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You Make My Palms Sweat

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The thing about partying really late into night and winding up at your best friend’s house, is, the fact that you potentially have to be aware of waking up half-naked with your best friend’s other friends showing up unannounced.

Three, four, five—fuck, maybe six to eight—shots later, morning (maybe afternoon, at this point he wasn’t sure) sun burning hot against his chest, hair frazzled and wonky against gravity, and Jimin is snorting awake when he hears voices coming in loudly in his ears. It sounds a little like shoving his head in a fish bowl, voices muddled and blurred, echo-y, but he guesses that’s just the sound of a hangover definitely about to take flight as soon as he opens his eyes. And, he’s right as soon as he pries them open to gander.

“What the fuck is that noise,” he mumbles, more of a demand than a question, squinting his eyes as the pounding headache springs from the back of his mind to the forefront, paining his vision into something that’s more super sharp than his perfect 20/20, everything enhanced around him, colors, sounds, the collection of dust that floats along the rays of the sun, “please, just shut up.” he spits, covering his eyes with his arm, voice cracked and dry from dehydration.

On other days, where he felt more like himself, not milked entirely of energy and coherent enough to open his eyes without passing out from the migraine that was splitting his head in half, he would’ve been polite enough to throw on a shirt. Hell, maybe get up and go to the bathroom to freshen up, but to his own defense, he didn’t exactly think there was going to be more people than just him, Taehyung, and maybe Jeongguk—and if Jeongguk was there, Jimin would’ve had to rake his thoughts to try and remember when the younger boy got there, since before it was just him and Taehyung drinking the three bottles of soju to themselves, yelling into the night about finals, taking over the world, and cheap karaoke sessions on Taehyung’s computer—but when three new voices come flooding in (ones that didn't sound like Jeongguk at all), he decides that maybe it’s now he gets up before he embarrasses himself. If he didn’t already.

“G'afternoon, my little Tae,” a voice singsongs, slapping a hand over the expanse of wood—the front fucking door that was only shining more sunlight, much to Jimin’s dismay—before walking over the living room where Jimin and Taehyung were sprawled out against each other, probably looking like something rated mature had happened earlier, but really, nothing did, “woah—did I just walk in on something I wasn’t supposed to?”

Taehyung, barely stirring in his sleep, mumbles something about ‘hoseok-hyung, why’re you so loud and proud this early in the morning?’ and shuffles himself so his arm is thrown over the expanse of Jimin’s chest, heightening the previous assumption the stranger had made earlier. Jimin thinks that the start of his 'morning' couldn’t get even more weird, not with the face of this Hoseok-hyung staring at him with surprised eyes, and tries to bend himself up against his elbows, glancing around the room and realizing just how terrible this must’ve looked and stares back at the stranger with rounded saucers.

“Okay,” Jimin throws the arm off his chest, coughing slightly when Taehyung moans in his sleep, “this is definitely not what you think it is.” he confirms, sitting up entirely and running a hand through his hair, messy mops of pale brown sticking in-between his fingers like glue, before he rubs at his eyes. “I’m Taehyung’s best friend, not one of his terrible fwb’s.”

“Oh.” Hoseok says, standing straighter now but the small jut of dejected confusion still brims at his bottom lip,  shit, is Hoseok one of Taehyung’s fwb’s? 

Two more people pile into the room, one tall as fuck and handsome with pastel pink strands, and another who looked considerably intimidating—with a stare that’s as cold as a fucking glacier (why the mean mug?) and hair that’s mint-colored, fading just a smidgen into pastel green—and Jimin tenses up, realizing that this group of friends might be the ones Taehyung talks about all the time. ‘One of them seems like the type you’d go for, you know? He’s super cute and looks like the type that would be a serial killer, even though he wouldn’t hurt a goddamned fly, and he’s kind of crazy—okay, not crazy, just a little grumpy.’ And, Jimin stares, looking at the smaller of the bunch, because holy shit, yes, he’s definitely the type he’d go for. But, maybe right now is not the right time to drool over Taehyung's friends, all things considering.

“Uh,” the tall one with the pink strands breaks in the midst of the silence, “we had plans to do stuff today, but seeing as Taehyung is as dead as a log,” he directs to Jimin and then turns to look at Hoseok, “should we raincheck, hyung?”

Jimin puts his hands up, shaking his head, still a little dazed about the mint-haired senior, “No, no. I’ll wake him up, he just partied a little hard last night.” he says, smacking Taehyung on the butt—Hoseok makes a face akin to more confusion—hoping that the motion would help the other stir awake, but it only led to more groaning, “Taehyung. Your friends are here.”

“Five more minutes. I feel like I just got fucked in the ass and is now suffering the consequences of a terrible hangover.”

“Um,” Jimin glances at the three men, slightly appalled at Taehyung’s response because now wasn’t the right time to be saying these sorts of things, “I-I think Hoseok-hyung is here.”

Taehyung snaps his eyes open at this, shoving himself up on his arms so quick that he retches a loud groan in his throat, scaring Jimin just slightly but looking quite comical in the process of trying to lick his palm to press down the flying strands of his hair.

“H-Hoseok-hyung!” Taehyung quickly says, stuttering over his voice just like he was over his limbs, trying to readjust himself so he’s facing all of them, wild eyes and wild hair to match, “What’re you doing here this early?”

Jimin glances at the clock, the hands of time telling him that it was definitely not early, more like one fifty-three past the point of late nights and early mornings, and they indeed, did sleep into the afternoon. Probably even longer if it weren’t for Hoseok and his friends barging in like they did.

“It’s almost two in the fucking afternoon, you imbecile,” the words leave from the mint-haired stranger’s lips, a frown dancing on them showing disappointment, “did you forget we had to plan for Hoseok’s birthday party today?”

“Of course not!” Taehyung rubs his eyes, fingers shaking from suddenly moving to sit up so quickly, slightly dizzy from the aftermath of the blood rushing all the way to his head, “I just thought it was still early in the morning—I’m sorry, hyung, I’ll get ready.”

“You better, or I’ll strangle you.”

Now, Jimin, having been friends with Taehyung for over four years—even longer if you counted the two years that they were arch nemesis's throughout most of their middle school career, having tried to win first place at a stupid science fair that their hot teacher, who they were both crushing on, held; where they both tied for second and only realized then that they were two peas in a fucking pod—didn’t put it past himself that his best friend would probably end up doing something stupid, maybe inconsideration was quite definitely one of the unfortunate traits of their friendship. But, Jimin also didn’t think that Taehyung would just get up and leave, leaving him alone on the floor of the living room, still half-naked and a little bemused, to go jump in the shower, with little introductions or even sparing a glance at Jimin through the process.

Well, if this isn’t awkward, Jimin didn’t know what was. Especially since the mint-haired attractive guy was staring at him, up and down, dragging his eyes over the expanse of his stomach and thighs, because god forbid, Jimin wasn’t even wearing pants either. Even better, he was wearing briefs. Tight ones.

“I’m just gonna—” Jimin starts, flinging his head from the three boys to the hallway that led to Taehyung’s room and back, using his thumb to point at his clothes and then shuffles himself up, awkwardly grabbing his clothes from off the floor and his phone.

“Yeah.” The tall ones says, coughing slightly to try and make up for the tense atmosphere, moving over just enough so that Jimin could walk past all of them and into his journey to go and strangle his best friend in the bathroom.

 

“Alright, care to fill me in on why I woke up half naked and only in briefs,” Jimin says, opening the door to the bathroom where Taehyung was brushing his teeth—he was nice enough to put his clothes back on—making the other jump up in shock at the door opening so suddenly, almost choking on the minty fresh Colgate lodged in his throat, “and you were still pristine and put together unlike me?”

Taehyung spits a wad of toothpaste into the sink, picking up a brand new toothbrush from the tray before shoving it into the other boy’s fingers, “I’ll get to that once you get rid of your morning breath.”

“Rude. Always so rude.”

“Honestly,” Taehyung replies, brushing off the insult with ease, before wrinkling his eyebrows to try and remember the events that happened last night, but what comes into his mind is nothing more than soju laced broken up memories, the night mushed together in a form of colors that don’t make a lick of sense, “I don’t even remember.”

“Perfect,” Jimin states, snorting as he squirts toothpaste onto the bristles, wishing he had some sort of memory floss as well to wipe out the haze of previously drunken thoughts, “that’s just perfect.” he adds once again for more irritated flair, shoving the toothbrush into his mouth before brushing away at his teeth like his life depended on it.

“Why do you care so much? It’s not like there was anyone else there besides us, anyway.”

Jimin makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, shooting a glare at his best friend—whom he kind of wishes was still his arch nemesis right now and not someone he considered a platonic companion—before mouthing over his toothbrush in an attempt to explain why he was so goddamned irritated.

“Wait. Try that one more time. I forgot you were a part of a different subspecies that speaks a different language from Korean.”

“Oh my god,” Jimin finally says after rinsing his mouth, hastily shoving the toothbrush away, “you’re unbelievable. I care,” he looks in the mirror, putting water over his unkempt hair to try and flatten out the strays, “because you didn’t even tell me there was supposed to be company coming over. And, who’s Hoseok and why are you so heart-eyed emoji’d over him?”

Taehyung makes an ‘o’ shape with his mouth, realizing that he hasn’t particularly filled Jimin in on the last part, he swears he was going to, things just got in the way—kind of. Okay, who was he kidding? He wasn’t even sure of what him and Hoseok were himself.

“Just some guy I met,” he replies, shuffling out of the bathroom to look for a clean set of clothes, he decided against a shower, already making the others wait longer than they should’ve, “and I kind of like him.”

“Kind of?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Bullshit,” Jimin says, walking out of the bathroom to follow Taehyung around the room, “no one is able to make you wake you up that fucking fast and make you look that fucking stupid after a night of drinking.”

“Okay!” Taehyung shoots his hands in the air, kicking off his pants quickly before shoving on a pair of jeans, “So, I’ve been fucking him for like—I don’t know! A month now?”

“And you caught feelings for your fwb.”

Yes, goddamnit.”

“Now, isn’t that just juicy. Sometimes, I forget you’re my best friend.” Jimin frowns, ready to hear a response from Taehyung when a knock resonates softly on the bedroom door, cutting the both of them off.

Taehyung shoots him a look before turning his attention towards the sound, “Come in.”

It’s Hoseok who comes in, still a little dejected with his head only placed through the space of the open door, glancing at the both of them unsurely, “Uh, I just wanted to make sure you were still coming and if you two were alright.”

“Yeah, of course,” Taehyung brightens up, ignoring the small snicker that leaves Jimin’s lips, “let me just put on a different shirt that doesn’t smell like a bar and I’ll be out.”

“Alright.”

