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The soft buzz of fluorescent lights filled the near-empty grocery store as the automatic doors whispered shut behind them. It was almost midnight—Jimin’s favorite time to do his weekly shopping. The aisles were quiet, the air was cool, and he didn’t have to dodge cranky toddlers or long lines. Just peace, fluorescent lighting, and the occasional existential dread about his life choices.
“My mom’s basically forcing me to date,” Jimin muttered, grabbing a bag of sour cream and onion chips and tossing it into the cart without looking.
“Why?” Yoongi asked, expression unreadable as he picked up an identical bag and dropped it into Jimin’s cart as well.
Jimin sighed heavily, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “She said she’s getting depressed seeing me single at the ‘ripe’ age of twenty-five.”
Yoongi snorted. “Auntie’s dramatic, but she’s cool. I miss her. Should we visit?”
As he spoke, Yoongi tossed a box of protein bars into the cart without comment. Jimin didn’t object—he never did anymore. It was just one of Yoongi’s silent habits, looking out for him in ways that didn’t need announcing. Jimin had a tendency to forget meals when life got busy. Yoongi had a tendency to remember that.
Jimin raised an eyebrow. “If we visit her together, she’ll probably take it as a sign from the heavens and sit us down for a backyard wedding.”
“I wouldn’t say no,” Yoongi shrugged, casually turning into the fruit section. “Not because I’m dying to marry you or anything, but because I literally can’t say no to your mom.”
“You and her have a weird bond,” Jimin muttered, trailing after him. “She likes you more than me sometimes. It’s unfair.”
“Well, I have known her longer.” Yoongi grinned as he picked out a few apples and inspected them like they were precious stones. “I was there when she found out she was pregnant with you, remember? I hugged her while she cried and everything. You were still just a kicking stomach back then.”
Jimin rolled his eyes, though there was something deeply comforting about the image. Their mothers had been best friends since college, thick as thieves through thesis papers, heartbreaks, and career changes. When Yoongi was born, Jimin’s mom had cried like she’d just won the lottery. Two years later, when she had Jimin, Yoongi had already been in the picture—wide-eyed and careful, patting her belly and talking to her stomach like it would respond.
They liked to joke that Jimin had never stood a chance. From the moment he was born, Yoongi had already been there, waiting.
“Sometimes I think she likes the idea of us more than the actual reality,” Jimin said as Yoongi added a bunch of bananas and a few oranges to the cart. “Like some alternate universe where we got together in high school and now live in the suburbs with a dog named Tofu.”
Yoongi smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s terrifying.”
They moved through the store in perfect sync—Yoongi pushing the cart now while Jimin trailed beside him, occasionally tossing in snacks or items neither of them strictly needed. They’d done this enough times that it felt like muscle memory, a well-worn habit of quiet companionship and unsaid understanding.
“What are we doing this weekend?” Yoongi asked as they reached the frozen section. “Bedrotting or are you finally going to make me watch that awful drama you keep crying over?”
“Bedrotting, obviously. The drama can wait. I’m not emotionally prepared for the finale yet.”
Yoongi gave him a long, amused look. “So… next year?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s if I can still make time for you.” Yoongi shrugged as he finally pushed the cart toward the self-checkout counter. His tone was light, teasing, but it landed heavier than either of them expected.
Suddenly, Jimin felt a strange weight pressing down on his chest. It came out of nowhere—an ache, a pang, a quiet kind of panic. He smiled, quick and small, hoping Yoongi wouldn’t turn to look at him just then.
“Right. I forgot about that. Residency starts next year.”
Yoongi turned anyway, just when Jimin silently wished he wouldn’t. His eyes met Jimin’s, and for a second, the bright store lights didn’t feel so harsh—just cold and clinical, like the future that was steadily approaching.
“Yah, it’s not like you’re not gonna see me at all,” Yoongi said, brows furrowing. “I’ll still be hanging out in your apartment during my days off. Eating your food. Judging your drama choices. Same as always.”
“You better.” Jimin frowned, not even bothering to hide how serious he sounded. His hands curled into fists in the pockets of his hoodie, as if holding back something he didn’t have the words for yet.
Yoongi tilted his head, studying him for a beat too long. “What, you think I’d disappear just ‘cause I’m going to be a doctor?” His tone tried to stay light, but his eyes gave him away.
“No,” Jimin murmured. “I just… don’t want to be another part of your life you’ll eventually outgrow.”
That made Yoongi pause. Really pause. The kind of silence that made even the scanner beep feel too loud. For a second, the hum between them wasn’t as comfortable as it usually was.
“You won’t be,” Yoongi said, voice quieter now. More grounded. “I’ve had a lot of things change around me, but you—” he reached over to place an apple on the scanner without looking away—“you’re the constant.”
Jimin’s throat tightened. He nodded, too afraid to speak because if he did, the words sitting on the tip of his tongue might finally tumble out: Then why does it feel like you’re already slipping away?
Instead, he stepped closer, reaching for the next item in the cart. “Then you better not leave me with the plants again. They all died last time.”
Yoongi cracked a smile, warm and easy. “That’s on you, plant murderer.”
***
“You had like 25 years to confess.” Taehyung pushed some clothes aside with a lazy hand, plucking a cream-colored suit from the rack and holding it against his chest as he admired the cut in the mirror.
Jimin rolled his eyes, shoulders sagging as he flipped through hangers without really looking. “Like I can confess!”
The taller one scoffed, lowering the suit and turning to face his friend fully. “You’re just a coward.”
“God forbid I value friendship over some damn feelings that will go away,” Jimin shot back, voice sharper than he intended. He tugged on a hanger too hard and it clattered loudly onto the floor.
A small laugh escaped Taehyung’s lips. He bent to pick it up, then stood straight with a lopsided grin. “We both know your damn feelings will not go away. You tried, remember? You dated that dancer—what was his name?”
“Minho,” Jimin muttered.
“Right. And you ditched him after Yoongi called and said he needed help moving his couch. Which, by the way, was a lie. He just wanted company while he did his laundry.”
“It was a big laundry day,” Jimin said, weakly.
“You don’t even do your own laundry,” Taehyung deadpanned.
“Shut up.” Jimin huffed, grabbing a sweater and pretending to be interested in the fabric. “Yoongi’s gonna be buried in his residency next year. It means we’ll spend less time together. Less time means I’ll finally get a grip.”
Taehyung walked toward the fitting room, not even trying to hide his eyeroll this time. “Who’s gonna tell you that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend and no amount of forced distance is gonna change that?”
Jimin didn’t respond. His fingers paused mid-fidget, his eyes fixed on the floor. The silence lingered. Taehyung turned, halfway behind the curtain, just as Jimin finally said, “I’ll prove it to you.”
Taehyung peeked out. “How?”
“I’ll date. I’ll get myself a boyfriend. I’ll fall in love with someone else.”
A beat passed. Then Taehyung snorted.
Jimin narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“You’re gonna date with that face?” he teased, grinning. “That ‘I’m thinking about Yoongi while I pretend to like someone else’ face?”
“I can pull it off.”
“You couldn’t even watch a movie with Minho without texting Yoongi halfway through about how the popcorn was too salty.”
“I’m serious this time,” Jimin insisted. “If he doesn’t feel the same, that’s fine. But I have to move on.”
Taehyung tilted his head. “Jimin… Yoongi doesn’t know. He’s not ignoring your feelings—he’s just an idiot. And you’re an even bigger idiot for thinking pretending they don’t exist will solve anything.”
Jimin hesitated. “…What if I tell him, and he looks at me like I just ruined everything?”
“Then at least you’ll know.” Taehyung softened. “But right now, both of you are walking around like you don’t want the other person to find out, when neither of you even has a clue. It’s not tragic. It’s just sad.”
***
Dinner was served with far too much effort from Yoongi, considering it was just the two of them. Steak, grilled to perfection, rested beside a medley of sautéed vegetables arranged like he was auditioning for a Michelin star. A plate of white-sauced pasta sat between them like a peace offering—though no war was happening, just Yoongi's war against Jimin’s diet of take-out and existential dread.
