’s face is so intense and Yoongi doesn’t recognise it – is he angry, is he even more hurt, sadder? – and he tries to smile but Jimin’s mouth is on his, hot and desperate, the boy’s fingers tangling in his hair.

Yoongi kisses him back just as fiercely, holds onto him, and keeps the both of them from swaying and falling onto the floor.

Jimin is blue – bruised and broken from his mother’s rejection but he’s not blue and cold because he’s burning up, leaving a long trail of fire down Yoongi’s spine.

“You’re right,” Jimin finally says, voice still a little bit hoarse but not at all breaking or weak when he says it, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry – I said I didn’t have a family but you’re here, Yoongi, and we are a family,”

He’s crying again but this time it isn’t out of hurt or sadness, this time it’s because he’s overwhelmed – happy, even, if his smile is anything to go by.

Jimin smiles through his tears and it’s like the sun shining after a cold winter storm, the dark grey clouds finally making way for the sun.

Yoongi doesn’t even know when he’d started crying but he is and Jimin is wiping at the tears, kissing both sides of his cheeks and whispering “I l,ove you” over and over again.


Maybe one of the most beautiful things in the world is Jimin’s laugh – scratch that, Yoongi’s absolutely sure, without a single trace of doubt, that the world’s most beautiful treasure is Park Jimin’s laugh.

It just does something to him, really.

After a particularly hard day, hearing Jimin laugh will brighten his mood drastically. His laugh is contagious and even if Yoongi isn’t up for smiling or laughing, not after the disastrous day at work, he’ll still find himself laughing at whatever dumb pun Jimin is trying to work with. It’s stupid, really, the pun, but watching Jimin laugh nervously eases up Yoongi’s stress, makes him feel better, and even makes him want to look forward to work the next day.

Jimin’s laugh is a fucking miracle worker.

It’s the brightest colour Yoongi can ever imagine – it’s a radiant glow of yellow that matches the bubbling laughter always waiting to erupt from inside of Jimin. It’s yellow because yellow is happy and so, so bright that Yoongi can’t even think of anything else, or see a different colour when Jimin throws his head back and laughs.

“God,” Yoongi manages, hand wiping at the sweat on his forehead. He’s stretched on the couch and Jimin is standing just on the opposite end, smiling from ear to ear. “What can’t you do?”

Jimin laughs even more at that and there’s no actual reason now but that he’s just happy and surprised at the question, really. “I don’t know, you tell me,”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and tries to hide his smile from behind his hand, but he knows that it’s impossible, not when his eyes are already crinkling up the way it does when he smiles too big, too bright, and just wide enough to match Jimin’s.

“You’re capable of everything, Jimin.”

With his bright laugh, captivating smile, and hands that are always open and reaching out in front of him ready to catch sunshine and lightning, Yoongi’s pretty sure that there’s nothing Jimin can’t do.

He makes flowers blossom even in the darkest corner of Yoongi’s mind, so everything else – roping the stars out of the sky, making a blanket of the rolling tides, and whispering the way the wind does – is entirely possible.


Some people really should learn how to mind their business, Yoongi thinks.

It’s either they shut up when they’ve got nothing nice to say or just move away because Yoongi’s fist is bony enough to hurt when it hits somebody else’s face. There’s a sharp sounding crack when his fist connects with the poor bastard’s face and Yoongi isn’t sorry at all, not when his vision is tinted with red and his blood is boiling.

Jimin is behind him, eyes wide and tugging on his arm, pulling him back and away.

Yoongi doesn’t budge at all. He stares at the larger individual huddled into himself, his hands feeling up his nose and his mouth twisting in surprise when he sees the blood on his fingers.

“What the fuck did you do that for – “ Yoongi hears him say, his voice angry but coming out a little stuffy. Broken nose and all. “You broke my fucking nose, you fucked up little fag – “

Jimin has to physically restrain him now because if he hadn’t just wrapped both his arms around Yoongi’s chest and pulled him back with all the strength in him, then Yoongi would’ve done more than just break a nose.