Taehyung clamps a hand over Jimin’s mouth when Hoseok closes the door again, pressing his palm into the other boy’s lips hard enough that it was grinding against his teeth, maybe he should aim for the nose too, hopefully suffocating the other before he says something close to being stupid.

Jimin pats on Taehyung’s shoulders in defeat, holding back his laugh when the hand leaves his mouth, “You are so extra.”

“And, you’re a fucking asshole.”

Jimin couldn’t help but laugh at that, which in return, has Taehyung trying to throw a punch through his blinded vision, shirt pulled halfway over his head and halfway off, looking mildly like something out of a horror movie before Jimin barely dodges the fist, laughing even louder when the other stumbles on his feet and trips.

“Will you just get the fuck out? I will castrate you, Park Jimin.”

“Fine! Fine! I’m going!” Jimin yells through his laughter, avoiding the kick of Taehyung’s foot aiming for his shin.

Jimin is already out of the room and by the front door sliding on his shoes when Hoseok comes peeking in from the living room.

“Are you walking home?”

Jimin looks up, smiling when he sees the older, standing up and thinking of a way to properly make himself look better than the first impression, redeem himself, if you will, because he did call Hoseok one of Taehyung’s terrible fwb’s on accident. And, honestly, Hoseok doesn’t even seem half-bad, he looked like someone Jimin would get along with.

“Yeah,” he laughs, a little awkward, “I didn’t know Taehyung had plans, and if I did, I wouldn’t have begged him to drink with me last night.”

“Oh. No it’s okay,” Hoseok replies, giving a bright smile, “but you don’t have to walk home. I don’t think Namjoon minds taking you back. How far do you live from here?”

“It’s okay, I’m dorm-ing at the university. It’s a little far from here.”

“You’re lucky because that’s just where we’re headed.”

 

Namjoon drives a small, sleek looking black sedan. It’s clean for the most part, Jimin didn’t know why he thought it wouldn’t be. But, it also quite hilarious watching the tall male squeeze into the driver seat with some struggle, his limbs are so long that when he finally sits in it the tops of his head is only a few inches away from the roof of the car.

“Why you decided to buy a clown car will be something I still question,” Yoongi admits, shaking his head, “you barely fit.”

“Hyung. It’s all about riding in style.”

“What kind of stupid bullshit is that?”

But—also the fact that nobody warned Jimin and failed to inform him about Namjoon’s driving skills had him clutching onto the curve of his knees afraid for his fucking life. If he makes it out alive by the time he gets back home would be something like a miracle in comparison because he could’ve sworn his life is flashing in front of his eyes, currently.

He’s squished between Taehyung and mint-haired in the back seat of the car—introductions were finally made before getting into the vehicle but after the part where Taehyung stubs his toe on the front doorand that wasn’t making the situation any better, considering there was very little space in the small sedan, making all three of their bodies uncomfortably close together, knees touching and everything. Also because of the fact that Namjoon drives like he’s on the mission to race against the other cars, heavy-footed and terrible at turns, wide and sprawled a fraction into the other lanes and Jimin has to hold onto his own body to stay away from landing on the two people beside him. And, Taehyung (not a surprise here) was fast asleep like the ride was nothing short of a walk in the park.

Jimin was slightly regretting his decision on agreeing to have them take him home, especially since he was still a little hungover and the way Namjoon was navigating through the streets like a cracked out taxi driver, made his pounding headache intensify. Yoongi turns to look at him then, probably aware of Jimin’s small life crisis.

“You alright?” he asks, voice gruff and raspy, the sunshine dancing down across the surface of his face, bringing out his features that much more. God, those lips.

“Yeah, just pissing myself a little.” Jimin responds—kind of directed to his ogling, but mostly an answer to Yoongi’s question—he’s also hyperaware of the heat that emits from both their bodies and he’s struggling to find peace within himself because holy fuck is Yoongi gorgeous. “You know, having feel like I’m on a rollercoaster and everything. But, I’m alright.”

And, to prove his point, Namjoon makes a sharp turn, which flings Jimin over to Taehyung’s side of the car, Yoongi suddenly catching him by the elbow in an effort to stop the boy from hitting his head on the window. Jimin jumps at the warmth, Yoongi doesn’t notice, instead he hisses a curse underneath his breath and lets go of Jimin’s arm when they were on a straight lane again.

“Will you stop driving like a fucking idiot?” the older yells, punching the back of Namjoon’s seat playfully to get his point across.

“Sorry, hyung.”

Yoongi goes back to adjusting himself inside his seat, turning his head so he can look out of the window—curses still mumbling out of his lips, which Jimin finds sort of endearing—and Jimin finds himself thinking a little too hard about plush lips curling at the edges, pale complexions that look great against his in comparison, that when Namjoon takes a particularly sharp turn, he finds himself getting flung over the expanse of Yoongi’s body, too late to catch his balance and a little to late to realize his hand was placed over an area that felt much like Yoongi’s crotch.

He’s shocked, okay, that’s why he didn’t pull his hand away (but holy shit?).

“Um.”

“God, I’m so fucking sorry.” he breathily stutters, realizing that the heat underneath his palm was really, actually, Yoongi’s crotch, and Jimin, a little fucking stupid it seems, logically unable to control his movements, tries to regain his balance which in turn makes him press a little harder against Yoongi, fingers brushing up against the zipper of Yoongi’s jeans. Yoongi jumps a little in his seat, coughing at the surprising friction while Jimin makes a surprised sound in his throat as he flushes a deep shade of pink. Dumbfounded and even more stupid, Jimin clutches onto the bottom of Yoongi’s shirt to pull himself off of the older’s knees, dragging Yoongi forward from the impact.

They’re inches from each other’s faces, Jimin still struggling to find purchase of balance and Yoongi giving him a stare that looks a little irritated and a little surprised, but Jimin doesn’t miss how the pupils dilate, almost like he didn’t mind the close proximity much—but the younger has always been terrible at rationally understanding situations much like these, so he guesses it’s probably just anger.

Jimin is about to pull away, fingers finding the soft material of the back of the passenger seat where Hoseok doesn’t seem to notice what’s going on behind him, but Yoongi puts a hand underneath Jimin’s elbow again, adjusting the younger so he’s balanced between the palm and Yoongi’s chest. It takes a lot for Jimin to stop gaping and if it weren’t for Yoongi letting go, Jimin thinks that he would’ve just stared for the most of the ride back.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m really sorry.” Jimin says after sitting back up, blinking his eyes nervously, turning his attention forward when the embarrassment settles deep into his veins. He feels the heat of Yoongi’s stare on the side of his face, gulping when it doesn’t leave even when they reach the front of his dorms.

“We’re here already?” Taehyung asks, awake and rubbing his mouth clean of the drool that started to leak from his lips. “That was fast.”

Because you were fucking asleep, Jimin thinks, kicking his foot up to push Taehyung on the thighs so that the other would open the door. Just get me out of this awkward ass situation, please.

“Okay. Okay I’m going!” Taehyung squeaks, opening the door quickly when Jimin kicks harder.

Jimin can still feel the heat of Yoongi’s stare on his back even when he’s out of the car, but he’s way too deep in shame to look back into the back seat, instead he looks at Namjoon and Hoseok, waving a goodbye and bowing when he thanks them for the ride back home.

“See you later, Jimin! I’ll text you!” Taehyung calls from the window, Namjoon already driving off recklessly, the same way he was earlier.

“What just even happened?” Jimin mutters under his breath, putting a hand over his face and laughing softly to himself because he did not just fondle Taehyung’s boyfriend-to-be’s friend in the back seat of Taehyung’s boyfriend-to-be’s friend’s car. And, what was that stare?

But, holy shit, does Yoongi have a nice crotch.

Jimin studies hard, and by studying hard, it means ignoring most of his friends (Taehyung and Jeongguk) for long periods, until he’s able to recite the lines of his textbook through closed eyelids and mumbling lips. (It could also be because of what ensued just the weekend before—still too embarrassed to look his best friend in the eye since it was Taehyung that got him into that situation in the first place.)

He immerses himself to the point where a six-pack of red bull cans litter amongst his desk, along with the endless amounts of papers and notebooks. His roommate—an older male named Seokjin, who was finishing up his last semester having to take one off from personal issues—comes in sometimes, telling Jimin that it wasn’t healthy to down all the energy drinks like water and that maybe a real meal would help instead. But Jimin just shrugs it off because when it came to schoolwork, it was everything to him.

Taehyung hates it.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you, jeez,” Jimin says promptly, shoving his backpack over his shoulders as soon as he picks up his cellphone—three missed calls and five unread text messages, jesus, did Taehyung forget Jimin was in class?—before wandering out of the classroom, bowing low to his professor on his way out. “why are you so upset?”

“Because. Meet me at this place down at the other side of campus in approximately twenty minutes or I’ll disown you as my best friend and Jeongguk will supplant your position.”

Jimin scowls, “Jeongguk can kiss my ass,” he says loudly, the sound of a shout in the background of the phone call resonating after the words leaves his lips, he must be on speakerphone, “is Jeongguk with you?” (yep!) “You heard that right, Jeongguk? Kiss. My. Ass.” he drawls out, clicking his tongue as soon as the insult falls from his lips. 

There’s the sound of shuffling in the phone, most likely Jeongguk fighting his way to it because in a few seconds, Jimin hears, “Not in a million years, hyung.” Making Jimin crack up at their playful bickering, which was normal, since they fought like children still in grade school.

“Tell Taehyung I’m on my way.” Jimin says, chuckling once again when he hears ‘you better be’.

 

The place that Taehyung gave him the address to—text filled with sad face emojis as well as angry face emojis,  comically written between 1265 Kongkuk Square —was a coffee shop called Rise and Grind; and it was packed with students. Lines of people already at the cash register, dark brown menus filled with white lettering of drinks that read pretentious titles of teas, lattes, coffee brews, and what the fuck boba? At least it was cute, the simple designs of hipster meets oriental made Jimin feel comfortable, even with all the people inside.

He scans the tables looking for his friends, but after a few minutes of dragging his eyes through crowds of people, he gives up and decides to wait in line and order a drink, fingers already pressing on the keyboard of his phone to notify Taehyung that he was here.

What surprises him though, is the two boys working behind the counter.

“Nice to see you again,” a voice chimes in, breaking Jimin out his thoughts, phone shoved into the back pocket of his jeans while he reaches for his wallet in the other.

Yoongi stares back at him, a small smirk on the pout of his lips, with eyes that show the same cold indifference like the first meeting, but this time a little more amused, if anything, kind of happy to see Jimin.

“Oh,” Jimin answers, wilting to the side when he realizes Taehyung wanted to meet at the place Yoongi worked at, “I didn’t know you worked here?”

