fic: come when i call
Come when I call
PG. Suga/Jimin. 3011 words. AO3 mirror.
Yeah, Min Yoongi has a crush on Park Jimin. Yeah, he’s maybe being a little bit mean to Jimin until he can figure it out. Yeah, he's man enough to admit it, if not quite man enough to do anything about it yet.
“Um, hyung,” Jimin says.
Yoongi refuses to look at him. He refuses because he’s a grown man with adult sensibilities and adult self-control-oh, what the hell. He looks at Jimin. Big fucking mistake. Jimin is pulling at the hem of his jersey and biting his lip, looking so cute Yoongi wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him a little because, how dare he? Who made him this way? Yoongi demands answers. Jimin’s hair is still a little damp, probably because he woke up late again this morning and had just enough time to squeeze in a shower before practice even though he’s just going to get sweaty again. Yoongi is horrified to find that he really wants to smooth down the bit of hair curling up and away from Jimin’s temple, and he has to stick his hand into his armpit even though he’d forgotten to put on deodorant this morning and everything under there is sweaty and gross. Yoongi vows to wipe his pits on Jimin's favorite shirt the next chance he gets. Then he glances at the pout of Jimin's mouth and, okay. Fine. Maybe his second favorite shirt.
“What do you want,” he says.
Jimin looks nervous. “Um,” he says again. “You’ve been kind of, you know, these past few weeks, so I was just wondering-”
And then Yoongi doesn’t know what Jimin must find in his face because he stops, blush rising in his soft cheeks, and looks at the floor. Yoongi opens his mouth to ask: Been kind of what? Wondering what? Stop wasting my time.
Or: Can you just, like, not talk to me for a week so I can go back to thinking you’re just a cute and precious dongsaeng instead of a cute and precious dongsaeng I want to make out with?
Or even the question Yoongi really wants to ask, which is: Park Jimin, can we make out?
What comes out is a gruff, “What.”
“Never mind,” Jimin says quickly. “Ha ha. Kidding, hyung! There's nothing. Just messing with you.” Jimin is a terrible liar. He lands a weak punch on Yoongi’s bicep, too timid to cause any pain. Yoongi and Jimin both look at the scrape of Jimin’s knuckles against the pale of Yoongi’s skin, and Jimin drops his fist. “Okay, bye!” he says, before skipping off to latch himself onto Jungkook’s back.
More questions. What? No, really, what? Yoongi, against his better judgment, follows the flex of Jimin’s thighs as they clamp around Jungkook’s waist, and then laughs out loud when Jungkook unceremoniously drops him on his ass. At least he’s not completely hopeless.
Yeah, Min Yoongi has a crush on Park Jimin. Yeah, he’s maybe being a little bit mean to Jimin until he can figure it out. Yeah, he's man enough to admit it, if not quite man enough to do anything about it yet. What? He barely has facial hair. Give him a few years to grow into the man he knows he can be.
There are worse things than crushing on Park Jimin. At least he's cute. Sweet. An honestly good kid. Listens well, unlike Taehyung. Not too...tall, unlike Jungkook. That's probably not a bad thing to most people, but Yoongi has a bad track record. He had this girlfriend his first year of high school who was a little taller than him, maybe the only girl he didn’t mind calling him cute. That kind of first love. She'd been the most beautiful girl in the world to him, a statuesque 168cm at seventeen, and had broken up with him on his birthday for a guy who went to a school across town. Rumor had him at 182cm and dumb as a pair of bricks, which was coincidentally what his knuckles looked like when clenched.
Yoongi had thought about fighting him for all of two days, and even got as far as the bus that would've taken him to his ex's part-time job at her family's bakery where her new boyfriend had taken to hanging around like a malfunctioning sprinkler system, one that only turned on when it rained. On second thought, Yoongi probably didn't like her that much anymore. He was only eighteen-if he could be left so easily by a girl he thought he’d treated better than he’d treated anyone in his life, well, what did he know about love? So he turned around, went home, and wrote a song about it instead.
