Chapter Text
It’s way past dark when he arrives back at the dorms. His eyes are blurry with the strain of staring at a computer screen for too long. He opens the door to chaos: Namjoon in an inspired moment of dumbassery has decided that it would be a good bonding experience for everyone to get drunk. Now the floor is littered with cans and the remnants of fried chicken they always order from the shitty convenience mart down the street. It's barely edible, but Jungkook can put away three cartons and look for dessert.
Yoongi steps gingerly over a discarded can of soda, and then again over Jin and Hoseok, who are asleep on the floor clutching onto each other. Yoongi pauses, appalled, as he watches Jungkook, almost passed out on the couch, smile to himself and say “Joonie is so cool” with a dreamy expression.
“Jesus,” Yoongi says, turning to glare at Namjoon who has sidled up beside him. It’s funny how Namjoon is so big but can appear out of nowhere, like the world’s most annoying erudite ghost. Yoongi turns to glare at him.
“You let Kookie drink too? He’s like 12?”
“No.” Namjoon says, flushing. “He hasn’t had a drop”.
Namjoon smiles down at the couch and reaches out as if to smooth something from Jungkook’s face, but then retracts his hand. He does that weird cough laugh thing that shows he’s feeling guilty about something.
“Okay,” Yoongi says before turning to head down the hall to go to his room. Before he does, a warm weight drops on his back. It’s Jimin, smells like him at least, although Yoongi thinks that Jimin has started to use his body wash now that he is too lazy to buy more. He hates that he likes that, likes the sound of that even more, as if Yoongi is staking his claim on him.
“Where were you?” Jimin croons. He’s hugging Yoongi from behind chin resting on his shoulder, and he tries not to flinch in case Jimin decides to move.
“Studio” he replies, and Jimin maneuvers Yoongi so that they are face to face. He forgets how strong Jimin is sometimes until Jimin is pushing him where he wants him to go.
“It’s late though,” Jimin says. “We missed you.” His hands twine around Yoongi’s neck and there’s a hint of a pout. Yoongi can smell the alcohol on his breath, but absurdly wants to lean in.
“I think you guys had plenty of fun without me.” He steps back instead, and Jimin’s hands drop down loosely by his side. His voice is quiet when he says. “Not at all hyung.”
“Okay,” Yoongi says again, trying not to notice the blush of Jimin’s cheeks. But he gives in and brushes a hand over Jimin’s forehead. It’s hot and now that he looks closer has a thin sheen of sweat.
“Jiminie,” he says, and hopes that no one else hears how easily he says the nickname “I think you’re sick?” Behind him, Namjoon also brushes a hand over Jimin’s forehead.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll get you settled.” They hear a sudden crash from the kitchen and then muffled laughter. Yoongi faintly hears Jungkook whining something at Taehyung. Namjoon looks torn, so Yoongi takes Jimin’s hand.
“I'll deal with this,” he says. Namjoon looks relieved and jogs back to the kitchen. Yoongi looks at Jimin’s forehead so he doesn’t have to look at his eyes, and places his hand on Jimin's forehead again.
“Right” he says, steeling himself to stay awake just a bit longer, and guides Jimin to the bedroom that Taehyung and Jimin share. Jimin is pliable now, half leaning onto Yoongi while his hand clutches at Yoongi’s shirt. He throws Jimin onto the bed with an audible thunk once they arrive. Jimin sits up and takes the medication Yoongi hands him and washes it down with the cup of water that probably has been sitting on his nightstand for weeks.
Yoongi gets up from the edge of the bed where he was sitting, and rubs his eyes before he is about to leave. He thinks this might be the second all nighter he’s pulled this week, between trying to finish the production on their album, and guiltily trying to work some stuff on his own. There’s a lot he can push himself to do, but maybe he’s really pushing it. There’s something stopping him from moving, and once he’s moved back to the world of the physical, he’s realized that Jimin has his hand on his arm.
“Hyung?” Jimin whispers. His flush has gotten deeper and Yoongi indulges himself by meeting Jimin’s gaze–heavy lidded and unwittingly seductive. Yoongi notices, with a strong attempt at distance, that Jimin’s shirt has slipped slightly down so Yoongi can almost see the swell of Jimin's pecs.
“What’s up kid?” He says, rougher than intended, but then again everything about himself is rougher than intended. Jmin bites his lip, and Yoongi’s eyes follow that too and he forces himself to look back up.
“Do you hate me?”
“Sorry?” he says. “No Jimin. I don’t.” He adds “Where is this coming from?” to fill the gap, half afraid that Jimin will identify exactly when this started, when one day Jimin had lifted his shirt to wipe his face after another brutal practice, and Yoongi had seen the half formed makings of a man. He’s been scared ever since.
“Nowhere,” Jimin sighs, slumping down into the bed. He looks defeated, and Yoongi tries to inject some energy into his voice to say, “Of course not, Jimin. We’re friends. At least I hope we are.”
“Friends,” Jimin says. His eyes are half shut now. Yoongi stands up to go, but Jimin’s eyes fly open again.
“Stay with me please?” Jimin says. Even groggy with the medicine now kicking in, Jimin still manages to pout. “If you don’t hate me that is.”
“Yah” Yoongi says. “What a kid”. Jimin’s mouth tightens, but stretches into a smile, teeth and all. Yoongi fights the good old internal battle, lands a few good punches with the worst part of his brain, dodges a knee to the stomach from his inner Namjoon, and finally is knocked out by his exhaustion.
“Okay,” he says in lieu of a real response for the third time that day, and lets himself be tugged onto the bed, three day old clothes, slippers and all. He thinks that Jimin is stroking his hair. “Soft hyung” Jimin says, and Yoongi thinks
Yes, I’m soft
before he falls asleep.