“Didn’t really get to have a decent conversation in the first place,” Yoongi replies, the look in his eyes all knowing on what he was referring to, which only made Jimin flush because god, please don’t say anything about it, “you know. Since you were so busy introducing yourself to my crotch instead.”

“Okay. I’m really sorry about that. It was an accident, swear.”

“It’s fine, I’m just joking. What’re you having?”

“Just a regular vanilla frappe,” Jimin replies softly, heart still racing from the memory and the fact that Yoongi probably thinks he’s some sort of pervert (kind of, but not really), and stuffs his fingers into his wallet to try and pry out a five dollar bill, but Yoongi places his hand on top his own, pushing the wallet down and out of the way, “what?” Jimin blinks, the sudden movement catching him off-guard.

“It’s on me, don’t worry about it.” the older smiles, a genuine one, gummy and full of small teeth that made him look younger but still so handsome when the smile lines around his mouth gets accentuated. “Take it as me forgiving you.”

And, it’s hard to deny that smile, especially when Jimin feels his hands get clammy just from the touch of Yoongi’s fingers on his own. It’s not even anything special, just a small gesture to get a point across, but it makes him stick his toes into the front of his shoes, digging them into the surface of the floor because he was afraid of falling over from the look on Yoongi’s face—why did the older make him feel like he was a little kid crushing for the first time?—and Yoongi just stares at him; the distance between their bodies feel like mountains apart but yet so damned close, even with the counter between their bodies.

“Are you sure?” Jimin asks, snatching his hands away from Yoongi’s like he just got burned and he feels bad when the older frowns, bringing his hands back onto the cash register, awkwardly tapping them against the edges.

“Yeah. No, it’s fine, Namjoon is already on it.”

In the minutes it takes for Namjoon to make his drink and Taehyung to come running to Jimin’s side; Jimin is already melting to the floor because of the shared glances between him and Yoongi. He swears the older had started it first, and Jimin was just making sure he wasn’t losing his mind and there it was again, Yoongi glancing with a confused look in his eyes before Jimin flickers his to Namjoon.

“Here’s your drink,” Namjoon says, placing the frosty cup onto the surface of the take out counter, nodding his head when Taehyung drags Jimin to the table where Jeongguk was playing a fierce game of Piano Tiles.

“You know. Yoongi-hyung is the guy I told you about. The one who looks like a potential serial killer that you’d probably bang the shit out of.” Taehyung admits, laughing softly when Jimin gives him a scornful look, because considering the first introduction, Jimin thinks that his self-image was already tarnished, there’s no going back now, honestly.

“And yet, you left me on your living room floor practically naked.”

“Oh, come on.” Taehyung says, grabbing Jimin’s drink into the palm of his hands before taking a sip, “You have killer thighs with a hot bod to match.”

“Wait,” Jeongguk cuts in-between the conversation—luckily for Taehyung, because Jimin was ready to strangle him—setting his phone down on the surface of the table, “what did I miss?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin musters, snatching his drink out of Taehyung’s fingers before looking at Jeongguk, “the part where Taehyung decided to embarrass me in front of everyone? Or, the part where Taehyung does embarrass me in front of everyone and invites me to the coffee shop where said ones work.”

“What! They have good drinks!”

“Taehyung, you little—” Jimin gets cut off from his attempt to throw the drink at Taehyung’s head, hand still raised when he turns to look to see who came butting in, but when he sees who it is, he shrinks back into his seat. Cowering low when the slight heat burns across his cheeks.

“Hey,” a voice says—Yoongi says—walking over to their table, fluffy hair wildly outlining the sides of his face and Jimin notices how long the older’s eyes bore on him but tries to ignore it by staring at the table, “what time are you guys coming to the party next weekend? Hoseok just sent me a text about it.”

Apparently, Taehyung likes keeping Jimin in the dark with things such as these, so he pikes his head up, mouth frowning when Yoongi mentions it. “I wasn’t made aware I was invited to Hoseok’s party?” he says, lips twitching.

“You’ve been ignoring us, I was trying to tell you.”

Yoongi sighs, sitting down into the empty chair next to Jimin, knees pressed close to the younger’s with his hands on the table, “Well, whatever you guys figure out, let me know.” he turns his head slightly, “and, I hope you come.”

That was definitely directed towards Jimin, but in the midst of him trying to figure out what to say or do next, he finds that it’s hard to even muster up a response now that all eyes were boring into his face, thoughts screaming so loudly in his eardrums to say something, but instead, he taps his fingers on the table, pretending that he didn’t hear it in the first place before Jeongguk clears his throat and reverts all their attention on him.

“Will there be alcohol?” he asks, words coming out a little too excited, maybe a little too eager—but they can’t blame him though, he just turned legal age and he was ready to drink until his liver explodes.

Yoongi laughs, nodding his head before standing up from his seat, Plenty. It’s Hoseok we’re talking about.

“Count us in, hyung. We’ll be there around nine.”

Yoongi snorts, turning around to walk back to the counter where Namjoon was trying to fit in four orders all at the same time and failing it seems. But, he suddenly stops right behind Jimin while resting his hand on the boy’s shoulders with not one little pat, but two—and Jimin thinks that has to mean something, okay—before pulling his hand off and smiling.

“See you all there.”

And, Jimin—who’s still wrapped up in a daze that is a puddle of his own confused thoughts—worries his bottom lip between his teeth, wondering why the touch of Yoongi’s hand on his shoulder still burns so hotly against the fabric of his shirt, ghosting against his skin like it’s still there. It’s only when Taehyung says something that he snaps his head up, lips bruised into a shade of light pink with his eyes growing wide when he sees the looks on both of his friend’s faces.

“I knew you guys would be so cute.”

College parties have always been something Jimin enjoyed, but college birthday parties is something new.

He was expecting just a little kickback, maybe the few of the faces he’s met already—Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi—with his own little circle of friends (Seokjin decided to join in on the fun also) but when he reaches the front porch of what is presumed to be at first, just an apartment, it’s actually a house and a large one at that. It’s filled with people he’s never even seen before, upperclassman who strutted around with terrifying confidence—Taehyung doesn’t mind it saying ‘if you know how to talk the talk, you know how to walk the walk’—and also the small few freshman who looked just as intimidated as how Jimin felt.

Taehyung had reminded him that gifts weren’t necessary, that Hoseok liked the company more than anything that could be bought in a store, Jimin thinks that his friend probably mentioned something along the lines of the party being a little crazy, but Jimin really, honestly, didn’t expect this. 

“Hey babe,” Hoseok says to Taehyung at the door, bright pink tiara placed sloppily on his head, strands of brown warped around the sharp edges in an attempt to look curled, but the partying has already made the crown lopsided, “come in, come in.” he directs to everyone else.

Jimin ignores the part about babe and wonders who Hoseok really is at this point because the walk from the front door to the living room and into the kitchen was akin to walking through a red carpet full of drunk people who screamed ‘happy birthday, hoseok!’ and Jimin barely misses being trampled on by girls wearing high-heels and boys who looked like fuckboys. Namjoon being one of them.

“You’ve finally made it!” he yells through his Rick Owen sneakers and black gaucho pants glory, the music suddenly turned up a notch which muffled his voice through the steady pound of bass.

“They’re here!” Hoseok screams back, grabbing four solo cups through the goddamned mountain of clear bottles of alcohol. Yoongi wasn’t lying. He slides the cups to the other end of the kitchen island, Namjoon catching the edges before pouring in a mix of drinks with swift precision.

While Jimin felt a little astounded about the amount of liquor that was going into his cup and a little anxious about waiting for the sight of mint hair, Jeongguk and Taehyung peered at the other two boys with a look of awe—Jeongguk more so. And, then he realizes that Seokjin is beside him, awkwardly placed because Jimin has never really seen his roommate in an atmosphere quite like this one, before he slides his arm around Seokjin’s waist, shoving the other close to Namjoon—pure accident, of course.

“This is Seokjin,” Jimin yells through the commotion of music and bottles clanking against one another, “he’s my roommate!”

Namjoon curtly looks up, doing a double take that soon turns into a polite stare which Jimin doesn’t miss, and it seems that Seokjin doesn’t either because soon the two of them were side by side, Seokjin scolding the younger about alcohol poisoning while heeding to all of the cups and Namjoon just laughing in the midst of it all.

“You guys have fun,” Hoseok says, pushing the cups into Jeongguk and Jimin’s hands before wrapping an arm around Taehyung’s waist, “come find me if you need me! Meet some new people!” he drags Taehyung out of the kitchen and into the party, leaving the other two bewildered and alone.

“Bottoms up!” Jeongguk yells, clanking his cup against Jimin’s.

 

Jimin is a lightweight, let’s just put it out there.

There’s moments where he conquers that title with nothing more than almost throwing up somebody’s shoes, but it seems like tonight he might be claiming a new title of lightweight and sloppy, which he always, always, hoped he wouldn’t be. But, after the third solo cup that gets shoved into his hands—jungle juice with a few slices of fruit, which was beginning to taste a little more like sweetened water instead, so he barges back into the kitchen stumbling and loud as fuck, pouring the vodka into his cup while counting to three. Come on, it’s never four.—and he’s as sloppy as it gets.

Jeongguk, who was next to Jimin cheering as loud as the other’s high pitched squeal, is probably on the same boat. Cowboy hat pressed tight on the tops of his hair (he didn’t know how that happened, but in hindsight, he makes a hot cowboy) with his mouth moving at the speed of light, screaming incoherent sentences about alcohol, parties, and Jimin being a wrinkly ballsack because he wouldn’t take another shot of soju.

“Why the fuck,” Jimin slurs, pushing his face closer to Jeongguk through his drunken movements, “would I need more alcohol if I already have a cup in my hands?”  he swings his arm, the liquid in his cup sloshing from the motion.

Jeongguk dodges it easily, reflexes fast. “What’s the fun in not drinking everything you see here?” the younger replies, taking the shot himself and slapping a hand down on Jimin’s shoulders, “You’re such a weakling!”

“Whatever,” Jimin shifts, brushing the hand off his shoulders but goes stumbling back because his body movements don’t match his (not quite sober) mind and he goes flying back and into someone’s chest where they catch him.  He gives a giggle, too wasted for apologizes, his voice high-pitched and screeching when he collides against the body, “whoo!”

“Woah there,” the voice says, a little familiar and deep, but Jimin thinks it’s only because he’s met so many people through the night, so he turns to look at the face while losing his balance a little when he sees who it is.  The giggle drops from his lips, turning into a gaping mess with his cheeks dancing hot in liquid courage.