Not too long after that, he passed his final BigHit audition and the next time he even had a chance to think about someone else in the same way he’d thought about that first girl he’d loved came in a brief moment just months before debut.
Yoongi was brain dead from practicing all the time, scared stiff about what debuting would actually mean, and had looked at the sun of Hoseok's eternal smile during one of their late-night sessions and thought, hey, yeah, maybe-, which was an impression he cultivated for approximately as long as it took them to debut. Backstage after the performance, Hoseok had jumped each of them in turn, hanging off shoulders and hollering as loud as he could. For Christ's sake, he'd even picked Yoongi up and twirled him. Just-no. No. Absolutely not. Whatever might have flowered within Yoongi dried immediately into the hard husk of an overcooked sunflower seed.
After Hoseok got through terrorizing all of them and retreated to a corner to call his parents, Jimin came up to stand beside him. After a moment's hesitation, he slipped his sweaty, calloused palm into Yoongi’s, whose hand opened up automatically to accept his. "Yay, hyung," he said in a hoarse half-shout, voice rubbed sweet and raw and reminding Yoongi of the many nights Jimin had spent in the studio, ubiquitous thermos of honey tea beside him. "We did it!"
Yoongi rubbed his thumb along the sturdy ridge of Jimin's fingers, and though the desire to make out with Jimin won't come until much later, he knows now this is where it started. "Yay," he'd agreed. "We did."
Yoongi doesn’t believe in bullshit like love at first sight, and he’s self-aware enough that it’s difficult for him to believe there are really people capable of dragging their feelings around and not noticing the extra weight stepping on their heels. Yoongi’s feelings for Jimin are like marbles in his pants and a hole in his pocket-if he’s careful, they won’t tumble out and trip him, but he hasn’t been very careful lately, running hot and cold. He tried to be better after Jimin chickened out of a confrontation the week before, Jimin happy enough to follow his lead, but Yoongi knows he’s fucked when Hoseok starts giving him The Look, and worse than fucked when Taehyung of all people starts glancing at him, then at Jimin, clearly thinking he’s being subtle. He’s as subtle as a finger point, which means that pretty soon Namjoon starts noticing, too. Yoongi hates it when Namjoon notices things almost as much as he hates it when Namjoon doesn’t notice things.
Namjoon noticing means waiting until he and Yoongi are alone to bring it up, a cleared throat at 3:30AM in the studio. They’ve been working on new tracks for an hour, though nothing’s really sticking. A wash session, and Yoongi’s about ready to call it quits. And then, the cleared throat.
“So,” Namjoon says. A cough.
Jesus, Yoongi thinks. His entire life lately seems to be waiting for people to get to the point. And Namjoon’s about 35% as cute as Jimin, so he can have 35% of the patience. “Get to the point, Namjoon.”
“Okay. Well,” Namjoon says. “I just wanted to, uh, check in. And see if things are okay. With you. And Jimin. It has been brought to my attention that maybe there is, um, tension?”
Yoongi looks at Namjoon incredulously. Unfortunately, Namjoon is staring straight ahead, as if their recording equipment might bail him out. Yoongi is going to be mad at Hobeom for the rest of their career for giving Namjoon all those self-help leadership books when he was first named leader. If Yoongi has to sit through one more damn mood barometer team-building session, he’s going to snap and do something ugly, possibly illegal.
Yoongi thinks about telling Namjoon the truth, or even asking him for advice-no, don’t let him finish that thought. He’s in no mood to laugh. “It’s nothing, Namjoon,” Yoongi says, pulling his headphone jack out where it’s connected to the computer. “Really. It’s just, you know, normal stuff that happens sometimes between friends. Come on. You and me fight all the time. I’ll work it out with Jimin.”
Jimin on a diet is the worst, and Yoongi isn’t just saying that because secretly he thinks Jimin is cute when he's a little plump, the way he sometimes is late at night or early in the morning, which has started to feel like a disproportionate percentage of their days. Diet Jimin has a brittle edge curbing his usual cheer and patience that none of them are fond of, least of all Jimin. There are some things about their shared lifestyle they’ll never quite adapt to. For Yoongi, it’s dance, and pushing his stubborn body where it doesn’t care to go. For Jimin, it’s diet, and having to put his world-class determination towards, of all things, deprivation.