“This is so good,” Jimin practically moaned around the first bite of steak, eyes closing in pure bliss. He even did a little shimmy in his chair.
Yoongi grinned, smug and pleased. “Good. You should learn how to cook. You won’t survive without me.”
That wasn’t just a joke. Yoongi had spoiled Jimin rotten for years. Grocery runs? Yoongi. Medicine cabinet restocks? Yoongi. Making sure the fire alarm had batteries? Definitely Yoongi. If it were up to him, Jimin would live his whole life without ever lifting a finger. And Jimin let him.
“You’re overreacting, hyung,” Jimin replied with his mouth full. “At least I’m eating now.”
Yoongi raised a brow. “Yeah, after surviving on chips, soda, and that mystery instant ramen that expired two years ago. I should get you a nutritionist.”
“I have one. His name is Min Yoongi.”
As Jimin was twirling pasta onto his fork, his phone buzzed beside his plate. He glanced at Yoongi, a subconscious reflex, before checking it. His hand froze mid-air.
“What?” Yoongi asked, noticing the shift in energy.
“Uhm… it’s Minho.” Jimin hesitated, holding up his phone like it was radioactive. He didn’t actually show the message, just the sender’s name on the lock screen.
Yoongi nodded, completely unfazed. “That’s the guy you dated, right?”
Every time someone used the word “dated,” Jimin wanted to curl into a shrimp and roll down a hill. They didn’t date.They… loitered in each other’s vicinity while pretending it was something more.
“Don’t say it like that,” Jimin groaned, slumping into his chair. “But yeah.”
“What does he want?” Yoongi asked, chewing casually. No bitterness. Just mild curiosity. Honestly, he had always thought Minho was nice—polite, attractive, sweet. Too sweet, probably.
Jimin stared at his phone. “He just asked how I’m doing.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Yoongi nodded, stabbing a carrot. “You should reply.”
Jimin narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Yoongi shrugged. “Maybe give it another try?”
Jimin made a noise between a choke and a laugh. “What? Why?”
“Because, Jimin, he still asks about you. Over a year later. That means something, doesn’t it?”
“That means he’s persistent,” Jimin muttered.
“It means he’s not over you.”
“He should be,” Jimin said, pushing pasta around his plate. “It lasted, like, a week.”
Yoongi raised a brow. “Exactly. You didn’t really try to know him, though. You bailed halfway through the first actual date.”
“He ordered pineapple pizza!” Jimin defended himself, pointing his fork like a weapon. “It’s a red flag.”
Yoongi gave him a look. “You eat cereal with water when we run out of milk. You’re not exactly in a position to judge.”
Jimin gasped, affronted. “That was once and I was desperate!”
“I rest my case.”
Jimin sighed dramatically, flopping back in his chair. “I didn’t like him like that. And I didn’t want to lead him on.”
“But you didn’t even give it a chance,” Yoongi insisted. “Sometimes it takes more than one date to feel something.”
Jimin huffed. “Yeah, well, I don’t even know how to kiss. How much more have sex?”
Yoongi blinked. “…What.”
There was a long, painful silence. Jimin’s eyes went wide. “Wait. I mean. Not—like—obviously I know how, like in theory—but not in a practical sense—”
“You’ve never kissed anyone?” Yoongi blinked again, putting down his fork.
Jimin looked like he wanted to slide under the table and disappear. “I have! Maybe. Once. Or not. Look, it’s complicated.”
“That’s… wow.” Yoongi looked genuinely surprised. “You’ve had, like, three fake boyfriends, five situationships, and at least two dudes write poetry about you.”
“And not one of them made a move!” Jimin defended, flailing his arms. “I’m too intimidating!”
“You’re five foot eight and once got scared by a pigeon.”
“It flew at me!”
Yoongi tried not to laugh, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “This explains so much.”
“Shut up.” Jimin was blushing now, face almost as red as the wine Yoongi had poured. “Kissing is… intimate. What if I’m bad at it?”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow, teasing, “There’s only one way to find out.”
Jimin threw a breadstick at him. “Don’t make me practice on your plants again.”
Yoongi cackled, catching the breadstick mid-air. “Please don’t. That ficus hasn’t recovered.”
Yoongi was still laughing when Jimin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, lips slightly pursed. He wasn’t pouting. Just… contemplating.
“You’re so dramatic,” Yoongi said between chuckles, reaching for his glass.
Jimin stayed quiet for a few seconds. Too quiet.
Then, just as Yoongi was taking a sip of wine, Jimin blurted out:
“Could you do it?”
Yoongi nearly choked. “Do what?!”
“Teach me,” Jimin said quickly, like if he didn’t say it fast, the words would dissolve in his mouth. “You know. How to kiss.”
The silence that followed was so loud, they could hear the neighborhood dogs two blocks away barking.
Yoongi blinked at him, completely stunned. “You want me to teach you how to kiss?”
Jimin’s ears turned pink. “I’m just saying,” he began, looking anywhere but Yoongi, “it’s better to practice with someone I trust than, like, embarrass myself with some poor guy I end up liking.”
“You say that like I’m not a person with feelings.”
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Jimin groaned, covering his face. “God. This is stupid. Forget it.”
But Yoongi was still staring at him, mouth slightly open. “You’re serious.”
“Kind of?” Jimin peeked through his fingers. “Look, I know it’s weird, okay? But you’ve always been there—like, when I first learned how to cook rice, or how to iron clothes, or pay taxes—”
“You didn’t pay your taxes. I did them for you.”
“Exactly! You’re like… my life tutor!”
Yoongi gave him the most deadpan stare in history. “You want me to be your kissing tutor now?”
“I mean, not with a whiteboard and PowerPoint. Just—kiss me. Once. Just to get it over with. Then I won’t be nervous the next time it happens for real.”
Yoongi opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. His brain had short-circuited. Because the truth was—he wanted to kiss Jimin. Had wanted to for years. The idea of getting to kiss him, even if it meant pretending it was educational? Tempting. Dangerous. Tragic.
“You realize this is completely insane, right?” he managed.
“Yes,” Jimin said, face now fully red. “But also practical.”
“Practical.”
“Extremely practical. Like CPR.”
“This is nothing like CPR.”
“It’s kind of like CPR.”
Yoongi dragged a hand down his face. “You’re unbelievable.”
Jimin bit his lip, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to if it’s weird. I just thought—maybe it’d be less scary. With you.”
And there it was. The part that made Yoongi’s chest ache. Because Jimin looked genuinely anxious, like he was asking for a lifeline, not just a kiss.
Yoongi sighed, setting his wine down. “If we do this,” he said carefully, “just one kiss. That’s it. No weird expectations. No falling in love.”
Jimin laughed—nervous, light, fake. “Please. It’s just kissing.”
Yoongi swallowed the lump in his throat. If only Jimin knew he was already too late for that.
***
It had been two days since he asked.
Two full days of pretending it was a joke. A dare. A funny little hypothetical between friends.
Except it wasn’t hypothetical, and Jimin couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The moment looped in his head like an annoying TikTok sound—Yoongi’s surprised face, the dry way he said, “You want me to teach you how to kiss?” and the way his heart had dropped into his stomach like a malfunctioning elevator.
It was supposed to be nothing.
It was one kiss, just to get it over with. Just so he wouldn’t be terrified the next time some random, decent guy leaned in for a kiss and Jimin short-circuited like a Sims character with low social stats.
So now, here they were.
And Jimin was panicking.
Yoongi had just finished doing the dishes—doing the dishes, for god’s sake—and looked so casually perfect in his old college hoodie and hair slightly tousled from the heat of the kitchen. Jimin, meanwhile, was sweating through his shirt like he was about to go on stage naked.
He hated himself. He wanted to slam his head against the nearest wall. Why am I like this?!
“You still want to?” Yoongi asked like he was asking if Jimin wanted takeout for dinner, not if he wanted to lose his entire damn mind kissing his best friend.
“Yeah,” Jimin croaked. Then coughed. Then winced. “I mean—only if you’re still okay with it.”
Yoongi shrugged like this happened every day. “Sure. One kiss. No pressure.”