“Oh shit.” he breathily mutters, solo cup too heavy in his hand all of a sudden and he drops it onto the expanse of the white tiles, splashing the pink liquid across the floor (Jeongguk—‘that’s a goddamned party foul!’) “Oh shit.” he says once again when he realizes what he’s done and shamelessly tries to wipe at the floor with his shoes, which it doesn’t work obviously. Instead he slips through the slide of his sneakers and the trail of alcohol, Jeongguk laughing loudly through his clumsiness.

“I got it.” Yoongi says with a chuckle, lifting Jimin up and positioning him against the counter before he goes to wipe up the mess before someone else slips in it.

Jeongguk, a dongsaeng filled with asshole wannabe-hyung tendencies, brushes his mouth over Jimin’s ear, whispering, “Smooth.” before barking in laughter once again.

Jimin swats at the younger with a shaking fist, ready to lodge a powerful punch at the boy’s chest but misses when Jeongguk moves from the movement and into the other side of the kitchen where a game of king’s cup (maybe some other card game) is happening at a large dining table, looking over his shoulders at Jimin with a smug on his face. “Good luck!” he yells.

The amount of irritated but also highly embarrassed Jimin feels is astounding and he decides that maybe washing it down with another cup of jungle juice might help, but Yoongi places a hand down on his before he’s able to take a drink from someone else’s cup and cuts the idea short—what? Jimin’s not that fucked up, okay.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Jimin jumps a little, mind whirring from being way past the point of fucked up and the floor underneath him starts to spin just a fraction because Yoongi feels like comfortable warmth against his back with one hand on Jimin’s hip and the other clutching onto the cup, “Everything is a good idea when you’re drunk.” Jimin replies, ignoring how his voice stutters a little, it’s the alcohol.

“You’re at a house party inside someone’s house you don’t even know. Have you heard of people getting roofied before?”

“Good point.”

Jimin sets the cup down, looking back at the older with a unsure smile on his lips because god damn if Yoongi wasn’t hot before, he sure was now. With tight distressed looking jeans with holes in places that should be deemed illegal, especially with the bomber jacket placed over his small frame, black beanie to match. And, fuck, Jimin was way too drunk for this, unable to think coherently, because all he wants right now is to ask if Yoongi is DTF.

He doesn’t, thankfully, instead he, “Do you want to go see where everyone else is?”

“Sure.”

Jimin turns while stumbling once again in his shoes, closing his eyes when his vision shorts out on him and Yoongi grabs a hold of his hand. When he opens his eyes again it’s only to peer down at the fingers that are suddenly intwining with his own, grasp tight and feeling so right in his palm but it’s all because he’s so drunk he can’t even control his limbs, right? But, if so, why was Yoongi giving him a look that was worried yet filled with so much care—‘potential serial killer’—and why was he gripping harder onto Jimin’s waist?

“What’re you doing?” Jimin asks, breath blowing over the expanse of Yoongi’s cheeks and smelling much like cotton mouth mixed with vodka, but the older doesn’t mind.

Yoongi smirks, positioning himself so that Jimin was at his side and not leaning away with gravity, “Just making sure you’re able to walk through the room without face planting on someone’s shoes.” he replies, bringing a hand off Jimin’s waist and into the pocket of his jeans—but still gripping onto the younger’s hand tightly.

“Oh.” Jimin answers, soft and short but regretting being so drunk off his ass in such a moment like this because if he was sober, he might’ve been able to determine if the look in Yoongi’s eyes meant more than just being a friend helping out a friend. Or, rather, acquaintances helping out other acquaintances.

“I think I saw Hoseok in the living room with everyone else and it looks like Jeongguk abandoned you for a game of king’s cup,” Yoongi says, pulling Jimin along with him gently—god, is this really happening?—and into the living room where indeed, Hoseok was with Taehyung playing a loud game of Never Have I Ever mixed in with some weird dance party (Namjoon attempts to dance along with Seokjin—and damn, if only Jimin’s mind processed quicker than it was right now because that would’ve been a hilarious snapchat video).

There’s too many people crowding over each other like a mass of sweaty bodies in a club and Jimin feels like he’s squished inside a sardine can, but Yoongi makes the experience a little less terrible. The older shoves away at few people that were close on Jimin’s feet, mumbling apologies that sounded more half-assed than genuine and guided him towards the couch a few feet away from the games and terrible dancing.

“How much did you drink?” Yoongi asks after they’re seated on the couch, stray candy wrappers along with chip bags littering amongst the armrests, he kicks them off and away before turning to look at Jimin. “You look like you drank more than you could handle.”

“I,” Jimin slurs, using a finger to point towards the kitchen, “probably did have too much to drink, honestly,” he squints at Yoongi, eyelashes fluttering through the haze of cigarette smoke, cheap Ikea lighting, and Yoongi’s stare, “but. But, I’m okay.” he finishes with a smile, lips curved up nicely over his cheeks—crescent-shaped eyes shining.

“You don’t need anymore.”

“I need a lot more.”

“No.”

“Who even are you?” Jimin scoffs, widening his eyes just a little in offense, “Like. Really, who are you? The only information I know about you is that your name is Yoongi and you work at Rise and Grind; also that part about you being—” god, please don’t say it, “really fucking hot.” he hiccups.

If Yoongi cared about Jimin’s slip up he doesn’t say anything about it, instead he just laughs softly and shrugs his shoulders, “Well, what do you want to know?” he asks, shifting his eyes to look around the room surveying over everyone while Jimin thinks of a response.

This, really, could end up badly but when Jimin drinks, much like everyone else, he’s runs on liquid courage so when the words leave his lips he doesn’t think much of it—not until the next day, probably. “Are you gay and if you’re single.”

Yoongi’s eyes shoot back into Jimin’s direction at the words, mildly amused at the newfound confidence that brims off of Jimin’s demeanor. “I’m pan and yes. I’m single.” he replies back, raising his eyebrows a little when the younger takes a deep intake of breath. “You?”

“I’m really fucking single and this is the part where I ask you for your number.”

Jimin doesn’t remember what happens after that.

Hangovers feels a lot like birthing a large child, Jimin thinks, if he had the right reproductive organs to do so, that is.

So, when he wakes up in a sweat because why the fuck is it so goddamn hot with his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin like leather, he groans loudly at the aftereffects of too much partying that hits him like a dump truck. And to make matters worse, he’s not even at his own dorm. Instead he’s laying on light blue bedsheets that smell a lot like some expensive ass cologne (which he probably would’ve liked if it weren’t for the fact that his sense of smell was way too heady at the moment) and inside a room that was neatly organized with CDs with what also looked like a mini recording studio.

He’s never been inside this room before and he’s in the middle of freaking out and almost throwing up all over the carpet when someone walks in.

“Oh my god,” Jimin exasperates, clutching onto his head when the headache screams at him from the inside of his skull, “why am I here? What did I do?”

“What part do you want to hear first?” Yoongi chuckles, handing a large glass of water into Jimin’s hands. “The part about asking me if I was down to fuck or the part where you threw up in my car?”

Jimin almost spits out his water. Almost. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You also forgot your keys with Taehyung and he wouldn’t pick up his phone so I brought you back over here. But, don’t worry. I slept on the couch and didn’t touch you.” Yoongi shuffles over to his desk, pulling an ibuprofen out of a plastic bag and setting it into Jimin’s fingers, “I’m not all about that.”

Good to know. “It seems like every time we meet or cross paths I’m a walking disaster.” Jimin sighs, shutting his eyes as his head falls back onto the pillows after taking the medicine, cold water comfortably dancing on his tongue. “God. I feel like I’m about to die.”

“Yeah. I would feel the same considering how hard you partied last night.”

“You didn’t drink at all?”

“Nah,” Yoongi answers, sitting at the foot of the bed where he plays with a stray thread, “I don’t really party much. I only went because it was Hoseok’s birthday—but. I’m kind of glad I did since you were there.” he looks up, smiling softly at Jimin, “Also it’s fine, the whole part about you being a walking disaster and such. It’s kind of refreshing to meet someone who’s such a mess like you are—joking.” Yoongi finishes, the last word reassuring when Jimin gives him a look of horror.

Jimin groans when a slight pulse resonates on his temple, headache overpowering when he tries to lift up his head and his mouth was so dry that he takes another swig of water. Droplets make it out onto the corner of his mouth where he wipes away at it with a shaking hand, but he’s also aware of Yoongi’s gaze on him—which makes him choke a little because it’s hot on his skin, hotter than how his body temperature feels and the silence was beginning to be a little too much.

They sit there for a while, Yoongi finally taking his eyes off of the younger to look at his nails and Jimin is thankful because he doesn’t know how much longer he could take the stare and awkward shared glances (which seems to be the peak of their friendship it seems) and reverts to holding down the bubbling acid that starts in the pit of his belly. Which also reminded him, “Did I really throw up in your car?” he sheepishly mumbles, pressing an index finger and a thumb into his eyes, trying his best to minimize how disgusting and greasy he felt—but also so that he could distract himself from embarrassment.

“Yeah,” Yoongi replies back, laughing breathlessly at the memory, “Had to pull over during the ride back because you were just projectile vomiting all over the place. It was a bitch to clean afterwards.”

“I don’t even think sorry’s are enough at this point.”

“You can stay here until you feel better, you know.” Yoongi decides to add, patting the bottoms of the younger’s shins, “I don't mind.”

“Okay.” Jimin responds, half-regretting the decision because how many times will Yoongi be at his disposal but not really regretting it all when Yoongi gets up to stand close to him, hovering over his body.

“And, also.” the older says, taking the cup from Jimin’s hands and placing it on the nightstand, “If you want, since you were so persistent last night and I’m not sure if you still feel the same but. If you want, let’s go out on a date. If you—”

Jimin doesn’t even think twice when he answers, maybe he’s still a little drunk with liquid courage (god, because he felt like it) and he snaps his mouth open before he could stop himself, words dancing out of his tongue like fire, “I want to. God, yes. I want to.”

Yoongi smiles back at him, pressing a finger onto his forehead with a slight push. The motion making the younger feel a little more sick, but Yoongi places a firm hand flatly, massaging Jimin's forehead softly. 

“Okay.”

 

“Dude where the fuck were you?” Jimin says as he barges into Taehyung’s apartment, covering his eyes with his hands when he sees his best friend in his boxers. “Can you please put on some goddamn clothes, by the way?”

“Not my fault you didn’t knock.”

“Taehyung I’m not in the mood to argue about this, honestly.”

“Who even dropped you off?” Taehyung asks, walking towards the hall closet and grabbing a pair of sweatpants to pull over his legs along with a loose shirt that read Neuron Dance Crew, Jimin slightly wondering who’s shirt that was because Taehyung definitely wasn’t a part of the university’s dance crew.

“Yoongi. Also, is the reason why Hoseok is so famous is because he’s a part of Neuron?” Jimin sits down on the couch, resting his head on the back cushions now that his migraine has substantially subsided. All thanks to Yoongi making him some food—hangover soup and the ibuprofen.