They all worry, but Seokjin always acts as if he's been personally victimized even if he’s not the one on the diet, as if he can’t imagine a fate worse than being denied food. In some ways, he’s probably right. In any case, it’s an open secret that Seokjin has the best snack stash, the most forgiving nature, and the softest spot for the kids in distress. Yoongi’s not surprised to come home one day when Seokjin’s out with his parents to find Jimin in their bedroom, eating popcorn and reading the latest volume of One Piece, probably stolen from Taehyung. Yoongi can hear his giggles through the open door before he even turns the corner.
"Hey, hyung," Jimin says. He's lying on his back in Seokjin's bed, one leg crossed over the other. He looks a little cautious, as he has been looking the last few days. Yoongi knows it's because they all think he's in one of his moody phases. Which, okay, isn’t too far from what this is, or at least better than someone figuring out why exactly he’s been acting the way he has. But also, rude.
"Hey, Jiminie," Yoongi says. He just wants the comfort of hanging out with his favorite dongsaeng again without the annoyance attraction brings with it. He drops his backpack on the floor and then follows suit on his bed, sprawling out with his wrists hanging over the edges of his bed. He’s too tired to turn his head all the way, but he’s got a perfect view of Jimin, bracketed by a curl of his own hair and his bedspread.
He watches Jimin light up at the familiar endearment, cautiousness falling away. When he sits up, the bag of popcorn spills a little onto Seokjin’s comforter. Seokjin’s magnanimity probably doesn’t extend to cover that kind of damage, but Jimin’s the best at getting out of trouble. Yoongi’s not worried. He watches Jimin get up, setting his book down. Then he’s crossing the short length of the room, settling on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, shoulders hunched but a little tense, like he’s still not totally sure Yoongi won’t just snap at him.
Yoongi rolls once, about as much as he can on his narrow bed anyway, and pats next to him. “You want to hang out for a little bit?”
They’re both a little bigger than they were at debut, so the bed’s a much tighter squeeze, the wall cool where Yoongi presses against it. Still, they find a way. Yoongi’s right arm loops around Jimin’s shoulders, pulling him in, and Jimin ends up skating a hand beneath Yoongi’s tank top to rest lightly at the small of his back, just centimeters from the waistband of his jeans. There’s more than one hand tangled awkwardly between them, but Yoongi gives it at least five minutes before it becomes too much to bear. Just enough time to bury his nose in Jimin’s hair and inhale, recharging.
“Hey, hyung?” Jimin asks, not quite a whisper but more muted than his regular volume. Pressed so close against him, Yoongi can feel the vibrations of Jimin’s question run through him as well.
“Mm?” Yoongi murmurs, eyes drifting shut.
“Are we okay? Is this okay?”
Yoongi pulls back just enough to get a good look at Jimin’s face. This close, it’s about all he has to look at. He runs through a mental checklist of his bodily functions, checking to see if each is running at full capability. His hand, draped loosely around Jimin’s shoulder, starts to sweat, but otherwise he feels exceedingly normal. “Yeah,” he says in an exhale, eyes slipping shut again. “Of course-”
And then he’s wide awake, eyes open and staring right down the slope of Jimin’s blunt nose where it ends with a smush against his. Jimin’s mouth is soft and a little bit salty against Yoongi’s, and he starts pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against Yoongi’s cheek when Yoongi remains slack-jawed and in shock. Give him a minute because, what? Did he miss the make out memo? And how?
“Uh,” he manages to say, pulling away from Jimin as best as he can. It’s a small bed, and the distance isn’t nearly enough for Yoongi to fully process everything. “Wait, what? I mean-Jiminie, what?”