He sees the disgust in the man’s eyes at the sight of the two of them and it only fuels Yoongi’s anger. In a society that hardly thinks what the two of them have is normal, it’s not uncommon to hear hurtful slurs thrown their way – it’s mostly hushed whispering that Yoongi can ignore on most days.

But today isn’t like most days and the look on Jimin’s face when he’d heard the man’s words was more than enough reason for Yoongi to resort to physical violence.

The man might be taller than him and twice his weight, but Yoongi isn’t all skin and bones – he’s got a heart that holds so much love it’s impossible to imagine how it hasn’t burst yet. Yoongi can love so passionately so it’s only normal that when he gets angry, truly angry, then he’s just as passionate – aggressive and not one to back down, especially if the one hurting is Jimin.

“Say “fag” one more fucking time and you’re coming home in a wheelchair,” Yoongi practically growls, fists balled tightly beside him. He’s stopped struggling out of Jimin’s hold but his anger hasn’t lessened at all, if anything, his vision is redder and his blood is running even hotter.

“You broke my nose,” The man repeats, touching a finger gingerly to his nose. He looks at Yoongi and then at Jimin, a sick expression on his face, before he spits on the ground – a mixture of blood and saliva, Yoongi notes, a little bit pleased that he’d caused more than just a broken nose. One last, seething look towards the two of them and he looks away, shoulders hunched and one hand on his nose.

Jimin waits until the man finally disappears before he lets go of Yoongi.

“Jimin,” Yoongi says, first looking at his bruised knuckles, and then at Jimin.

There’s slight fear and hurt in his face and Yoongi wants to believe that the fear isn’t directed at him. His doubts are proven false when Jimin winds his arms around his waist and presses their foreheads together. He’s a little bit shaken up from the whole thing and afraid, Yoongi can clearly see it – afraid at the cruelty of people and hurt at the careless words of a man who doesn’t even matter. Words that will haunt Jimin for several nights, words that will clip to his bones and shake him up. Words that will hurt more than anyone will ever know.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi’s voice is so gentle, the way it always is when he has to console Jimin. He rubs a thumb on Jimin’s cheek and tries for a smile, “I’m sorry, Jimin. Did he scare you? I’m sorry.”

Jimin’s fingers dig painfully into his side, his eyes angry when he finally looks up to meet Yoongi’s gaze. “Don’t do that again,” He practically hisses, his voice dripping with a mixture of both fear and anger.

“Don’t do that again, Yoongi. I don’t care what people say about us,” Jimin continues with so much fervour that Yoongi actually starts to hold his breath. “I only care about us – about you. So don’t do that again because what if – what if - “ And Jimin trails off, his words hanging in the air.

Yoongi exhales a shaky breath, the weight of Jimin’s words heavy in the air between them. What if – what if the man had engaged him in a fight. What if it was a group of three people he’d gone against with. What if he’d broken more than just a nose – ribs, arms, legs, his neck. What if.

He understands Jimin now, understands why he’d gotten so angry instead of worried. He understands because there are “what ifs” in life that are better off staying as “what ifs”.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi apologises again, his voice cracking a bit. “I’m sorry – I’ll try not to anymore – I won’t do it again,” He quickly remedies, fingers sliding into the hair on the back of Jimin’s head. “Jimin, I’m sorry I scared you. I just – No, no excuses. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi feels like he must’ve said the word “sorry” a hundred times in the span of three minutes but he’ll say it a thousand more if that’s what Jimin needs to hear to calm down.

“I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you,” Jimin’s voice isn’t dripping with anger anymore and Yoongi sighs in relief. “Don’t be stupid, Yoongi. I’d rather have people scream all their disgust at me than sit by your fucking hospital bed.”

A silence falls on them again, much heavier this time, and Jimin pulls away from him first, the lack of contact a cold wind that rushes at Yoongi.

Jimin grabs his hand, though, and locks their fingers together, giving Yoongi’s a hard squeeze that has him wincing a little bit.

They don’t say anything else as they walk from the bus stop to their apartment, their hands held between them.