“Wait. Yoongi dropped you off? What the hell were you doing over there?” Taehyung stares back in surprise, sitting down next to Jimin. “And, yes. He is.”

“Gee. If you actually didn’t abandon me and Jeongguk that entire night you might’ve been able to see me get carried drunk off my ass and into his car. Also, where is Jeongguk? Is he alive?”

“Yeah. Namjoon took him and Seokjin home—but, okay. Seriously. What happened with Yoongi?”

Jimin shakes his head, resting a hand on Taehyung’s thigh when he starts laughing, “I don’t even remember what happened.” he starts, turning his head to look at his friend, “But he said something along the lines of me throwing up in his car and asking him if he was DTF. How fucking more hot can I get, right?”

Taehyung stares. Silence ensuing for a period of time that makes Jimin awkwardly cut off his laughter into a small cough, but then suddenly the other starts barking in laughter next to him, which in turn only makes him laugh even harder than he previously was.

“I can’t even—dude. Yoongi must really like you because he wouldn’t even do that shit for Hoseok.” Taehyung cuts in after wiping the tears from his face, stomach knotting from how hard he was laughing. “They told me once before that Yoongi got so irritated at Hoseok, he just left him at a house party by himself. He had to do the walk of shame the next morning, lost his shoes somehow too.”

“That’s terrible.”

“I know.” Taehyung gives another small snort before distorting his face into something a little more serious. “You—you guys didn’t fuck, right?”

“No! Yoongi said he doesn’t do drunk sex. Gold star for respecting my body and stuff, you know. Also,” Jimin sits up, waggling his eyebrows playfully, “asked me on a date that’s happening this Friday too.”

“Wow. You were able to land a date without my help.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jimin balks, punching his friend on the knee. “I’m hella hot, you asshole.”

“Well,” Taehyung says, chuckling a little while rubbing his knee, “considering your sloppy drunk story, I’m surprised it didn’t turn him off from you.”

Jimin agreed on this, sadly, and the words on Taehyung’s lips don’t sound all that offending, really, because it was definitely true. Jimin has now polished the trophy of lightweight and sloppy but he was glad that Yoongi didn’t mind it all that much, even asking him out on a date. Which he was partly excited for but also partly appalled at Yoongi’s choice in men, because Jimin hasn’t really been such a great experience so far. He was hoping to change that though.

“Yeah. But, hey. So. How much do you really know about Yoongi?” Jimin asks, curious because even though he spent most of his day at Yoongi’s place, they didn’t really do much of anything since he was asleep for most of it.

Taehyung gives him a look like why don’t you ask him yourself mixed with what the hell did you do all day but answers back with a smile, “He looks really tough on the outside, aside from his face, but he’s actually a really big sweetheart. Hoseok only talks fondly about him, kind of why I wanted to introduce you to him because you need someone like that in your life. Well, if you work out I mean.”

“Need someone like what?”

“Someone who’s able to take care of you while telling you that you’re a dumbass at the same time. Sweet and sour, you know? And Yoongi’s perfect for that. He’s a great catch, honestly.”

Jimin side-eyes Taehyung but nods his head nonetheless.

“Yeah. He’s already kind of perfect.”

First dates with someone new has always felt much like a job interview. Horrible comparison, but that’s honestly how Jimin feels. It’s like a rush of anxiety that he tries to swipe away with hair pomade, splitting his bangs in half across his forehead, and it makes him even more nervous when he realizes that all the outfits he’s tried on previously and now, don’t look all that flattering—Seokjin tells him otherwise, though.

“You look good.”

“Hyung, I don’t want to look good. I want to look hot, sexy, drop dead gorgeous—rate me on a scale from one through ten.”

“A solid 8.5.”

Jimin stares. “8.5. Really?” he sighs, pulling off the plaid flannel wrapped around his hips before setting on the bed.

“Why are you so strung out on a date? Did he say to dress casually or did he say it was going to be more fancy?”

“It can’t be fancy. I think we’re just going to get bbq or something.” Jimin replies, deciding on a loose black and white long sleeve since the nights have been getting cooler, tight black pants (which Seokjin whistles at) and a five panel hat to throw over the expanse of his neatly put hair that he spent almost twenty minutes in styling.

“What’s the point of doing your hair if you’re just going to put a hat on?”

“Don't ask, hyung.”

When Yoongi picks him up, Jimin is close to running through all the edges of the couch, kitchen table, stubbing his foot on something he didn’t even really get a good look at, and almost tripping on all his shoes in the middle of their front walkway. He was aiming for the door but it seems he was trying to kill himself through the journey because now his hips ache from actually running into the wall—Seokjin standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, laughing loudly, ‘be safe, Jimin’—and he’s already sweating across his forehead, not to mention the fact that his palms were uncomfortably clammy.

“Hi,” Jimin says, bending over with his hands on his knees, underestimating the fling of the door and almost falling through the open space, “glad you could make it.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curving up just slightly, “Why are you so out of breath?”

“Uh, well. Kind of ran into everything on the way here.”

“Oh, nice,” Yoongi says, pulling his lips into a wide smile that makes Jimin feel a little more sweaty because the quick seconds it takes for the older to go from looking cold, mean and indifferent to child-like, soft, and approachable is enough to give him whiplash, “you ready?”

“Yeah! Yeah, let me just grab my keys.”

 

The drive isn’t long, but it’s quiet before Yoongi decides to turn on the radio. It’s some girl groups mixed in with the boy groups, music already too familiar that it if weren't for Jimin being in someone else’s car, he probably would've changed the station. But, right now Jimin was grateful for the background music.

Yoongi decided to bring them to a popular KBBQ restaurant (also mentioning he would’ve brought Jimin to Kyochon, but decided that maybe bbq would’ve been a better bet) and the lines aren’t that terrible, considering it’s a Friday night and Friday nights in Hongdae meant an onslaught of drunk young people, usually, but the surprise of a somewhat quiet date is a comforting thought.

“I have a reservation for two,” Yoongi says at the waitress, a pretty ahjumma, before putting his hand on Jimin’s waist softly, guiding him behind the woman.

It’s a nice gesture, reserving a table and the whole manner hand thing, and Jimin thinks that the date is starting out fairly well. It’s a nice change from the parties, him being drunk (obviously) and Yoongi looks quite handsome tonight. Black turtleneck beneath his tan trench, distressed jeans (that still look so offending) against his legs, and Jimin slightly wonders if he, himself, had dressed down for the occasion.

“How was your week so far?” Yoongi asks, sliding off his jacket (which Jimin regrets bringing his own, because the night was a lot colder than he had expected it to be) and placing it on the seat before turning to look at Jimin, turtleneck attractively snuggling against his neck which also makes him look well put-together, and in Jimin’s mind he wonders if Yoongi is a out of his league.

Jimin pays attention more to the triangular shaped eyes than the question, the dark browns wafting him away in a spiral of thoughts and he finds himself getting lost in them. There’s a question that still hasn’t been answered, but at this point he doesn’t even realize that he’s staring—until Yoongi smiles.

It takes Jimin a few more seconds to smile back, blush creeping up so familiarly so on his cheeks and he turns his head down, opening the menu with swift hands. “Are you we just doing bbq?”

“You still didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh?” Jimin looks up, wrinkling his eyebrows together, “I didn’t catch it, I’m sorry.”

“I asked how was your week. Did you end up getting home okay?” Yoongi asks once again, eyes shining underneath the light of the restaurant, heightening his eyelashes in a way where the shadows dance down against his cheeks. And, in this light Yoongi looks beautiful. Jimin only wishes he was brave enough to say it.

“Yeah. I, uh, yeah it was fine.” the younger says, mentally slapping himself at how stupid of an answer that was, but before Yoongi could dismiss it or maybe say something that would only make Jimin feel more stupid, a waiter comes to take their order. And, it’s then that Jimin thanks the world for saving him through the embarrassment (which seems to be happening more frequently than he liked).

They decide on a platter of pork belly, bulgogi, and some briskets. He’s thankful for the food coming out quicker than he assumed it would, delving into the bbq until he can feel the grease dropping onto the sides of his mouth because he wasn’t sure how to respond to the questions Yoongi sprung on him without flushing down to his toes. Therefore he kept his mouth busy.

They're simple ones, the older just asking what his major was (‘dance, that’s why I was shocked when Taehyung told me Hoseok was a part of Neuron’) to which Jimin found out that Yoongi was a music production major along with Namjoon—although, Jimin didn’t doubt it from Yoongi’s room. Microphone, laptop and stereo system strategically placed to make it look like a mini recording studio—and they both shared similar interests, music tastes, movie tastes, anything and everything that seemed like it didn’t matter but Yoongi made it feel like it did. That was, until, Yoongi decided to ask Jimin something else.

“So. Do you want to do this again? Like, when you’re free, I mean. Maybe we could just get some coffee, something a little less formal than this.” the older asks, flipping over a piece of fatty pork belly, nonchalantly.

And, Jimin’s reflexes shot out on him. Flinging his chopsticks across the table and into Yoongi’s lap, knocking down his cup (which was empty, thankfully) on his way to retrieve them, but then he realizes that the chopsticks were on Yoongi’s crotch and the memory of his hands being there before halters his movements.

“I got it.” Yoongi laughs, picking up the chopsticks before placing them into Jimin’s fingers. “Seems like you like your possessions as well as yourself in that area more than I realized.”

Jimin groans, sitting back down on his seat when his throat suddenly feels as dry as a fucking desert and he’s going to grab his cup for a refill of barley tea, when suddenly—“Ow!” he yells, dropping the blazing hot metal cup onto the table before he clutches onto his hand when the burn starts intensifying. Yoongi jumps up in his seat.

In his clumsy fit the cup must’ve rolled close to the fire, heating it up before he realized it. “Ow, fuck, my hand.” he says once again, phalanges throbbing.

“Oh my god,” Yoongi gasps, getting up from his seat, “are you okay? Holy fuck that looks bad already.”

Sure enough, Jimin’s fingers were already blossoming red, give it a few more minutes and it’ll be more than likely welting across his fingers. He’s hissing underneath his breath, the date now presumably turning into the shits and he’s close to just apologizing and maybe a phone call away from asking Seokjin to take him home.

“You should run some warm water underneath your hand,” Yoongi clicks his tongue, holding onto Jimin’s wrist lightly, “cold water would only shock it.”

“Okay.” Jimin mutters out, dejected and slightly in pain.

He gets up from his seat and excuses himself to the bathroom, Yoongi’s eyes following him all the way there with a look of pity across his face.

 

The date ends like this. With Jimin burning himself at dinner and Yoongi saying a million times that it was alright but Jimin still felt bad for not finishing his food after the accident. Too embarrassed and irritated at himself.