Jimin’s smile is too self-satisfied by half as it grows like an out of control weed out of one corner of his mouth. “I figured you either liked me or you didn’t like me. And I don’t think you don’t like me.” Yoongi must be gaping at him, because Jimin’s smile wilts a little. “I mean, I’m not wrong, am I?”
Jimin is such a fucking brat. “You’re such a fucking brat,” Yoongi says, with wonder. He can’t believe it. Jimin is so wrong, this is way worse than the time Yoongi liked Hoseok, why couldn’t Yoongi just like a nice, emotionally constipated guy like Jungkook, now there’s a good kid, he’d never do this to Yoongi-
“Yoongi-hyung?” Jimin asks, smile back on his face, in full bloom this time. “You’re blushing.” And then his mouth is against Yoongi’s again, and this time Yoongi knows enough to let him in.
Jungkook has his head pillowed on Taehyung's stomach, who has his head pillowed on Jimin's stomach, who has his head etc., when Yoongi leans over them sprawled on the practice room floor.
“Yah, kids,” he says, and pokes the toe of his shoe into Taehyung’s side. He’s been sent on collection duty by Namjoon, who was too pleased by far with Yoongi’s supposed conflict resolution skills in handling his supposed situation with Jimin. Yoongi didn’t have the heart to tell Namjoon he wasn’t all that interested in making a habit out of kissing bandmates he was fighting with.
Jimin is staring at the ceiling, gaze unfocused, though he starts when Yoongi speaks. Jungkook is half-asleep, head lolling dangerously close to Taehyung's dick. Taehyung squints up at Yoongi, a hand coming up to shield his eyes. "You're blocking the sun," he complains. It's 2AM and they're indoors. Yoongi thinks briefly, longingly of kicking him.
But Jimin raises himself on his elbows, bucking his hips a little so Taehyung's head falls off his lap and hits the floor with a dull thud, and it’s almost good enough. Yoongi knew Jimin was his favorite for a reason. “What’s up, hyung?”
“It’s time to go,” Yoongi says, and snaps his towel at Jungkook’s exposed stomach. Jungkook cracks one bleary eye open at him, mouth tiredly curling into a snarl. “The faster you all get up the faster you can sleep in a real bed.”
Motivation works on Jungkook like a flipped switch. In a flash, he’s on his feet and dragging Taehyung along with him, suddenly alert. “Come on,” Yoongi hears Jungkook say. “If we hurry, we can make Jimin-hyung sit in the middle.”
Jimin is still sitting on the ground, towel draped around his shoulders. They’re all starting to reek, hair drying with the salt of their own sweat making it stand up in clumps, but Yoongi still wants to drag his nose along the line of Jimin’s neck, press a kiss to the jut of his jaw. He settles for crouching and running a hand through Jimin’s hair, messing it up even more. “If you don’t hurry you’re going to get the middle seat again,” Yoongi says. “You know how ruthless Jungkook is.”
Jimin groans. “I hate Jeon Jungkook,” he complains, but it’s half-hearted. Practice always feels extra hard on the days they have to learn a new routine, and it had been especially hard on Jimin, who lost a furious game of rock-paper-scissors against Hoseok and ended up getting stuck with running through the steps with Namjoon during their break. He leans his head against Yoongi’s arm, extending from his body to end with his hair still in Jimin’s hair, lingering there like a secret indulgence.
Jimin really needs to get in a bed. So does Yoongi, for that matter, who is starting to lose feeling in the lower half of his body to the crouch. Yoongi gives in and leans forward, pressing a brief kiss to just under Jimin’s right cheekbone. Through not an insignificant amount of trial and error, Yoongi can confirm that it is, indeed, the softest part of Jimin’s face. Jimin turns his head immediately, licking at Yoongi’s bottom lip. Yoongi lets Jimin mouth a kiss before pulling back. Never let anyone say he’s not a good hyung. “Alright, kid,” he says, gently cupping the back of Jimin’s head and laughing. “Time to go. I’ll take the middle seat.”
- Very slightly more things happen, but overall #NotMuchHappens.