No pressure, he says, while Jimin’s heart was beating like it was trying to escape through his throat.
They moved to the living room because, apparently, kissing near the dish sponge was “weird,” and that made Jimin laugh—because of course Yoongi would think about hygiene in this situation.
Now they stood in the middle of the room, facing each other like they were about to duel. Jimin’s palms were clammy. His knees felt weak. If this were a movie, someone would cue the dramatic violin music. Instead, his stomach just flipped like a pancake on a nonstick pan.
He looked up at Yoongi. “You’ll… tell me if I’m bad, right?”
Yoongi raised a brow, amused. “You’re not going to be bad.”
“How would you know?” Jimin asked, trying to sound playful but mostly sounding like he was seconds from fainting.
“Because it’s you,” Yoongi said simply.
And what the hell was that supposed to mean?! Jimin’s brain short-circuited. He almost forgot why they were standing there.
Yoongi stepped closer, and Jimin forgot how to breathe.
His eyes fluttered shut instinctively, lashes brushing his cheeks, heart thudding in his chest like a drumline. He felt Yoongi’s hand hover near his jaw—not touching, but close enough that his skin tingled. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until—
Their lips touched.
Soft. Warm. Cautious.
And the first thought in Jimin’s mind was—Oh, my god.
The second thought was—Oh no.
Because it felt… good. Too good. Like Yoongi was made for this. Like their mouths had been waiting years for this exact moment. Like it wasn’t a practice kiss at all, but something Jimin had been secretly craving since college and now couldn’t ever undo.
He barely remembered to move—just tilted his head slightly, leaned in a fraction more, lips pressing against Yoongi’s like a question. And Yoongi answered without words, kissed him just enough, just right, like he was letting Jimin take what he needed but never pushing.
They pulled away slowly.
Jimin opened his eyes, lips tingling, heart hammering. He immediately looked at Yoongi, hoping—praying—that he didn’t look as dazed as he felt.
Yoongi, of course, looked annoyingly calm.
“That bad?” he asked, tone light.
Jimin blinked. “No. No, it was… not bad.”
Yoongi nodded. “Good.”
There was a pause.
And then, before Jimin could stop himself: “Should we—uh—try again? Just, you know, to confirm…”
Yoongi gave him that look. The one he always gave when Jimin was being ridiculous but still somehow got away with it.
“This was supposed to be one kiss,” Yoongi said.
“I’m just being thorough.”
“You’re going to be the death of me.”
Jimin smiled, ears burning, heart already planning its next betrayal.
Too late, he thought. You already are.
Maybe it was the silence.
Maybe it was the fact that he could still feel Yoongi’s breath on his lips.
Or maybe it was just the deep, irreversible truth that one kiss wasn’t enough.
Jimin moved before he could stop himself.
Not dramatically—not in a movie kind of way. Just a soft step forward. A glance. A barely-there question in his eyes that he was too much of a coward to say out loud.
And Yoongi… didn’t stop him.
If anything, Yoongi tilted his head slightly, like he was already expecting it. Like he had been waiting for Jimin to break first.
Their second kiss wasn’t like the first. It wasn’t cautious. It wasn’t nervous.
It was real.
Jimin’s hand reached for the fabric of Yoongi’s hoodie, fingers curling at the hem. Their lips met again, and this time Yoongi didn’t hold back. His hand found the back of Jimin’s neck, steady and warm. It wasn’t rough or hungry—it was soft, but full of something unspoken. Something felt.
And Jimin felt everything.
Every brush of lips. Every slight shift of pressure.
He felt his knees nearly buckle when Yoongi sucked on his bottom lip ever so gently before pulling away.
When they parted, Jimin was breathless.
Absolutely gone.
His hands were still clutching Yoongi’s hoodie, like he needed the fabric to keep himself upright. His heart was somewhere near his throat, and he was pretty sure his brain had left the chat completely.
Yoongi looked at him for a moment.
And then, with the calmest voice Jimin had ever heard, he said:
“You’re good. You have nothing to worry about.”
Just like that. Like it was a comment on a school project. Like he hadn’t just rearranged Jimin’s entire existence with his mouth.
Jimin stared.
Yoongi turned, casually walking back toward the kitchen like he didn’t just ruin Jimin’s week—maybe even his year—with five words and one perfect kiss.
“What the hell—” Jimin muttered under his breath.
He plopped down on the couch, stunned, lips still tingling.
What did Yoongi mean by that? Did he feel anything? Was he just… being nice?
Jimin groaned, dragging a pillow over his face and letting out a muffled scream. “You’re good,” he mocked, voice high and sarcastic. “You have nothing to worry about. Ugh!”
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Yoongi was sipping water.
Cool. Collected. Dangerous.
Like none of this meant anything to him.
Jimin cursed under his breath. “I hate him. I love him. I hate that I love him. I need therapy.”
And the worst part?
He already wanted to kiss him again.
***
Jimin was forced to work overtime again, barely noticing how the sky outside had shifted to that soft blue-grey hue of early evening. There were still papers to grade, lesson plans to fix, and a math module to tweak before Monday’s middle school class. People liked to joke that being a preschool teacher was just singing songs and playing games all day—but no one ever talked about the emotional labor, the planning, the meetings, the sudden meltdowns over broken crayons, and the balancing act of also teaching integers to preteens right after helping toddlers zip up their jackets.
By the time he shut his computer down, the faculty room was nearly empty. Ms. Kang from 3rd grade waved at him as he slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Good luck surviving the week,” she said, eyes tired but kind.
“You too,” Jimin called back, flashing her a weak smile.
When he stepped out of the building, the cool air hit him immediately, waking up every tired nerve in his body. The streetlights flickered to life just as he spotted the familiar black car parked by the curb. His brows rose in surprise, lips twitching into a small, disbelieving smile. He laughed to himself and jogged toward it.
The driver’s side window rolled down.
“Hey,” Jimin said, breath curling in the cold air as he opened the passenger door and slid in.
“Why are you here?” he asked, dropping his tote bag onto the floor.
“My shift ended earlier than yours,” Yoongi replied, casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You texted that you’d be home late.”
Jimin blinked at him, momentarily speechless. The warmth pooling in his chest caught him off guard.
“Just say you missed me,” he joked softly, nudging Yoongi’s shoulder with his own. “I wouldn’t judge.”
Yoongi huffed and looked away. “Ah, you’re too full of yourself.”
But his ears had gone slightly red.
They didn’t talk about it—about the kiss that happened nearly a month ago after a dangerously honest night on Jimin’s living room floor. It had been soft, hesitant, but not a mistake. Jimin knew that much. The problem was: neither of them brought it up. It lingered in the silences, in the way Yoongi still reached for his wrist when crossing the street, in the way Jimin cooked enough dinner for two without asking if Yoongi would come by.
It lived in the tension.
Jimin’s phone buzzed twice in his coat pocket. He glanced at it, heart sinking.
Minho again.
Yoongi didn’t comment, but his gaze flickered over briefly.
Jimin sighed. “It’s… no one.”
“You’ve been saying that every time,” Yoongi said, keeping his eyes on the road as he pulled away from the curb.
“He’s just—persistent,” Jimin muttered. “I tried to meet up with him to be clear. I told him I’m not interested.”
Yoongi didn’t answer, but the silence was loaded.
Jimin bit his lip. “Not interested in anyone right now,” he added. A lie, of course. A bold, stupid lie when the very person he was interested in was sitting beside him with one hand on the steering wheel, humming along to the radio like his voice hadn’t once said stay in the softest way imaginable.
“Do you have to be at the hospital tomorrow?” Jimin asked, needing to break the quiet.
“Nope,” Yoongi replied. “It’s the weekend. I’m off.”
A smile tugged at Jimin’s lips. “Then let’s get drinks. My place. You pick what kind.”
Yoongi looked over at him, an eyebrow raised. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Jimin said. “Let’s rot together again. But with alcohol.”
***
The floor of Jimin’s apartment was a mess of tangled blankets, takeout containers, and empty bottles. The air was warm from the heater and heavy from alcohol, silence, and things unsaid.