“It’s alright, I’m serious,” Yoongi laughs softly, opening the door of the restaurant as the gush of wind knocks the both of them in the face, “you didn’t bring a jacket?”

Jimin knew he should’ve, Seokjin even telling him beforehand that he should wear one just in case, but in his fit to hurry and open the door, he forgot it on the couch in the living room. “No.” he replies, shivering in his wake of terrible mistakes and impressions, cold weather only making it worse and the fact that his hand felt like it was going to fall off made him reel in his thoughts for some type of memory bleach.

“Here.” Yoongi says then, opening up his trench coat widely.

“Oh no! It’s okay!” Jimin panics, waving his arms across his body. “You’ve done so much already, it’s—”

“I’m not giving you my jacket. I’m telling you to share it with me.”

Jimin blinks. “How?”

“By doing this.”

Yoongi walks closer to Jimin, grabbing onto the younger’s wrists, pulling him in closely so that they were both touching. Jimin’s back hits the expanse of Yoongi’s chest, warm fabric suddenly floods over his body and across his shoulders and front—Yoongi wrapping his arms over his shoulders in the process to fit the both of their bodies inside his coat. An ‘oof!’ leaves Jimin’s lips when they’re both settled, Yoongi nuzzling his face close to the back of Jimin’s head.

“Better? Luckily this jacket is big enough for the both of us, I was a little worried about that.” the older mumbles, breath hot on Jimin's skin.

Something fills inside Jimin’s chest that feels warm—not just the jacket and Yoongi’s body—but something that spreads through his skin that’s comfortable. It’s nice, almost like the feeling of being caged in and the waft of Yoongi’s cologne holds him steady, wiping away all his previous thoughts of a date that had gone wrong.

“Yeah.” Jimin replies, smiling a little when they start walking towards the car—stumbling, tripping, wobbling at the weight of their bodies, feet stepping on each other’s and halfway on the cement—“You know this must look ridiculous, right?” he says with a giggle, trying to turn his head to look back at the older.

“It seems I’m attracted to ridiculousness,” Yoongi replies, moving his hand to push Jimin’s head back around, “why did I ask you out on a date if I wasn’t? Seeing as you’re the epitome of it.”

That much Jimin didn’t argue, instead he laughs at almost tripping over his feet, proving Yoongi’s point all the more. They make it back to the car without dying and falling over each other, Yoongi opening the door with a small smile and Jimin returning it with an even bigger one.

Who would’ve guessed burning your hand and flinging food across a table would be an ideal date. But, Jimin wouldn’t have changed it over anything in the world, even when his fingers continue throbbing through the welts that formed and the blush that never falls from his cheeks. Because, Yoongi makes him feel wonderful, at ease, like all the events that transpired tonight was meant to happen.

 

how’s your hand?

Jimin holds up his phone, laughing softly when he sees it’s from Yoongi.

still hurts but seokjin
gave me some burn cream gonna be a pain in the ass to take care of 
:(

yeah ur a mess

He squints his eyes when he sees the reply, rolling them but the smile doesn’t fall from his face when he types back.

wow thanks
ur straight fire with compliments

should see my mixtape
i’m jp btw. i still think ur cute
also about coffee…are you still down?

“Is that Yoongi?” Seokjin asks when he walks into the living room, sitting down next to Jimin.

“Yeah.”

“What is he saying?”

“He asked me out on another date,” Jimin laughs, shaking his head because the thought of it appalled him too. How Yoongi was still talking to him is a mystery Jimin would never understand.

“Well what’re you going to say?”

Jimin opens up his phone again, re-reading the text messages before he replies back.

of course.

“The fact that he still wants to date you is incredible.” Seokjin says after Jimin tells him what he responded with.

“I know.”


The next time Jimin sees Yoongi is not coincidental, his hand doesn't feel like it's on fire, nor is it as bad as it usually is. But, it’s also probably because Jimin is actually nowhere near the older and he couldn’t exactly see Yoongi’s face underneath the lights of the stage. Jimin knew he was there though.

It’s the spring dance showcase, a month earlier than previously booked because of complications with scheduling—theatre arts program always gets first choice, sadly—Jimin’s first year finally being able to partake in the event since last year he didn’t meet the necessary requirements—that’s a lie, he just forgot to sign up for it, honestly—and he’s excited to say the least to finally be able to perform. Especially in front of his new friends, old ones, and Yoongi (Jimin didn’t know how to classify the last one, because Yoongi wasn’t exactly his friend but not really his boyfriend either). But, Hoseok more so, since he was his sunbae when it came to dancing, being a part of Neuron after-all.

He’s stretching inside the dressing room, legs already feeling much like jelly even though he hasn’t even started yet, and it’s not like he’s not confident in his dancing, but the nerves flare up in his chest making him even more anxious.

“Jimin the last group is finishing up, you might want to head out there soon.” the event manager says, a girl named Yubin who was attractive enough to make Jimin think he’d pursue her if he wasn’t interested in someone else, smiling widely at Jimin who was finally getting up from his position on the floor. “Break a leg!” she adds. 

His piece is a contemporary piece, mixed in with a hip hop routine towards the middle half. Jimin’s been practicing it for weeks, that’s why he wasn’t able to meet with Yoongi until now—hell, meet up with anyone really. At the start of the first song, it’s mellow, and he gets carried away with the soft melody, gracefully reaching his arms over and around, legs fluidly moving into the steady notes of the piano, like he was getting swiftly pulled through the wind of chords.

And, then when the tune of steady drum and bass hits the speakers, Jimin contracts his muscles along with it. The whole crowd cheering from the sudden change in atmosphere. He’s satisfied, the crowd roaring after the end of his last move, standing up, applauding, screaming compliments that makes his out of breath chest scream into life because his lungs are dancing fire but igniting more so when he sees the faces of smiles, laughs, and Yoongi.

“Um. Holy shit.” Taehyung says, clapping a hand over Jimin’s back when the showcase finally ends, wrapping his arms over Jimin when the sweaty boy emerges from the crowds of people. “You were fucking amazing!”

“Thank you.” he replies back, grinning widely at Jeongguk who nodded his head and agreed (which was quite an accomplishment, really, since compliments from each other was a rarity).

“I would’ve never expected it to go from that to that, you know? Like. The whole time I was just expecting you to dance slow, all gross lovingly and shit but then all of a sudden you were doing this,” Taehyung mimics (horribly) a dance move that Jimin had done earlier on the stage, “to this,” more added moves, “and I was like—that’s my best friend!”

“Taehyung, please don’t do that anymore.” Jeongguk chimes, shaking his head when the older starts moving around the floors like a fish out of water, embarrassing the youngest of their circle of friends.

Jimin turns to look at the other group, Namjoon stalking behind Seokjin, Hoseok cheering wildly and clapping, and then Yoongi—and fuck, Jimin is almost at a loss of words. He decides to not pay attention to him just yet, accepting the compliments from Namjoon and Seokjin, soaking in the praise from his dancing sunbae with a small laugh when Hoseok asks him why he wasn’t a part of Neuron yet, but then Yoongi slides his way through, circle glasses perched low on his nose, mint-hair fading so lightly that it looks just a wash of pale blue and green, and Jimin reminds himself how beautiful Yoongi’s smile is—holding his breath just for a second when Yoongi wraps his arms around him.

“Hi,” Jimin says softly, taking in a deep breath of Yoongi’s cologne, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world. I missed you.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

There’s an exchange of a glance, a heartbeats count, eyelashes fluttering through the images of Yoongi’s face looking so wonderfully put inside the mess of large crowds, his other friends loud laughter and the soft breathing emitting from Yoongi’s chest compared to Jimin’s heavy one. It feels something like a cliche romance movie, but if so, Jimin was more than happy to fit the mold of cheesy, disgusting and mainstream.

“Let’s party,” Taehyung’s voice comes in, cutting the both of their thoughts, “we need to celebrate this.”

Even though Jimin doesn’t like the idea of partying over a small event like him performing at a showcase, he finds himself along with his six other friends at Namjoon’s house—six bottles of soju sitting on top of the table, a couple cans of opened beer, some cheap drunk food and Yoongi’s hand around his waist. At least he took a quick shower before the partying began.

“Don’t you think you should slow down?” Jimin asks Taehyung, finding it amusing that the party was meant for him but it seems like Taehyung was the one who was more excited, having finished at least an entire bottle to himself. Jimin on the other hand, was only lightly buzzed. “That’s like your fifth shot of soju.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s okay. I can take care of him.” Hoseok says, wrapping a steady arm over his boyfriend’s—Jimin freaked out a little when Taehyung brought it up in the car—shoulders. “He’s spending the night with me, so let him have fun.”

“If he throws up on my carpet I hope you know you’ll be paying for the damages.” Namjoon butts in, shoving a handful of french fries into his mouth, Seokjin giving a mild look of disgust next to him. “What? French fries are the best drunk food, okay?”

An argument of proper etiquette ensues within the two groups—Taehyung loudly exclaiming that there’s no such thing as etiquette anymore, Namjoon laughing along with him, and then Seokjin claims that’s the reason why the world has gone to the shits, along with Hoseok—and Jimin could only help but laugh when Jeongguk follows suit with the messy french fry eating habit; the younger boy ignored it at first but the sudden urge to eat overcame him like a tide.

“What? I’m younger than all of you, let me do what I want.” he quips, the whole room erupting with laughter.

“Hey,” Yoongi whispers through the mess of sounds, resting his forehead on the point of Jimin’s shoulders, “do you want to talk outside for a minute?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Jimin replies, surprised but nonetheless happy for the change of atmosphere when the cool air hits his face nicely, the night is calm (aside from the noise inside the house) and he, surprisingly, feels the same. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing in particular. I just felt like we haven’t really had a decent conversation since the date,” Yoongi smiles when Jimin noticeably grimaces at the memory, “and I just wanted to see how you were doing. How’s your hand?”

“Fine. It’s not as bad anymore, I can do things without my fingers feeling like they’re about to fall off.”

“That’s good.”

The silence that ensues is comfortable, nothing awkward between the two of them. The streetlamp outside illuminating a yellow cast over the shadows of their bodies, captivating Yoongi’s pale complexion into a muddy grey and still, Jimin thinks, that the older helplessly looks so attractive standing underneath the moon, strands of hair blowing away at the wind like little small antennas, with plush lips that look so pink in this kind of light—and Jimin wonders how exactly does it feel like, to graze his lips against them.

“You’re staring again.” Yoongi grins while taking a step closer to Jimin, hands in his pockets with his upper lip tucked into his mouth—the big, gummy smile back on his face.

“Sorry.” the younger says, turning his attention to the floor, laughing softly himself at his slip-up, but not really sorry at all. “I seem to do that a lot, huh?”