Yoongi’s vision is still tinted red, but when he looks down at their joined hands, he realises that it’s not from anger.

Red is passion, burning hot passion. Red is love and he’s got so fucking much for Park Jimin that it’s absurd at times. So much love that he’d just broken a man’s nose. So much love and passion that his blood sings just at the thought of Jimin.

“It won’t happen again,” They stop just outside the door to their apartment and Yoongi tugs on Jimin’s hand, forcing him to turn towards him. “I’m sorry I worried you. You won’t have to worry anymore, it won’t happen again,”

Jimin gives his hand a firm yet gentle squeeze this time, “I worry about you all the time.”

There’s no other way to get rid of the slight frown on Jimin’s face except to kiss it away, and Yoongi does just that.

Yoongi doesn’t apologise anymore for the rest of the night and Jimin’s frown is completely wiped off of his face.

Red is such an intense colour – anger, passion, and love – and Yoongi thinks it’s perfect the way it embodies so much, the way he sees a colour more intensely just by looking at Jimin.

“Come on,” Jimin tugs on his hand and pulls him inside their apartment, a smile slowly pulling at the corners of his lips.

Yoongi follows after him, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.


Jimin is a sight to behold like this – splayed out under him, his chest rising and falling, and his breath coming out short – he’s breathless, his hair sticking to his forehead and his mouth slightly open, glistening and a little bit bruised.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi murmurs, hands gently pressing into the skin of Jimin’s hips. He stays completely still and doesn’t move at all, not when Jimin isn’t even ready yet.

“Yeah,” Jimin manages to get out, his voice heavy. “You can – fuck, Yoongi. Move, move, I need you.” His hands scramble for purchase, and instead of gripping at Yoongi, he ends up running his fingers down Yoongi’s back, fingernails leaving light scratch marks.

That’s all that Yoongi needs. God, even the sight of Jimin like this is enough to tip him off.

He starts to move, hips snapping and fingernails digging into Jimin’s skin now as he tries to get a better grip. He thrusts even deeper when Jimin arches his back off the bed, fingernails yet again scratching down his back and lips sucking a bruise at his neck.

Jimin is moaning and practically writhing from under him, his moans breathy and his eyes shut tight from the sheer pleasure. His cheeks are pink and, god, everything is so pink, because pink is the way Jimin looks in the throes of passion, so needy and fucking whiny that it only riles Yoongi up, the scratching a short price to pay as he watches Jimin come undone from under him, his fingers wrapped around Jimin’s cock to tug on it, pushing him completely over the edge.

Jimin is a sight to behold like this – spent and his face completely flushed, his breathing heavy, eyes blown with pure lust, and mouth open in silent gasps as Yoongi thrusts hard into him, erratic and without rhythm now as he chases after his own orgasm. Jimin sucks another bruising kiss into the inside of his wrist and brings his hand up to his mouth to lick Yoongi’s finger, and Yoongi comes at the sight of Jimin sucking on his finger, lips pursed and eyes fluttering, his cheeks so pink, and, god –

God,” Yoongi groans, pulling out of Jimin, and his finger slipping out of Jimin’s mouth with a rather lewd pop.

Jimin’s smile is so blissful and a little bit dazed, the exact same smile that he gives Yoongi after a particularly good fuck, and Yoongi can’t help but groan again just by looking at him.

“Stop it,” Yoongi says, grabbing for a box of wet tissues on the bedside table. Jimin just laughs at him, a little bit breathlessly, and Yoongi rolls his eyes because sometimes Jimin is a complete child.

“Love you,” Jimin murmurs into his arm when Yoongi sinks back down into the bed.

He turns around to face Jimin, the boy’s face still a little bit pink. He smiles at him and bumps their noses, “Yeah, I love you, too. Now go turn the lights off.”


Some days, Yoongi feels like he’s suffocating. Not from the lack of air but because the walls are suddenly pressing, closing around him, and threatening to trap him, and enclose him in four walls with no way out.