They'd stopped laughing twenty minutes ago. Now the only sounds were the hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of glass when one of them moved. Jimin was lying on his side, propped up by a pillow, eyes hazy and lips pink from drink. Yoongi sat against the couch, legs sprawled, nursing what was probably his last beer of the night.
Jimin rolled onto his back, exhaling deeply, like he was trying to push the weight off his chest.
“I keep thinking about it,” he said suddenly.
Yoongi glanced at him. “About?”
“That night,” Jimin murmured. “When I asked you to kiss me. So I could learn.”
Yoongi froze. His hand stopped mid-air as he reached for a snack, and then slowly withdrew. “I remember.”
Jimin sat up a little too fast, the alcohol in his system making him clumsy. “You said it didn’t have to mean anything. And I said I just wanted to try.”
Yoongi nodded. “Yeah.”
“But I lied.” Jimin was looking at him now, gaze low and smoldering, unguarded. “It did mean something.”
Yoongi’s lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable.
“I want to kiss you again,” Jimin whispered. “But not like last time.”
He moved before Yoongi could answer—crawling over the blanket between them and straddling his lap with little ceremony. His hands found Yoongi’s jaw, and he kissed him—messier, needier, like every suppressed feeling had finally found a way out. There was no hesitance this time. Jimin kissed like he wanted to be consumed.
Yoongi responded for a moment—because how could he not?—his hands gripping Jimin’s waist, steadying him, grounding himself. The kiss deepened. It was teeth and breath and soft gasps against lips that had been waiting too long.
But then Yoongi pulled back.
He cupped Jimin’s face, thumbs brushing gently across his flushed cheeks. His voice came out low, hoarse. “Jimin, wait.”
Jimin blinked, chest heaving. “Why?”
“You’re drunk.”
“So?” Jimin snapped, frustration breaking through. “I’m not that drunk.”
Yoongi didn’t flinch. “You are. I can taste it.”
“I want this,” Jimin said, leaning forward again, desperate, mouth brushing against Yoongi’s. “I want to learn. Everything. Kiss. Blowjobs. Sex—everything. And I want it with you.”
Yoongi’s heart cracked clean down the middle. He wanted it too. God, he wanted Jimin. But not like this.
He kissed Jimin’s forehead instead, holding him still, anchoring him. “Then tell me that when you’re sober,” he whispered. “Tell me that when you know what it means.”
Jimin let out a soft, broken sound—not a sob, but something too full of emotion to be a sigh.
Yoongi carefully guided them back down, until Jimin’s head was on his shoulder and his breathing began to slow. He didn’t speak again, but his fingers clutched at Yoongi’s hoodie like he was afraid he’d disappear.
Yoongi stayed like that all night, holding him.
And for the first time in a long time, he was scared—not of wanting Jimin, but of how much he already did.
***
Jimin was embarrassed. Clearly. If there were a portal in the floor leading to the earth’s core, he would’ve gladly leapt into it and waved goodbye to civilization. It was humiliating enough to remember the way he practically climbed over Yoongi last night like a desperate man, but to now sit across from him, hungover and emotionally raw, while Yoongi ladled out hangover soup he cooked with his own hands—well, that was almost too much.
Yoongi was quiet, which only made things worse.
Jimin sighed. Again.
“The soup’s getting cold, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi said gently, not looking up.
With sluggish fingers, Jimin grabbed his spoon and took a few mechanical bites. He chewed slowly, as if focusing on not choking could delay the inevitable.
Two minutes passed in silence before the images came rushing back—his hands on Yoongi’s cheeks, his legs on either side of Yoongi’s hips, his lips speaking words he’d rehearsed in his mind but never thought he’d say out loud. Especially not while drunk off beer and lingering feelings.
God. Why did I say that? Why did I do that?
He was mid-sip when Yoongi broke the silence.
“About last night…” the elder began, voice low.
Jimin froze, the spoon pausing midair.
“What about it?” he asked quickly, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. His words were nearly a whisper.
Yoongi clenched his jaw—a habit Jimin knew well. He did it when he was nervous. “Do you… do you remember what happened?”
Jimin blinked at him. Shit.
He wasn’t ready for this talk. But lying wouldn’t help either. And maybe, deep down, he didn’t want to lie. Not about this.
“Yeah,” Jimin said quietly, staring into his bowl. “I remember.”
Yoongi’s eyes flickered with something—surprise, maybe. Like he hadn’t expected the truth. Or maybe he just didn’t know what to do with it now that it was out.
Jimin leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and exhaled hard. He could feel the weight of Yoongi’s gaze.
“I meant it. No—I mean it. Present tense.”
Yoongi stilled.
“Which part?” he asked carefully.
“All of it.” Jimin opened his eyes, meeting Yoongi’s stare head-on. “From the moment I said I wanted to kiss you again. I wanted more. That I wanted to learn everything… from you.”
Yoongi parted his lips to speak, but Jimin raised a hand gently, asking for a moment to finish.
“I know it’s a big ask. I’ve lived twenty-five years of being a virgin, and not by choice. I have needs too, Yoongi. But I’m scared. Scared of doing it with someone who’d laugh, or pity me, or see me as inexperienced and unlovable.” His voice cracked a little, but he pushed on. “That’s why I asked. Because you’re the only person I can trust with something like this. My firsts. My fears. My inexperience.”
The air in the room shifted, thick with quiet tension.
“I’m sorry if I dropped the bomb like that. You can say no. I won’t take it personally. I know I don’t sound sane but…” he shrugged, a little helpless, “I’m not drunk anymore. And I still mean it.”
Yoongi stared at him for a long time. Then, finally, he set down his spoon and leaned forward slightly, arms resting on the table.
“You know I care about you, right?” he asked gently.
Jimin nodded.
“And that I’d never, ever do anything to hurt you?”
“Of course.”
Yoongi sighed. “Then if we do this… there have to be rules.”
Jimin blinked. “Rules?”
Yoongi nodded. “Boundaries. Clear ones. We stop immediately if one of us feels uncomfortable. No guilt. No shame.”
“Okay,” Jimin said, nodding slowly.
“We talk. Constantly. About what you want. What you don’t want. No guessing. No assumptions.”
Jimin licked his lips. “Got it.”
“This won’t affect our friendship,” Yoongi said firmly. “We don’t let it. You’re my best friend, Jimin. That doesn’t change.”
“I don’t want it to,” Jimin agreed, voice soft.
“And if either of us starts catching feelings, or if this starts to feel like something else—we talk again. Immediately.”
Jimin’s heart panged. But he nodded. “Deal.”
Yoongi reached out across the table and offered his pinky. It was silly. It was familiar. It felt like them.
Jimin curled his pinky around Yoongi’s and locked it.
They stayed like that for a moment—quiet, sure, scared, but steady.
Then Yoongi chuckled softly. “You really just woke up and chose chaos, huh?”
Jimin rolled his eyes. “Please. If I chose chaos, I’d have shown up in your hospital and asked you for a blowjob in the supply closet.”
Yoongi choked on his own laugh. “Park Jimin!”
Jimin grinned, cheeks pink. “Too soon?”
“Too soon,” Yoongi confirmed, eyes fond.
But as they sat there finishing their soup, the rules unspoken between them still hummed in the air.
The lines were drawn—but neither of them knew what crossing them might mean.
Not yet.
***
Jimin volunteered to serve dinner. No, to cook dinner. Although Yoongi had just finished a long shift at the hospital—learning from seniors, shadowing specialists, and reviewing cases—Jimin still managed to rope him into stopping by his apartment before heading home. Not that Yoongi minded. If anything, all it ever took was one “hyung, come over” text and he’d already be halfway out the hospital door.
“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” Yoongi asked for the fifth time since he arrived, standing in the kitchen entrance.
“I really don’t, hyung. I’m almost done here anyways,” Jimin replied confidently, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he stirred something in a pan that probably didn’t need stirring.
To be perfectly honest, Jimin wasn’t a good cook. He tried, he really did—but his culinary résumé consisted mostly of microwave meals, air-fried nuggets, and the occasional scrambled eggs that he nearly always overcooked. But tonight was different. He wanted to try. For Yoongi.