“I don’t mind. Hey,” Yoongi whispers, taking a hand out of his pocket before cupping it underneath Jimin’s chin, and it’s then that Jimin’s heart speeds up just a little, the blood rushing to his head because their faces are so close, the proximity close enough for him to feel the heat of Yoongi’s breath on his cheeks, “I’m gonna—”

“Yeah.”

Jimin already knew what was coming, the explanation wasn’t needed, not when the atmosphere has already been set like this and he closes his eyes, counting to four, when he feels the soft touch of skin against his lips, and Yoongi’s kissing him. Jimin instantaneously puts his arms up, jutting his arms around Yoongi’s waist, hugging the older closer to his chest while Yoongi still had one hand in his pocket and one hand underneath Jimin’s chin.

Jimin doesn’t know how long they kiss for, not until he hears,

“Okay, that’s so fucking gross. I’m sorry, hyung, but I’m dipping. It’s like I’m in a household full of goddamned couples who are ready to just suck each other’s faces off,” Jeongguk spits, taking steps down the patio when Jimin finally pulls away laughing with Yoongi snorting through the commotion, “Remind me to not hang out with you guys when you decide to swallow each other’s tongues. All of you!”

And just like that Jeongguk throws his longboard on the cement, kicking away with what looks like their drunk food in his fingers.

“Do you—do you wanna come back to my place?” Yoongi asks softly, resting his forehead on Jimin’s.

“Yes.”

 

“Sorry about the mess,” Yoongi says, unlocking his front door quickly, shoving a pair of shoes along with it. “Haven’t really had—wait, never mind. You’ve been here before.”

“Yeah,” Jimin laughs, the memory blurred since the last time he wasn’t exactly up to par, “I don’t really remember much of your place though. At least now I’m not drunk off my ass.”

“That was quite a day, honestly,” Yoongi responds, the sound of the front door locking behind him.

It’s a little awkward now, no one else in the apartment but them since Yoongi lives alone (which was good, you know, for other reasons) but now that they were both standing there in the living room with nothing much else to say, Jimin wonders if it was a bad idea to come here so soon. Considering they’ve only met a few times, texted a lot but not really having more than a few conversations in person, and the tension is a little uncomfortable.

“So uh.” Yoongi says, hands on his hips as he surveys his carpet, clean aside from the litter of a few notebooks.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure.”

What they picked was something Jimin wasn’t really in the mood for, but he wasn’t exactly paying attention to the screen, anyway. He’s looking at Yoongi from the corner of his eyes, the flashing images from the television screen illuminating over the older’s face and glasses that were still perched low on his nose. He turns to look back at the movie, thoughts numbing about whether or not he should do something because Yoongi beside him looks like he’s not really interested in the movie either.

Well, what does Jimin have to lose, right?

He edges his fingers close to Yoongi’s, daring, allowing himself to finally take the lead this time—hoping that it wasn’t a bad choice—but when Yoongi allows their hands to intwine, Jimin tightens his fingers over the older’s. They sit there, holding hands for moments that felt a little more comfortable, but when the movie starts getting a little more bland, Jimin decides to finally let go.

“Woah,” Yoongi laughs when Jimin positions himself onto Yoongi’s lap, surprised but letting his hands wrap around the jut of Jimin’s hipbones.

“Hi,” Jimin says after pulling off Yoongi's glasses and setting it on the table, smiling widely through the fast beat of his heart pounding in his ears. If Yoongi notices how nervous he was, he doesn’t say anything, instead he pulls their faces closer, kissing once again but this time the passion is unbearable.

Yoongi kisses with experience, tongue dancing out of his mouth as soon as the kiss progresses, Jimin licking back into the older’s with a soft mewl from his lips. It’s starting to feel hot, goosebumps prickling on Jimin’s skin way before they opened mouths but now he feels explosive. He wants this, fuck, he daydreams a little about this—car incident made it even more worse, but now he thanks the memory—and now that he has it, he’s not going to live it down.

“Slow down, Jimin.” Yoongi pulls back, breath erratic with his lips bruised a slight pink.

“I want this, Yoongi,” Jimin mutters, eyes already half-lidded just from kissing, “god, I want this.”

And the older becomes pliant, allowing Jimin’s fingers to prowl against the breadth of skin that’s so warm underneath his fingertips, his palms, he ventures out on Yoongi’s skin with his mouth attached to the pout of lips, the curves of neck and shoulders, collarbones that are sharp and pointy against his tongue. He loses all awkward limbs, his movements becoming lust ridden, high on cloud nine as Yoongi groans against his body.

“Do you want to—?” Yoongi poses, eyelashes wet with arousal, tears prickling from the corner of his eyes as Jimin unconsciously grinds his hips down on the older’s lap, “oh, fuck.” the older moans, twitching his hips at the friction.

“Yes.”

It’s all that Yoongi needs, which Jimin is grateful for, because the hardening of his cock inside his loose sweatpants was starting to become a little mind bending, and he didn’t want to go home with Yoongi not touching him. They make it into the bedroom, stumbling across the floors when their lips refuse to become detached from one another’s, the passion milking strength in their bodies and Jimin’s moaning, whining, clutching onto the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt with fingers that shake because Yoongi feels like electricity against his skin and he wants it, needs it.

“Do you have a condom?” Jimin asks, mind whirring when he gets tossed onto the bed, bouncing back from the force and spreading his legs wide for Yoongi to fit inside.

“Y-yeah,” the older stutters a reply, mouth wet with saliva, hands uneasy and reckless against Jimin’s waist, “fuck, you’re so hot.” he says, throwing Jimin’s shirt over his shoulder before latching his mouth against the curve of Jimin’s stomach.

A moan escapes Jimin’s lips, he’s a little amused to say the least at how fast this progressed and he’s a little exhausted, limbs still worn out from the showcase but right now he doesn’t care because Yoongi is palming against his clothed erection, the cotton of his sweatpants grazing up his girth—because, he, somehow forgot to put on underwear, which Yoongi notices because,

“You’re not even wearing underwear?” Yoongi gasps, fondling his fingers around Jimin’s clothed cock, laughing breathlessly when he realizes that there’s nothing underneath, “Fuck, Jimin.”

Jimin, in turn, shimmies his hips, sticking out a tongue playfully when the older brings a hand towards the band of his sweats, “Maybe? Maybe not.”

“What happened to the awkward?” Yoongi smiles against Jimin’s lower belly, leaving a damp kiss in it’s wake, “Before you were all weird and grade school crushing on me. Now you’re just—”

“Hot? Sexy? Fuck worthy?”

“You’ve always been fuck worthy, but now you’re downright fucking sinful,” Yoongi pulls down the younger’s pants, massaging his hands on Jimin’s thighs, “but I can’t complain. I like this.”

Jimin himself doesn’t know where the newfound confidence comes from, maybe it’s him still feeling high off of the successful showcase, maybe it’s him finally warming up to Yoongi and not making a mess out of himself, but he also thinks it’s because Yoongi definitely feels right against him, with him, like this is habitual. So, the effort to take off Yoongi's clothes isn't awkward, in fact, it's the complete opposite. Jimin hastily grabbing for the shirt and clawing against Yoongi's ribcage when the other moans into his mouth, pants getting pulled down as quick as it takes for Jimin to breathe. 

“God, will you please just—” Jimin gets cut off with a slick of hands around him, the lower half his body igniting with the gentle pull of Yoongi’s fingers.

Jimin scoots himself further back, comfortably resting his head against Yoongi’s pillows, the familiar scent of cologne clinging onto his senses but this time in a different way, and he doesn’t miss the small smirk on Yoongi’s lips when his hips twitch on it’s on accord, Yoongi mouthing a ‘you okay?’ when Jimin’s breath gets stuck in his throat.

Jimin is more than okay, he’s okay, he’s okay, even when Yoongi’s fingers are massaged with lube, pumping a fast pace on Jimin’s cock and it feels like he’s losing his mind when the older suddenly presses a digit inside—he does lose his mind when Yoongi presses two, his walls falling open to let Yoongi in and it takes almost every ounce of his soul to stay quiet, but when Yoongi juts a finger against a spot that has him begging he wraps his arms around Yoongi’s neck, clinging hard because now his hips are moving, Yoongi’s fingers are deep and the only sound he hears is the slick of lube inside of him.

Oh, fuck,” Jimin moans, digging his nails into Yoongi’s shoulders, “fuck, Yoongi.”

Yoongi returns the sound, kissing Jimin on the lips hard when the third finger slides in with a little ease, a little effort, the younger whimpering at the discomfort but telling Yoongi to go because he doesn’t have the fucking time to wait for Yoongi to fuck him open anymore, he wants more than just the digits.

“Okay,” Yoongi breathes, a small chuckle reverberating in his chest when Jimin sighs.

The condom gets put on quicker than Jimin’s mind can process, but he’s thankful for the quick speed because the feeling of Yoongi’s cock pressing on his entrance has him keening. Finally. Yoongi lines his cock against Jimin, slowly pressing inside and watching with awe at the way Jimin’s face distorts into something that’s beautiful, lust painted on the edges of his mouth, freshly washed hair damp with sweat, mouth twitching from holding in a moan.

“Don’t.” Jimin hears Yoongi say, eyes wandering open at the statement.

“What?”

“Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”

Jimin softly moans when he hears the words fall from Yoongi’s lips, both their eyes transfixed on each other’s bodies, mouths, face, and then Jimin lets out a loud keen when he feels Yoongi push inside—hot, tight, it’s suffocating. The stench of sex already heady enough to knock his head back and it’s murderous when Yoongi’s seated deep. Hips barely moving, stopping so that Jimin can get adjusted and Jimin’s never expected this—yes, the incident in the car proved that Yoongi was well endowed but this was fucking something else—and then,

“Go. Please,” Jimin begs, inching his body closer so that their chests were touching, moving his hips so that the older gets pushed in deeper, the position now so wonderfully angled and Jimin cries out when Yoongi does, hips stuttering a little at how unbelievably tight Jimin feels around the older.

Fuck,” Yoongi grits out, grip bruising against the olive flesh of Jimin’s hips, “you’re so tight.” he seethes through his teeth, rocking his hips in a sway that has the younger’s body arching high off the bedsheets.

Jimin feels the sheen of sweat on his body, dancing around the dips and crevices of his chest and stomach, but the slide of Yoongi’s against his grounds him. Knowing that Yoongi is here—even after all the terrible mishaps, clumsiness and impressions, the older still wants him, Yoongi still wants Jimin. And, the feeling is incredible.

“Oh my god,” Jimin whines, back bending with such force when Yoongi hits his prostate, “oh my god, Yoongi—I’m, fuck.”