- Wrote this one without any help, so any poor characterization is all on me /___\
- ty yassan for the prompt hehe
PG. Suga/Jimin. 3011 words. AO3 mirror.
Yeah, Min Yoongi has a crush on Park Jimin. Yeah, he’s maybe being a little bit mean to Jimin until he can figure it out. Yeah, he's man enough to admit it, if not quite man enough to do anything about it yet.
“Um, hyung,” Jimin says.
Yoongi refuses to look at him. He refuses because he’s a grown man with adult sensibilities and adult self-control-oh, what the hell. He looks at Jimin. Big fucking mistake. Jimin is pulling at the hem of his jersey and biting his lip, looking so cute Yoongi wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him a little because, how dare he? Who made him this way? Yoongi demands answers. Jimin’s hair is still a little damp, probably because he woke up late again this morning and had just enough time to squeeze in a shower before practice even though he’s just going to get sweaty again. Yoongi is horrified to find that he really wants to smooth down the bit of hair curling up and away from Jimin’s temple, and he has to stick his hand into his armpit even though he’d forgotten to put on deodorant this morning and everything under there is sweaty and gross. Yoongi vows to wipe his pits on Jimin's favorite shirt the next chance he gets. Then he glances at the pout of Jimin's mouth and, okay. Fine. Maybe his second favorite shirt.
“What do you want,” he says.
Jimin looks nervous. “Um,” he says again. “You’ve been kind of, you know, these past few weeks, so I was just wondering-”
And then Yoongi doesn’t know what Jimin must find in his face because he stops, blush rising in his soft cheeks, and looks at the floor. Yoongi opens his mouth to ask: Been kind of what? Wondering what? Stop wasting my time.
Or: Can you just, like, not talk to me for a week so I can go back to thinking you’re just a cute and precious dongsaeng instead of a cute and precious dongsaeng I want to make out with?
Or even the question Yoongi really wants to ask, which is: Park Jimin, can we make out?
What comes out is a gruff, “What.”
“Never mind,” Jimin says quickly. “Ha ha. Kidding, hyung! There's nothing. Just messing with you.” Jimin is a terrible liar. He lands a weak punch on Yoongi’s bicep, too timid to cause any pain. Yoongi and Jimin both look at the scrape of Jimin’s knuckles against the pale of Yoongi’s skin, and Jimin drops his fist. “Okay, bye!” he says, before skipping off to latch himself onto Jungkook’s back.
More questions. What? No, really, what? Yoongi, against his better judgment, follows the flex of Jimin’s thighs as they clamp around Jungkook’s waist, and then laughs out loud when Jungkook unceremoniously drops him on his ass. At least he’s not completely hopeless.
Yeah, Min Yoongi has a crush on Park Jimin. Yeah, he’s maybe being a little bit mean to Jimin until he can figure it out. Yeah, he's man enough to admit it, if not quite man enough to do anything about it yet. What? He barely has facial hair. Give him a few years to grow into the man he knows he can be.
There are worse things than crushing on Park Jimin. At least he's cute. Sweet. An honestly good kid. Listens well, unlike Taehyung. Not too...tall, unlike Jungkook. That's probably not a bad thing to most people, but Yoongi has a bad track record. He had this girlfriend his first year of high school who was a little taller than him, maybe the only girl he didn’t mind calling him cute. That kind of first love. She'd been the most beautiful girl in the world to him, a statuesque 168cm at seventeen, and had broken up with him on his birthday for a guy who went to a school across town. Rumor had him at 182cm and dumb as a pair of bricks, which was coincidentally what his knuckles looked like when clenched.
Yoongi had thought about fighting him for all of two days, and even got as far as the bus that would've taken him to his ex's part-time job at her family's bakery where her new boyfriend had taken to hanging around like a malfunctioning sprinkler system, one that only turned on when it rained. On second thought, Yoongi probably didn't like her that much anymore. He was only eighteen-if he could be left so easily by a girl he thought he’d treated better than he’d treated anyone in his life, well, what did he know about love? So he turned around, went home, and wrote a song about it instead.