Some days, Yoongi is pulled under the current, suffocated by darkness, and struggling to break through the surface.

Some days, Jimin is the shadow who pulls him out, who thrusts his hands into ice cold water and grips onto Yoongi’s, and hauls him right out back into the light.

Some days, Jimin melts into the darkness, all black and dancing against the walls that close in on Yoongi. He doesn’t let them, though, because Jimin breaks through all the walls and helps Yoongi stand, helps him navigate out of the rubble and ashes.


Their fingers are twined and their laughter is loud. They cross the street and Yoongi looks at Jimin, eyes wide with delight, and his free hand waving in the air, gesturing towards the tall trees and the sky that’s slowly turning pink.

The sky is majestic in the way it looks right as the sun starts to set – orange, purple, pink, and even hints of blue and green. It’s a splash of colour that takes Yoongi’s breath away.

They’re crossing the street and instead of Jimin’s laughter, he hears a loud car beeping as it skids out from the corner, tires squealing.

Yoongi looks at Jimin but the only thing he sees is white.


Yoongi wakes up with his heart racing and his hands shaking. He’s broken out into a cold sweat. He tastes blood, touches a finger to his lips, and notes that there’s a small tear, perhaps from biting down onto it too hard the last night.

White. The sound of a car honking, the smell of steam, and the haunting way the tires squealed against the gravel. Beside him, Jimin is asleep, mouth slightly open and half his face hidden under a pillow. His fingers twitch on top of the blanket, groping blindly for Yoongi’s hand in his sleep.

Yoongi can’t hear anything over the beating of his own heart but he can see that Jimin is beside him, asleep, and perfectly fine. He sinks back down into the pillows, pulls the blanket higher, and holds onto Jimin’s hand.

At the contact, Jimin moves closer to him, one leg hooking over Yoongi’s ankle, nose buried in the crook of his neck, and a smile slowly spreading up his face as Jimin quietly stirs awake.

“Good morning,” Jimin kisses his shoulder and Yoongi relaxes, finaly exhales the breath he’s been holding.

“Are you okay?” Jimin asks, propping up on an elbow to peer over Yoongi. He sees the white face, the red lip, and the hair sticking to Yoongi’s face from sweat. He cups Yoongi’s cheek with his hand and his mouth falls open, a small “o” of surprise. “Hey, are you okay? Was it a bad dream, a nightmare?”

Yoongi focuses on Jimin, feels the warmth of his hand and hears the concern dripping from his voice. Yoongi sees grey, his vision foggy. Jimin is the only thing in vivid sharp detail.

“Nightmare,” Yoongi murmurs, arm slung around Jimin’s waist to pull him closer. He presses their foreheads together, noses bumping when Yoongi shifts a little bit. “I dreamt that I lost you.”

Because even in his dreams Yoongi will always worry for Jimin first, can’t even imagine him getting hurt, or worst. “I thought I was going to lose you. It felt so real.”

But, Jimin is warm against him, a tender smile on his face, his eyes a little bit wet, and stinging with tears that haven’t fallen yet. Jimin’s voice is a quiet whisper, his hands comforting as he rubs small circles on the small of Yoongi’s back. “No, no, I’m here, Yoongi. I’m fine, we’re fine. It was just a bad dream,”

Yoongi feels fingers card through his hair, eyelashes softly fluttering against his cheek, and Jimin’s reassuring gaze on him. It’s four in the morning and Yoongi slowly drifts back to sleep, his heart beat slowing down. Before he sinks into a dreamless sleep, he hears Jimin say, voice fierce in the dead of morning, “I’m not going anywhere, Yoongi.”


Holding Jimin’s hand is an act like no other. Honestly, Yoongi doesn’t even know what to do with his hands if they aren’t holding onto Jimin, or interlaced with Jimin’s fingers, or touching the brilliant boy who somehow manages to give life to all the colours. All the colours in the spectrum are brought to life by Jimin and it’s a thing of wonder, Yoongi thinks, to be loved and to love a boy who’s capable of colouring the whole world in with the colours he possess inside of him.