“I got you,” Yoongi whispers back, mouth repeating the words over and over again when Jimin starts shaking from the pleasure that surrounds his body, “Let go, baby.”

It doesn't take much, a few more thrusts, erratically, and Jimin’s a sobbing mess, the older’s name flowing out of his lips like a mantra, “Yoongi,” he chokes, slamming his hips back down against Yoongi’s cock, “Yoongi,” he moans again when it brushes right against his prostate, Yoongi’s hands finding purchase around the younger's cock, pumping with a downstroke that has him moaning until his voice cracks, “Yoongi, I’m cumming,” he screams as the orgasm rips through his body, “cum for me, please.” he whispers, the high of his orgasm still clinging onto his body as the older continues to move.

Yoongi bottoms out, hips losing their finesse and when the pleasure hits him, his voice stutters, as well as his hips. Pushing so deeply inside that it makes Jimin gasp from the oversensitivity, limbs still tingling from his own orgasm. The older lays there for a while, breath still coming out sporadically just like the younger's, thoughts swimming with the sensitivity of their bodies hanging so close together still, and Jimin wonders how exactly he got this far with Yoongi.  

“Wow,” Yoongi breathlessly laughs, pulling out gently when they were both coming down from their high, “jesus, I don’t even remember the last time I came that hard.”

“Same.” Jimin replies and he’s all toothy smiles, eyes dancing beautiful crescents against his eyelids and he’s so at peace with how he feels, with this, that even the sticky sensation against his stomach doesn’t bother him.

Jimin’s body dips with the press of Yoongi’s knee, the other grabbing a towel from off the floor in an attempt to clean the both of their bodies off. It feels nice, to be taken care of this way, strong hands making work with wiping all the sticky residue from his body and he smiles up at Yoongi when the older tosses the towel back onto the floor.

“I hope you’re going to actually wash that and not leave that there,” Jimin adds, mockingly giving a look of disgust, “that’s nasty, hyung.”

“If I had known you’d be this much of a brat and this mouthy, I wouldn’t have asked you out that date,” Yoongi replies, smirking in the aftermath of the insult, knowing well that it wasn’t serious, “but it’s okay. I think I can manage.”

“That’s cold.”

“Accept this as an apology.” Yoongi mutters, before caging in Jimin’s body with his own, lips inching back down towards Jimin’s face, a soft, chaste kiss blowing out of the corners of their mouths.

“Apology accepted.” Jimin whispers, fluttering his eyes closed when Yoongi kisses him on the nose. “But—but maybe you have to do that again.”

And so, Yoongi does. Jimin smiles into the kiss this time while Yoongi returns it. 

 

“We literally just had sex last night," Yoongi incredulously stares, watching as the younger flings himself from one end of the bathtub to the other, slamming his body onto the bathroom walls in the process, “what’s the big deal?”

“I’m fucking naked, that’s why. And, bathroom lights accentuate like—like, everything!”

“Just let me in!”

“No!”

“Jimin, you’re being stupid. Just let me get in the fucking shower.”

No, hyung, my thighs don’t look good in this lighting,” Jimin says, turning around but realizing that his ass was right in Yoongi’s vision, far from where he wanted it, “goddamn it, just get out!”

“Your thighs look fine. Ten out of ten. Look,” Yoongi laughs softly, “I won’t look at you, okay?”

But, before Jimin could muster a response he feels the warmth of Yoongi’s body inside the tub, the hot water cutting short on his body because Yoongi’s own was underneath the shower. Jimin turns his head around, shooting a glare into the back of the older's head when the other didn’t listen to him. “Wow. I’m so breaking up with you now.”

“I wasn’t made aware that we were actually a thing—I’m kidding! Ow!” Yoongi winces when Jimin lands a powerful punch on his shoulder, laughing louder when he sees the cute little pout on the younger’s lips, “I’m just joking, baby, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” Jimin mumbles, fighting his way towards the downpour of water that was his at first, shoving the older back behind him so he can finish getting ready, “don’t look.”

“Okay.”

Jimin is in the middle of washing out the conditioner from his hair when he feels a pair of arms wrap around his body, the water sliding down his back and pooling where Yoongi’s chest connects with his back. He smiles softly, the offense wiping clear out of his thoughts when he feels kisses against his shoulder, “You were staring, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Yoongi replies, biting a red hickey at the nape of Jimin’s neck, moaning low in his throat when he feels Jimin grind back against him, “but fuck, you look so good in this lighting. I don’t know why you were so persistent about looking ugly. You’re beautiful.”

“Show me, then.”

Jimin feels the pressure of Yoongi flipping them around, pushing him against the wall of the bathroom where he turns the water off just slightly, the steam enveloping their bodies in a damp sheen. Jimin looks down where Yoongi crouches, fingers already wrapping around his half-hard cock and mouth opening slightly, the older looks up with a smirk, blowing a hot breath over the expanse of Jimin’s length, before pushing Jimin inside his mouth.

God,” Jimin whispers, bringing a hand up to wrap into the strands of Yoongi’s wet hair, mouth falling open from the sensation of a warm mouth wrapped so nicely around him. He knocks his head back when Yoongi delves deeper. Licking up a stripe before flattening his tongue on the underside of his cock and then Yoongi says it,

“You’re so goddamned beautiful.”

i’m off of work at five if you wanna come by
for that promised coffee date, i mean

The text message reads, Jimin staring at his phone with a smile billowing at his lips because he had almost forgotten. With the events that transpired through the month, only having seen Yoongi twice since they’ve had sex, Jimin was more than happy to meet Yoongi alone. It felt like it’s been forever since the last time they’ve been.

ok. :’)
miss you.

 

don’t be gross just hurry up and come see me
…before i end up going crazy from not seeing your face
shu tup

wow and you call me gross

 

ok you win
miss you too

  

Rise and Grind is as busy as it usually is, the onslaught of students crowding around the tables and counters like Jimin had assumed it would be. He walks in with a glow on his face, the image of Yoongi working behind the counter and looking as amazing as ever was still a sight that made him hold his breath. It seems that Yoongi has re-colored his hair again, his pale complexion looking so beautiful underneath the bright mint.

“Hey,” Yoongi says with a gummy smile—one that Jimin will forever keep in his mind as his favorite—before bending his hips over the counter to give Jimin a kiss on the cheek, “god, I missed you.”

“Aw, thanks,” Jimin replies, pink flush of color against his cheeks and he wonders stupidly why Yoongi still had that affect on him, “I didn’t miss you at all.” he lies, wiping his cheek playfully in an effort to hide his blushing but making it seem like he was actually wiping the kiss off his face.

“That why you blushing like a fucking idiot over there?”

“Not blushing. It’s cold.”

“The sun has been out since eight in the morning, Jimin,” Yoongi laughs, “there’s not even wind blowing.”

“Okay, I give up, I miss you too.” Jimin slouches his shoulders, setting his elbows on the counter before looking up at Yoongi, “It’s five why are you still behind there?”

“Waiting for you. What kind of drink do you want?”

Jimin looks up at the menu, eyes dancing at the array of (still) pretentious titles and mildly wondering why Yoongi would even pick to work here in the first place. It doesn't really suit Yoongi, but Jimin thinks that he's really not the one to judge, after all. 

“Hmm,” he says, “maybe I’ll try the green tea latte. Or, the—blissful green—Really? Why couldn’t you just call it a green tea latte.”

“I don’t make the titles, I just work here.” Yoongi says, “Find a place and sit down, I’ll be there soon.”

Jimin does as he’s told, giving a wave to Namjoon who’s hair was now slicked back and handsomely put together on the tops of his head—did him and Seokjin finally start dating, too?—before deciding on a table next to the window. He finds that the warm sun dancing against his skin was nice, the scenery of busy traffic on the street a comforting distraction from waiting for Yoongi to come back with their drinks.

“Hey, baby,” Yoongi smiles, setting down the two drinks on the table, work apron off his hips, “fancy seeing you looking all aesthetic and shit next to this window.”

“God, shut up.” Jimin replies, but it’s not offensive, a large smile on his lips when he sees the older laughing softly to himself.

He reaches for his cup of green tea latte, pressing it against his lips and about to take a drink when Yoongi says, “Is that how you’re supposed to talk to your boyfriend?”

Which, hilariously, makes Jimin take an abnormally deep breath of air, gulping in the hot liquid into his throat with an unattractive sound that sounds akin to him sucking cock (which would’ve been more attractive in a different kind of setting, but here he was). He coughs out the liquid lodged into his throat, eyes watering from the sensation of his tongue getting burned as well as his entire goddamned mouth, and when he finally catches his breath—looking at Yoongi with eyes that are pouring tears because his throat feels like it’s on fire—he finally says, “What?”

Yoongi doesn’t reply at first, only staring at Jimin with a look of horror on his face. The seconds pass and Jimin thinks that maybe his relationship with Yoongi would only be filled with his stupid clumsiness, but soon, the older erupts into a loud laughter that has Jimin reeling along with it.

“You are fucking incredible,” the older says, clutching onto his stomach when the waves of laughter subsides, “it’s never a dull day with you.”

“Thanks,” Jimin mutters in mock bitter, still smiling through the playful spit in his words, “my fucking tongue feel like it’s about to fall off thanks to you.”

“I’ll kiss it better don’t worry. Although. Not my fault to begin with.”

Jimin makes a face, sucking on his tongue when the heat dulls into a throb, but then he finally asks, “Hey, did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“The whole boyfriend thing.”

Yoongi smiles before reverting his gaze onto the table, thinking, silent for moments that make Jimin feel like he was about to break, because if this was some kind of sick joke, he wasn’t down with it, but Yoongi looks up with a small nod. “Yeah. I meant it.”

“Oh.” Jimin says, “Oh, okay.”

“So is that a yes?”

Jimin laughs, “I should be the one asking you. Considering I’ve been so fucking awkward, clumsy, and terrible throughout this whole goddamned thing, but yes. God, yes. I would love it.”

“Then, shut up and just let me have you.” Yoongi whispers, reaching across the table to kiss Jimin hard on the mouth.

It seems that Yoongi kept his promise of kissing away the pain, because when they pull apart Jimin’s mouth doesn’t feel like it’s on fire anymore. Instead, his mouth tastes only of Yoongi and the far away taste of burnt matcha. And, god damn does he love it. 

 

(Later on though, on their date, Jimin ends up knocking over his drink clear across the table, the green liquid splashing all over his clothes before dripping onto the floor.

“You really do have a way to my heart, don’t you?” Yoongi smiles, watching with amusement when Jimin flushes a shade of the brightest pink.

“Feel free to break up with me whenever you want. I will totally understand.” Jimin sighs, grabbing napkins from the dispenser with a frown, hastily throwing them all down onto the spillage.

“Okay.”

“Wow, Yoongi.”

“I’m joking, babe.”)