Not too long after that, he passed his final BigHit audition and the next time he even had a chance to think about someone else in the same way he’d thought about that first girl he’d loved came in a brief moment just months before debut.
Yoongi was brain dead from practicing all the time, scared stiff about what debuting would actually mean, and had looked at the sun of Hoseok's eternal smile during one of their late-night sessions and thought, hey, yeah, maybe-, which was an impression he cultivated for approximately as long as it took them to debut. Backstage after the performance, Hoseok had jumped each of them in turn, hanging off shoulders and hollering as loud as he could. For Christ's sake, he'd even picked Yoongi up and twirled him. Just-no. No. Absolutely not. Whatever might have flowered within Yoongi dried immediately into the hard husk of an overcooked sunflower seed.
After Hoseok got through terrorizing all of them and retreated to a corner to call his parents, Jimin came up to stand beside him. After a moment's hesitation, he slipped his sweaty, calloused palm into Yoongi’s, whose hand opened up automatically to accept his. "Yay, hyung," he said in a hoarse half-shout, voice rubbed sweet and raw and reminding Yoongi of the many nights Jimin had spent in the studio, ubiquitous thermos of honey tea beside him. "We did it!"
Yoongi rubbed his thumb along the sturdy ridge of Jimin's fingers, and though the desire to make out with Jimin won't come until much later, he knows now this is where it started. "Yay," he'd agreed. "We did."
Yoongi doesn’t believe in bullshit like love at first sight, and he’s self-aware enough that it’s difficult for him to believe there are really people capable of dragging their feelings around and not noticing the extra weight stepping on their heels. Yoongi’s feelings for Jimin are like marbles in his pants and a hole in his pocket-if he’s careful, they won’t tumble out and trip him, but he hasn’t been very careful lately, running hot and cold. He tried to be better after Jimin chickened out of a confrontation the week before, Jimin happy enough to follow his lead, but Yoongi knows he’s fucked when Hoseok starts giving him The Look, and worse than fucked when Taehyung of all people starts glancing at him, then at Jimin, clearly thinking he’s being subtle. He’s as subtle as a finger point, which means that pretty soon Namjoon starts noticing, too. Yoongi hates it when Namjoon notices things almost as much as he hates it when Namjoon doesn’t notice things.
Namjoon noticing means waiting until he and Yoongi are alone to bring it up, a cleared throat at 3:30AM in the studio. They’ve been working on new tracks for an hour, though nothing’s really sticking. A wash session, and Yoongi’s about ready to call it quits. And then, the cleared throat.
“So,” Namjoon says. A cough.
Jesus, Yoongi thinks. His entire life lately seems to be waiting for people to get to the point. And Namjoon’s about 35% as cute as Jimin, so he can have 35% of the patience. “Get to the point, Namjoon.”
“Okay. Well,” Namjoon says. “I just wanted to, uh, check in. And see if things are okay. With you. And Jimin. It has been brought to my attention that maybe there is, um, tension?”
Yoongi looks at Namjoon incredulously. Unfortunately, Namjoon is staring straight ahead, as if their recording equipment might bail him out. Yoongi is going to be mad at Hobeom for the rest of their career for giving Namjoon all those self-help leadership books when he was first named leader. If Yoongi has to sit through one more damn mood barometer team-building session, he’s going to snap and do something ugly, possibly illegal.
Yoongi thinks about telling Namjoon the truth, or even asking him for advice-no, don’t let him finish that thought. He’s in no mood to laugh. “It’s nothing, Namjoon,” Yoongi says, pulling his headphone jack out where it’s connected to the computer. “Really. It’s just, you know, normal stuff that happens sometimes between friends. Come on. You and me fight all the time. I’ll work it out with Jimin.”
Jimin on a diet is the worst, and Yoongi isn’t just saying that because secretly he thinks Jimin is cute when he's a little plump, the way he sometimes is late at night or early in the morning, which has started to feel like a disproportionate percentage of their days. Diet Jimin has a brittle edge curbing his usual cheer and patience that none of them are fond of, least of all Jimin. There are some things about their shared lifestyle they’ll never quite adapt to. For Yoongi, it’s dance, and pushing his stubborn body where it doesn’t care to go. For Jimin, it’s diet, and having to put his world-class determination towards, of all things, deprivation.