Yoongi watched silently from the table, trying to focus on his iPad and scroll through his neurology lectures. Something about Multiple Sclerosis and treatment protocols. He’d read this chapter a hundred times before. But watching Jimin in the kitchen, brows furrowed in concentration, lips softly pursed as he chopped vegetables with more hope than technique—it was oddly mesmerizing.
“Hyung, I swear. I’m fine here,” Jimin said again, pushing him away with a light bump of his hips. Yoongi stumbled back dramatically with a grin.
“Fine,” Yoongi chuckled, retreating back to the table, gaze lingering on Jimin longer than necessary before he turned back to his tablet.
That peace didn’t last long.
Clang!
“Shit!” Jimin hissed, the metallic clang of a knife hitting the sink echoing into the quiet apartment.
Yoongi was on his feet in a second. “What happened?” he asked, voice calm but moving with quick purpose toward the kitchen.
“I’m fine. I—” Jimin looked down at the small but steady stream of red on his fingertip. “Okay, not that fine.”
Yoongi gently took his hand, inspecting the cut with professional eyes. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to warrant some care.
“Sit down,” he said, already grabbing the small first aid kit Jimin kept under the sink. “Why were you slicing with the blade tilted like that? Have I taught you nothing?”
“You’ve never taught me how to cook, hyung. Just how to die quietly in shame,” Jimin pouted as Yoongi wiped the wound with antiseptic.
“Don’t be dramatic,” Yoongi muttered, carefully bandaging the cut with practiced ease. “Honestly. You stress me out more in your kitchen than I am in the ER.”
Once he was done, Yoongi held onto Jimin’s hand for a second longer than necessary. Their eyes met. Jimin swallowed.
“What are we gonna eat?” Jimin asked softly, like he just remembered he ruined their only plan for dinner.
Yoongi looked at him seriously, thumb brushing over the edge of the bandage. “We’ll order in.”
“But—”
“No buts. You’re not allowed near sharp objects for the rest of the night.”
There was something different about the way Yoongi said it. Not teasing, not sarcastic. Just…firm. Caring. Intimate.
And suddenly, the space between them felt heavy. Quiet. Charged.
“I’m really sorry,” Jimin said, voice barely above a whisper.
Yoongi chuckled, low and breathy. “For what? Being adorably reckless? I’ve known you for twenty-five years, Jimin. You’re just consistent.”
Jimin let out a soft laugh, stepping a little closer. Close enough that he could smell the lingering hospital scent on Yoongi’s scrubs mixed with his favorite cologne. He stared at him—really stared at him—and realized just how tired Yoongi looked. Tired, and still so effortlessly beautiful.
“You know,” Jimin started slowly, his voice quiet, “you could’ve gone straight home after your shift. But you came here.”
Yoongi's gaze dropped to Jimin’s lips for a fleeting second. “Yeah. I did.”
And then they were closer. Inches apart. Breathing the same air.
Jimin leaned forward first, tilting his head gently. A question, a dare, a prayer.
Yoongi didn’t pull away. His hand found Jimin’s jaw, brushing the soft skin there as he slowly pressed his lips to his.
The kiss started slow. Careful. But the restraint didn’t last long.
Jimin pulled Yoongi closer by the collar of his shirt, lips parting as he deepened the kiss with surprising urgency. Yoongi responded, letting out a soft groan as he walked them back toward the couch. They collapsed together, tangled in heat and motion, the cushions catching their weight as Jimin settled onto Yoongi’s lap.
Hands roamed. Breathing quickened. Yoongi’s fingers found their way under the hem of Jimin’s shirt, tracing the skin there like he was trying to memorize it.
When Jimin arched forward to kiss him harder, Yoongi broke the kiss—not harshly, but enough to steady both of them. His forehead pressed against Jimin’s, both of them panting.
“We should stop here,” Yoongi whispered, voice strained but firm.
Jimin nodded, though his fingers still gripped Yoongi’s shirt tightly. “I know.”
They stayed like that for a long moment. Holding. Breathing. Wanting.
And still, no regrets.
“Order food?” Yoongi finally asked with a breathless laugh.
Jimin sighed, resting his head on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Only if you’re feeding me with those soft, sinful hands of yours.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Shut up and give me your phone.”
***
It had been a week since that night on the couch.
A week since they kissed like they couldn’t stop, only to stop just before it could go further.
A week filled with too many glances that lingered longer than they should, the kind of silences that weren't awkward—just… loaded.
Tonight, Yoongi came over late.
His shift at the hospital had stretched longer than expected, and Jimin, without thinking twice, had texted him: just crash here.
He didn’t say why. Yoongi didn’t ask.
The apartment was quiet when he arrived. The lights in the living room were dimmed. Jimin was curled up on the couch in his worn pajamas, the TV playing something he clearly wasn’t watching.
“Shower’s free,” Jimin murmured without looking.
Yoongi took the hint.
By the time he returned, hair damp and towel slung around his neck, Jimin had already prepared the bed, sheets pulled back, lights in the bedroom warm and soft.
“You want me to sleep on the couch?” Yoongi asked, rubbing his head dry.
Jimin didn’t look up. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll mess up your back again.”
“It’s fine. I’ll sleep on—“
The younger one raised a brow, “We’ve done this before, hyung.”
Yoongi hovered in the doorway for a beat. “We’ve done that before. Yeah. Before we thought kissing each other was just… cool.”
That made Jimin glance over.
Something about the way Yoongi stood there, arms crossed, waiting—like he was giving Jimin a way out.
But Jimin didn’t want one.
He shifted, pulling the blanket over his lap and muttering, “It’s not like anything has changed.”
Yoongi raised a brow. “Hasn’t it?”
“Not enough to make this weird,” Jimin replied quickly, patting the side of the bed beside him. “Come on.”
Yoongi hesitated, then moved. Quietly. Carefully. Like one wrong move could crack whatever fragile thing they’d built in the last few weeks.
They both laid there, on their backs, staring at the ceiling.
Neither spoke.
Until Jimin did. Softly.
“Are you tired?”
Yoongi turned his head. “Exhausted.”
“Want to sleep?”
“I could. If you stop squirming.”
“I’m not—” Jimin rolled over to face him. “You’re imagining things.”
Yoongi smirked. “Right.”
The air between them thickened, quiet and warm.
Jimin’s voice was low when he asked, “Do you think about it? What happened?”
Yoongi was still for a second before nodding. “Yeah.”
“You regret it?”
“No.”
Jimin inched closer. Their knees touched. “Then what are we doing?”
Yoongi exhaled slowly, eyes flickering down to Jimin’s lips. “Trying not to fuck things up.”
“You’re not,” Jimin said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to… do more. With you. I already told you.”
Yoongi didn’t answer right away.
But his hand found Jimin’s jaw, fingers tracing lightly.
“You sure?”
Jimin nodded.
That was all Yoongi needed.
The kiss that followed wasn’t hesitant. It was hungry. It was weeks of pretending, finally unraveling. Even after those many kisses, it still felt like the first time.
Jimin’s hands fisted the front of Yoongi’s shirt, pulling him closer. Yoongi shifted above him, pinning him to the mattress in one smooth movement. Their mouths collided again, deeper this time. Desperate. Open-mouthed. Messy.
Clothes were tugged and pulled—no elegance, no patience. Just the overwhelming need to feel, to touch, to know.
Jimin let out a breathy moan as Yoongi’s hand trailed down his side, fingers brushing bare skin. But even in that moment, even with heat crawling between them like fire, Yoongi paused.
“We stop when either one of us says stop,” he murmured against Jimin’s mouth.
Jimin nodded, breath catching. “Yeah. Okay.”
“No guilt. No pressure. If it’s too much, we stop.”
“I know.” Jimin’s eyes were glazed, lips red. “I trust you.”
Yoongi leaned in again, slower now, grounding. “And this doesn’t fuck up anything between us.”
“It won’t,” Jimin promised, voice rough, real.
Yoongi breathed against the younger’s cheek, almost like mentally preparing himself to finally do what they both wanted to do from the very beginning of this deal.