They all worry, but Seokjin always acts as if he's been personally victimized even if he’s not the one on the diet, as if he can’t imagine a fate worse than being denied food. In some ways, he’s probably right. In any case, it’s an open secret that Seokjin has the best snack stash, the most forgiving nature, and the softest spot for the kids in distress. Yoongi’s not surprised to come home one day when Seokjin’s out with his parents to find Jimin in their bedroom, eating popcorn and reading the latest volume of One Piece, probably stolen from Taehyung. Yoongi can hear his giggles through the open door before he even turns the corner.
"Hey, hyung," Jimin says. He's lying on his back in Seokjin's bed, one leg crossed over the other. He looks a little cautious, as he has been looking the last few days. Yoongi knows it's because they all think he's in one of his moody phases. Which, okay, isn’t too far from what this is, or at least better than someone figuring out why exactly he’s been acting the way he has. But also, rude.
"Hey, Jiminie," Yoongi says. He just wants the comfort of hanging out with his favorite dongsaeng again without the annoyance attraction brings with it. He drops his backpack on the floor and then follows suit on his bed, sprawling out with his wrists hanging over the edges of his bed. He’s too tired to turn his head all the way, but he’s got a perfect view of Jimin, bracketed by a curl of his own hair and his bedspread.
He watches Jimin light up at the familiar endearment, cautiousness falling away. When he sits up, the bag of popcorn spills a little onto Seokjin’s comforter. Seokjin’s magnanimity probably doesn’t extend to cover that kind of damage, but Jimin’s the best at getting out of trouble. Yoongi’s not worried. He watches Jimin get up, setting his book down. Then he’s crossing the short length of the room, settling on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, shoulders hunched but a little tense, like he’s still not totally sure Yoongi won’t just snap at him.
Yoongi rolls once, about as much as he can on his narrow bed anyway, and pats next to him. “You want to hang out for a little bit?”
They’re both a little bigger than they were at debut, so the bed’s a much tighter squeeze, the wall cool where Yoongi presses against it. Still, they find a way. Yoongi’s right arm loops around Jimin’s shoulders, pulling him in, and Jimin ends up skating a hand beneath Yoongi’s tank top to rest lightly at the small of his back, just centimeters from the waistband of his jeans. There’s more than one hand tangled awkwardly between them, but Yoongi gives it at least five minutes before it becomes too much to bear. Just enough time to bury his nose in Jimin’s hair and inhale, recharging.
“Hey, hyung?” Jimin asks, not quite a whisper but more muted than his regular volume. Pressed so close against him, Yoongi can feel the vibrations of Jimin’s question run through him as well.
“Mm?” Yoongi murmurs, eyes drifting shut.
“Are we okay? Is this okay?”
Yoongi pulls back just enough to get a good look at Jimin’s face. This close, it’s about all he has to look at. He runs through a mental checklist of his bodily functions, checking to see if each is running at full capability. His hand, draped loosely around Jimin’s shoulder, starts to sweat, but otherwise he feels exceedingly normal. “Yeah,” he says in an exhale, eyes slipping shut again. “Of course-”
And then he’s wide awake, eyes open and staring right down the slope of Jimin’s blunt nose where it ends with a smush against his. Jimin’s mouth is soft and a little bit salty against Yoongi’s, and he starts pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against Yoongi’s cheek when Yoongi remains slack-jawed and in shock. Give him a minute because, what? Did he miss the make out memo? And how?
“Uh,” he manages to say, pulling away from Jimin as best as he can. It’s a small bed, and the distance isn’t nearly enough for Yoongi to fully process everything. “Wait, what? I mean-Jiminie, what?”
Jimin’s smile is too self-satisfied by half as it grows like an out of control weed out of one corner of his mouth. “I figured you either liked me or you didn’t like me. And I don’t think you don’t like me.” Yoongi must be gaping at him, because Jimin’s smile wilts a little. “I mean, I’m not wrong, am I?”