The younger one ran his hand along the side of Yoongi’s torso, “I’ll get the condom and lube.” He whispered,
The other nodded, not letting Jimin go without dropping a soft kiss on his forehead.
The way their body touched—bare and warm, made Yoongi feel like every volt in his body had been activated. He watched Jimin, naked through the warm lights. He was perfect.
Jimin came back, positioned himself under Yoongi’s frame. He smiled. It was obvious how nervous he was but still, he wanted it so bad.
Then Yoongi finally picked up the lubricant next to Jimin, coating his fingers really well. He moved, his finger being a few inches away from Jimin’s center. “Hey, are you really sure about this?” He had to ask again.
The younger one nods with his body slightly folded but not quite. You could sense the hesitation but not because he didn’t want it. He was shy. He was embarrassed to lay naked in front of Yoongi, his best friend.
“Do you want—?” Yoongi felt really stupid. He stopped, thinking how he could possibly ask now.
Jimin sort of figured it out so with a gentle laugh, “Fuck me, hyung. What you were assuming before was right. I wanted to be fucked and not the one fucking.”
Yoongi laughed along, his head dropping on Jimin’s shoulder. He groaned, “I’m so bad at this.”
“If you don’t want i—“
“No, I want it.” He moved back to see Jimin’s face, “I really want it.”
It didn’t take long before Yoongi finally let another breath out with the tip of his finger lightly brushing against Jimin’s hole. One of his hands was on Jimin’s thigh, giving the softest massages while the other slowly breached the hole.
Before he could even ask, Jimin nodded, “I’m okay.”
He swallowed thickly as he finally moved his fingers. Then after a while, Jimin was already asking for the second one. Yoongi slowly added the second finger, scared to hurt the younger one.
“‘m sorry,” He whispered, kissing Jimin’s folded knee.
“I can handle it.” Jimin said with a quiet voice.
Yoongi took his time prepping Jimin with his two fingers. He ignored how hard he was and how eager he was to get his own release.
Until it came to the point where Jimin begged for the third one. They just both knew two fingers weren’t enough for Yoongi’s girth. Yoongi poured another ounce of lube on his fingers before slipping the third one in. He whispered sweet words, squeezing Jimin’s thigh for distraction.
“Please, please,” Jimin used all his strength to pull Yoongi up, “I’m ready.”
Yoongi, worried, “Jiminie,”
“Please, hyung.”
Then the elder wiped his lube coated hand on the sheets, grabbing a condom beside them. He quickly rolled it over his hardened manhood with shaking hands.
He positioned himself in between Jimin’s legs, the tip of his cock barely touching the younger’s entrance. Then slowly, he pushed himself in. An inch at first, then checking Jimin’s reaction. Then he pushed another inch, startling when Jimin flinched.
A tear escaped from the younger’s eye and Yoongi panicked. He almost pulled out but Jimin was fast enough to stop him. “Just… give me time.” He said with a strained voice.
Yoongi moved carefully so he wouldn’t bury himself any deeper, leaning his torso to kiss Jimin on the lips while wiping the tear from his cheek. The younger one responded with the same hunger, kissing Yoongi with so much eagerness.
“Go for it,” Jimin whispered in between their kisses, encouraging Yoongi with his leg pulling the elder closer.
Yoongi pushed himself further until he bottomed out. Their bodies were fully connected, with no space in between.
Jimin whimpered, a little surprised at the sudden fullness. “I’m sorry, baby.” Yoongi whispered, kissing his neck. “I’m sorry,”
The younger one nodded, “It’s okay. I’m okay.” He breathed heavily, trying to adjust.
Yoongi finally moved, slow at first as he tried to help Jimin in adjusting to his size. Until he picked up the pace and moans started to escape Jimin’s mouth. He groaned at Jimin’s tightness squeezing his length.
It's slow until Yoongi moved without too much effort, “You're too tight, baby.” He breathed out, “So perfect.”
“Faster,” Jimin said quietly, “Please, faster.”
There's only little Yoongi could do to hold back and as Jimin continued to moan shamelessly and asked for more, he couldn’t control anymore. He thrust deeper and faster, even folding Jimin’s legs up to accommodate himself.
"This feels good." Jimin breathed out, "Oh my god! The-there! Shit. Hyung."
And Yoongi just knows he found Jimin's spot, taking his time and effort to repeatedly hit the spot.
Jimin was a mess underneath him.
A beautiful mess.
Yoongi could feel his own release catching up and Jimin began to shake.
“I’m near,” Jimin choked out,
The elder one touched Jimin’s cock, matching the pace with his thrusts.
Until they both met their climax.
Yoongi collapsed on top of Jimin, still supporting his weight with his arms. He breathed— a sigh, actually. Like a sigh of relief. He brushed Jimin’s hair away, touching his cheek softly, “Are you okay?”
Jimin opened an eye, “Yeah, feels good.”
“I’ll pull out now,” Yoongi warned before finally lifting his lower extremities to pull out his cock.
Jimin whined, feeling empty in an instant. He laughed, “I can feel the air enter my hole.”
Yoongi cackled, nearly collapsing on top of Jimin again, but managed to sit upright just in time, laughing breathlessly as he peeled off the loaded condoms and carefully tossed them in the trash. “How can you joke like that?”
Jimin blinked at him, cheeks pink and lips swollen from all the kissing. “Didn’t you know my coping mechanism is humor?”
Yoongi shook his head fondly, grabbing the blanket and gently covering Jimin’s bare body with it. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, tucking the blanket up to Jimin’s shoulders like he was putting a child to bed. The younger easily hugged the fabric closer, eyes fluttering shut for a second, completely drained but glowing in a way that made Yoongi’s heart feel tight.
“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Yoongi warned as he stood up. “You need to clean up a bit. And hydrate. I’ll get water and a warm towel.”
Jimin made a sleepy noise. “You’re such a doctor.”
“You’re lucky I am,” Yoongi called from the bathroom.
When he came back, Yoongi handed him a bottle of water first, then gently helped wipe Jimin down with the warm towel, careful and quiet. Jimin shivered once, but it wasn’t from discomfort.
“You don’t have to be this… thorough,” Jimin said, sipping the water, watching Yoongi’s expression soften with every pass of the towel.
“I know,” Yoongi said. “But I want to.”
There was a silence between them as Yoongi folded the towel and dropped it into the laundry basket in the corner. When he returned to the bed, Jimin had scooted over, lifting the blanket so Yoongi could crawl in beside him.
They lay there, shoulder to shoulder, under the same blanket, neither of them speaking until Jimin finally whispered, “That… was really good.”
Yoongi turned to him slightly. “Yeah?”
Jimin nodded, eyes still on the ceiling. “I was so nervous, but… you made it feel okay. You made me feel okay.”
Yoongi exhaled through his nose. “You didn’t seem nervous at all,” he teased gently, bumping their shoulders together.
“That’s because I had you,” Jimin mumbled, eyes dropping to his hands. “It felt… safe. And not weird or rushed or anything. I was just… in it.”
Yoongi stayed quiet for a moment, then murmured, “You did great, Jimin-ah. You really did.”
Jimin let out a small, bashful laugh. “Was I supposed to, like, take notes?”
Yoongi grinned. “No notes. No grades. Just you and me figuring things out. That’s the whole point.”
They lay in silence for a while longer. The city was quiet outside the window. Inside, only the hum of the fridge and their soft breathing filled the room.
“Thank you,” Jimin said after a while.
Yoongi didn’t ask why. He just reached over, gently brushing Jimin’s hair back from his forehead before whispering, “Anytime.”
They drifted off not long after, tangled together under the covers—not because of sex or some undefined promise, but because the comfort between them was undeniable.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
***
Taehyung blinked, his brain lagging as he tried to process what Jimin just said. His mouth opened slightly, and then closed again. He looked like a cartoon character short-circuiting. Finally, he laughed—nervously, almost manically. “What?”
Jimin shut his eyes, clutching the sleeves of his sweater. “I said… we slept together,” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “And yes, I’m aware that this was not part of anyone’s plan.”
Taehyung stared at him.
Jimin braced himself.
“Have you completely lost your fucking mind?!” Taehyung exploded. And there it was. The yell. Classic Taehyung. Passionate, dramatic, and just the right amount of theatrical.
“I know. I know,” Jimin said, arms raised in surrender. “Please stop looking at me like I just murdered your cat.”
Taehyung groaned loudly, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh my god. I’m going to faint. I’m going to die and my soul’s going to hover over this room and haunt you both forever.”
“Taehyung~” Jimin whined, trying to get closer, but the younger swatted him away like he was contagious.
“I told you to confess, not—sleep with him, Park Jimin!” he yelled, pacing the room like an angry Sims character. “There’s a huge difference between ‘I like you, hyung’ and body slamming him into your mattress!”
“I didn’t body slam him!” Jimin gasped.
“Oh, so you’re saying he body slammed you?”
“I’m not saying anything anymore.” Jimin groaned, flopping onto the couch like a dead fish. “I didn’t plan this, okay? It just… happened.”
“Sex doesn’t ‘just happen,’ Jimin. You didn’t trip and land with his—”
“Taehyung!”
Taehyung dramatically pointed at him. “Don’t you dare censor me now. You need to hear it.”
Jimin buried his face in a pillow and screamed into it. “This is the worst intervention ever.”
Taehyung plopped next to him, eyes wide with disbelief. “I was supposed to be your wingman, not your alibi!”
After a moment of muffled screaming, Jimin looked up. “So… you’re not going to unfriend me, right?”
Taehyung gave him a withering look. “Oh, I’m not going to unfriend you. I’m going to haunt you. Every time you see a bed, you’ll remember this moment.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You slept with Yoongi and didn’t tell me immediately. I should be allowed one meltdown.”
They both sat in silence for a beat before Taehyung narrowed his eyes. “So… was it good?”
“Kim Taehyung!”
“What? I need to know if you at least made it worth the emotional trauma I’m going through!”
Jimin, cheeks flushed, reached for another pillow to throw. But Taehyung was already ducking, cackling like the menace he was.
“God, you’re the worst,” Jimin mumbled, hiding his face again.
“And you’re a chaotic gay with no sense of boundaries. We match.”
Despite himself, Jimin laughed too. It wasn’t going to be easy explaining this new layer of chaos—but at least, he had Taehyung to scream about it with.
In the same manner, Yoongi also got yelled at. Seokjin, his closest senior, was frustrated.
“Let me get this straight,” Seokjin started, arms crossed like a disappointed father while Yoongi sat on the bench in the residents’ lounge, pretending he wasn’t being grilled. “You actually went through with it?”
Yoongi sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s not like I signed a binding contract, hyung.”
Seokjin’s jaw dropped. “You slept with your best friend!”
Yoongi rolled his eyes. “He’s not just—” He paused, reconsidered. “Okay, yes. I know. But he asked for help, and I was willing to help.”
“See? Manipulated!” Seokjin pointed at him accusingly, pacing the floor. “That’s how it starts. You think you’re in control, and the next thing you know, you’re picking out scented candles together and arguing about which Netflix show to binge.”
Yoongi looked like he aged five years in two seconds. “Hyung. We already do that.”
Seokjin screamed into his palm.
Across the room, Hoseok munched loudly on a steamed bun, looking far too entertained for someone who was supposed to be reviewing charts. “Honestly,” he said mid-chew, “just admit it.”
“Admit what?” Yoongi deadpanned.
“That you’re weak for him,” Hoseok replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“I’m not—” Yoongi stopped. “Okay, I’m… not not weak for him.”
“Double negative,” Hoseok pointed out smugly.
“Do you know how many rules of ethics you’ve crossed?” Seokjin groaned.
“We’re not breaking laws, hyung,” Yoongi shot back, looking mildly offended. “It’s not like I’m his attending and he’s my intern. We’re not even in the same field!”
“Still! There’s got to be some unwritten rule about not sleeping with someone who shares your baby photos in the group chat!”
Yoongi leaned back on the bench, arms crossed. “It’s not like we’re falling in love or something. We’re adults. We talked. We agreed. Boundaries are clear.”
Seokjin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And what if he catches feelings?”
Yoongi didn’t reply. He simply looked away, his ears faintly pink.
“Oh my god. You’ve already caught feelings.”
Hoseok coughed to hide his laughter and shoved another bun into his mouth. “I mean… he did say they used to kiss just for fun before realizing it was kinda serious. That’s gay culture right there.”
“Thank you, Hoseok, for your deep sociological input,” Yoongi muttered.
“You’re welcome,” Hoseok beamed.
Seokjin sat beside Yoongi dramatically, like he was about to deliver a eulogy. “Just… promise me you won’t be stupid.”
Yoongi exhaled slowly. “I’m always stupid when it comes to him.”
“That’s the only thing you’ve said tonight that makes sense.”
“Glad I can count on your support,” Yoongi said dryly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be here for the breakup,” Seokjin said with a pat to his shoulder.
“Hyung!”
“I’m joking!” Seokjin grinned. “Kind of.”
Yoongi closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. He didn’t regret it. Not one bit. But dealing with his two loudest hyungs afterward?
Now that was the real consequence.
***
The apartment was quiet, the only sounds being the occasional hum from the fridge and the low murmur of music coming from Jimin’s speaker—something mellow, instrumental, with a soft piano and lo-fi beat that filled the silence like a gentle hug.
Yoongi had just finished a long shift at the hospital. His shoulders were still tense, and he hadn’t even changed out of his scrubs when Jimin practically dragged him inside and told him to sit down.
“You look like death,” Jimin had teased, tossing him a hoodie from the couch. “Put this on before you bring hospital ghosts in here.”
Yoongi didn’t argue. He pulled it over his head and dropped down onto the couch, leaning back with a long sigh as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“I am,” Jimin said with a shrug, padding barefoot into the kitchen. “I made hot chocolate. Real one. Not the powdered one.”
“No way,” Yoongi called out, suspicious. “You don’t even know how to make rice properly.”
Jimin popped his head out from behind the fridge. “Excuse me! I’m improving!”
“Prove it.”
So Jimin came back with two steaming mugs, a little too full, a little clumsy in his grip, but he beamed with pride anyway as he handed one to Yoongi.
Yoongi took a sip and paused. “Okay, this is actually good.”
Jimin looked smug. “Told you. I googled it. Used real milk and everything.”
Yoongi chuckled, leaning his head back against the couch. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet, you’re here.”
He was right. Yoongi was there. And the truth was, it didn’t take much. If Jimin asked, Yoongi would come. Every single time.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks. Jimin had curled his legs up on the couch, sitting sideways to face Yoongi. His eyes kept drifting toward the older man, watching the way his lashes cast shadows under his eyes, the way the steam curled over his cheekbone, how his fingers flexed slightly as he held the mug.
Jimin wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when Yoongi first kissed his scraped finger weeks ago, or when they started stealing glances in between bites of takeout—but he liked the feeling Yoongi gave him. Safety, warmth. A slow-burning heat.
“I like it when you're here,” Jimin said quietly, eyes on his cup.
Yoongi looked at him. “I know.”
Jimin swallowed, the inside of his mouth suddenly dry. “Can I kiss you?”
Yoongi’s eyes didn’t move. He looked straight into Jimin, like he was searching for something. But his answer came not in words, but in movement—slow and sure. He leaned forward, tilting his head slightly as their lips met.
The kiss was soft, patient at first. Yoongi’s lips were warm, slightly chapped, but they fit perfectly. Jimin tilted his head, letting his mug fall onto the side table. His hand reached for Yoongi’s chest, resting lightly there, unsure.
When Yoongi deepened the kiss, Jimin felt his whole body respond—his spine tingling, his toes curling where they touched the couch cushion. He gasped softly, their noses brushing as he leaned further in.
Yoongi’s hand found the back of Jimin’s neck, grounding him gently, thumb brushing against his skin in a way that made Jimin shiver. They kissed until the air felt thick, until Jimin’s mind was blank and full all at once.