Jimin is such a fucking brat. “You’re such a fucking brat,” Yoongi says, with wonder. He can’t believe it. Jimin is so wrong, this is way worse than the time Yoongi liked Hoseok, why couldn’t Yoongi just like a nice, emotionally constipated guy like Jungkook, now there’s a good kid, he’d never do this to Yoongi-
“Yoongi-hyung?” Jimin asks, smile back on his face, in full bloom this time. “You’re blushing.” And then his mouth is against Yoongi’s again, and this time Yoongi knows enough to let him in.
Jungkook has his head pillowed on Taehyung's stomach, who has his head pillowed on Jimin's stomach, who has his head etc., when Yoongi leans over them sprawled on the practice room floor.
“Yah, kids,” he says, and pokes the toe of his shoe into Taehyung’s side. He’s been sent on collection duty by Namjoon, who was too pleased by far with Yoongi’s supposed conflict resolution skills in handling his supposed situation with Jimin. Yoongi didn’t have the heart to tell Namjoon he wasn’t all that interested in making a habit out of kissing bandmates he was fighting with.
Jimin is staring at the ceiling, gaze unfocused, though he starts when Yoongi speaks. Jungkook is half-asleep, head lolling dangerously close to Taehyung's dick. Taehyung squints up at Yoongi, a hand coming up to shield his eyes. "You're blocking the sun," he complains. It's 2AM and they're indoors. Yoongi thinks briefly, longingly of kicking him.
But Jimin raises himself on his elbows, bucking his hips a little so Taehyung's head falls off his lap and hits the floor with a dull thud, and it’s almost good enough. Yoongi knew Jimin was his favorite for a reason. “What’s up, hyung?”
“It’s time to go,” Yoongi says, and snaps his towel at Jungkook’s exposed stomach. Jungkook cracks one bleary eye open at him, mouth tiredly curling into a snarl. “The faster you all get up the faster you can sleep in a real bed.”
Motivation works on Jungkook like a flipped switch. In a flash, he’s on his feet and dragging Taehyung along with him, suddenly alert. “Come on,” Yoongi hears Jungkook say. “If we hurry, we can make Jimin-hyung sit in the middle.”
Jimin is still sitting on the ground, towel draped around his shoulders. They’re all starting to reek, hair drying with the salt of their own sweat making it stand up in clumps, but Yoongi still wants to drag his nose along the line of Jimin’s neck, press a kiss to the jut of his jaw. He settles for crouching and running a hand through Jimin’s hair, messing it up even more. “If you don’t hurry you’re going to get the middle seat again,” Yoongi says. “You know how ruthless Jungkook is.”
Jimin groans. “I hate Jeon Jungkook,” he complains, but it’s half-hearted. Practice always feels extra hard on the days they have to learn a new routine, and it had been especially hard on Jimin, who lost a furious game of rock-paper-scissors against Hoseok and ended up getting stuck with running through the steps with Namjoon during their break. He leans his head against Yoongi’s arm, extending from his body to end with his hair still in Jimin’s hair, lingering there like a secret indulgence.
Jimin really needs to get in a bed. So does Yoongi, for that matter, who is starting to lose feeling in the lower half of his body to the crouch. Yoongi gives in and leans forward, pressing a brief kiss to just under Jimin’s right cheekbone. Through not an insignificant amount of trial and error, Yoongi can confirm that it is, indeed, the softest part of Jimin’s face. Jimin turns his head immediately, licking at Yoongi’s bottom lip. Yoongi lets Jimin mouth a kiss before pulling back. Never let anyone say he’s not a good hyung. “Alright, kid,” he says, gently cupping the back of Jimin’s head and laughing. “Time to go. I’ll take the middle seat.”
- Very slightly more things happen, but overall #NotMuchHappens.
- Wrote this one without any help, so any poor characterization is all on me /___\
- ty yassan for the prompt hehe