And then Yoongi paused, pulling back just slightly, their foreheads still touching.
“This…” Yoongi whispered, his voice rough. “This should be casual.”
Jimin’s breath caught. “Casual?”
Yoongi nodded, eyes still closed, as though saying it hurt a little. “I said I’d teach you. That’s what this is. That’s it, Jimin. Nothing more.”
Jimin opened his mouth, then closed it. His heart sank, just a little—but he nodded anyway. “Okay.”
Yoongi looked at him then, really looked at him, like he was making sure Jimin understood.
“No mixed signals,” he added. “No expectations. If one of us wants to stop at any time, we stop. We talk. And this… this doesn’t affect our friendship. At all.”
“Okay,” Jimin said again, quietly but firmly. “I can do that.”
“Good,” Yoongi replied, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Jimin’s forehead. “Because I still want to kiss you again.”
Jimin smiled faintly, his cheeks burning. “Then shut up and do it.”
And so Yoongi did.
But even as their lips found each other again, slow and deliberate, Jimin couldn’t ignore the tiny ache blooming quietly in his chest. He’d agreed to the rules. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t break his own.
***
“Hey,” Jimin’s voice was quiet as he stepped into the bedroom, bare feet making the softest sounds against the floor. Yoongi was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over a small pile of notes and diagrams spread open in front of him, glasses slipping low on his nose.
Yoongi hummed in response, not looking up immediately. “What’s up?”
Jimin hesitated for a second, then moved to sit beside him. The bed dipped slightly with his weight.
“Hm?” Yoongi turned toward him, finally, and Jimin almost smiled at the sight—his glasses crooked, his hair slightly tousled from running his hands through it over and over. He looked effortlessly beautiful in the way only Yoongi could.
Jimin reached over without thinking, adjusting the glasses gently on Yoongi’s face. His fingers lingered for a breath too long against the curve of Yoongi’s temple before they slid down to lightly brush over his shoulder.
Yoongi tilted his head slightly, looking at Jimin with the kind of patience that made his chest ache.
“I want to try something,” Jimin said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… curious about it. And I trust you, so…”
That was the hard part—admitting it out loud. Even after everything they’d done, after how intimate they’d already been, this still felt exposing in a different way. A little more vulnerable. A little more terrifying.
Yoongi raised an eyebrow, setting his pen down and giving him his full attention now. “What is it, hm?”
Jimin inhaled, cheeks already beginning to burn as he looked down at his own fingers twisting in his lap. “I want to… I want to suck your dick.”
Silence stretched for a few seconds. Jimin didn’t dare look up, afraid of what expression Yoongi might be wearing. His face burned, and he wanted to melt into the mattress.
Yoongi blinked, adjusting how he sat. “You—” He paused, and then a soft chuckle escaped. Not mocking. Just surprised.
Jimin groaned, hiding his face in both hands. “Don’t laugh. I’m trying to be serious.”
“I’m not laughing at you,” Yoongi said, reaching over to gently pull Jimin’s hands away from his face. “It just caught me off guard.”
“Well, you’re not making it less awkward.”
“I’m trying, I swear.” Yoongi's tone was softer now, more careful. “Do you… want to? Or do you feel like you shouldbecause of what we’re doing?”
“No,” Jimin said quickly, meeting his eyes for the first time. “I want to. I just… don’t know how. And I thought maybe it wouldn’t be as scary with you. Since you promised to teach me things.”
Yoongi’s gaze softened. “Alright,” he said, voice low. “If that’s what you want.”
Jimin nodded, heart pounding now—not with nerves, exactly, but anticipation.
Yoongi leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then murmured against his skin, “Then we’ll go slow. I’ll help you.”
Jimin swallowed hard and nodded again.
The atmosphere shifted between them then—something unspoken but undeniable, a tension humming in the silence. Yoongi closed his notebook slowly, then reached for Jimin’s hand, threading their fingers together. “We’ll take our time. No pressure. You stop anytime, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jimin whispered, smiling nervously. “Thank you, hyung.”
Yoongi kissed him again, longer this time, anchoring them both.
Then Jimin finally dropped on his knees with a light thud. He didn’t make it like it’s a big thing, not wanting Yoongi to worry about his knee bruising or anything. That would probably ruin the moment.
He looked at Yoongi one last time before teasing his garter to his sweatpants with his fingers. Jimin tugged it down, then Yoongi willingly lifted himself a little to make it easier for Jimin. His cock, not fully hardened, sprung out of his boxers and Jimin was just looking at it with his doe eyes. His mouth hung ajar, realizing how big Yoongi was.
They only had sex once. After that, it was just kisses and making out with inappropriate touches but it always stopped there. This was the only time Jimin came close to the elder’s cock. This close.
He then started playing with Yoongi’s cock, holding it steady before licking the stripes of it. The sounds coming out of Yoongi’s mouth just made Jimin eager to make him cum.
“Fuck, baby.” He whispered, his hand slowly travelling toward Jimin’s nape.
Jimin hummed as he fully engulfs the length of Yoongi, the tip hitting the back of his throat. His head slowly moved along, thrusting his wet mouth. He used his hand to assist his mouth, working together in sync.
“Shit,” The elder was breathing heavily,
It was Jimin’s first time and yet he was good. So damn fucking good that Yoongi’s mind was entirely fogged out. Jimin’s wet mouth, it was heaven.
Yoongi was holding back. He was sane enough to control himself from bucking his hips and fuck Jimin’s mouth. But he was so desperate for release.
Until Jimin bobbed his head even faster. He was choking and gagging and crying. And Yoongi was nearing his climax.
Then, “Fuck, fuck. Ji- baby, wait—shit.”
Yoongi wasn’t able to finish his words, he cums inside Jimin’s mouth. His eyes widened, ignoring the feeling of releasing and quickly attending to Jimin. He picked him up from the floor, caressing his cheek. “Hey, are you okay?” Yoongi’s voice was breathless but tender, searching Jimin’s face for any sign of discomfort.
Jimin didn’t meet his eyes at first, just wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, a little dazed. His hair was a mess, cheeks flushed, lips slightly swollen.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he answered, voice hoarse but steady.
“You sure?” Yoongi asked again, more insistently this time, already grabbing a tissue from the nightstand. He dabbed gently at Jimin’s lips and hand, careful not to be too rough. “Here, spit out. It’s okay.”
Jimin blinked at him, then chuckled softly, eyes finally meeting Yoongi’s. “I swallowed it.”
Yoongi blinked once, stunned, and then let out a slow sigh—half exasperated, half impressed—as the tension left his shoulders. “Of course you did,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he dropped to his knees in front of Jimin.
He stayed there for a second, grounding himself. Then he gently ran his thumb across Jimin’s cheek. “You didn’t have to, you know.”
“I wanted to,” Jimin replied, a little proud, a little shy. “Was I okay?”
Yoongi’s lips quirked into a smile. “You were more than okay. That was… kind of amazing, honestly.” He chuckled under his breath, still brushing his fingers over Jimin’s skin. “Are you sure it was your first time?”
Jimin swatted at him playfully, even as his cheeks turned a deeper pink. “Shut up.”
Yoongi laughed quietly, leaning forward to rest his forehead lightly against Jimin’s. “I’m just saying. You’re a quick learner.”
There was a brief silence, heavy with comfort, with unspoken emotions that neither of them dared to fully name. Yoongi pulled back just slightly, his hand still resting on Jimin’s knee.
“I can… return the favor, if you want,” Yoongi said softly, eyes earnest.
Jimin shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to think this is one-sided—”
“I’m sure.” Jimin interrupted gently. “I just want… a cuddle. That’s all I need right now.”
Yoongi let out a breath, something soft and fond curling in his chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jimin reached for him, arms already tugging him closer.
Yoongi stood up, guiding Jimin to lie back on the bed before joining him under the blanket. They didn’t speak for a while. Jimin curled into Yoongi’s chest, finding his favorite spot just beneath the elder’s chin, while Yoongi wrapped both arms around him like it was second nature.
They stayed like that, tangled up and quiet, sharing warmth in the stillness.
“You really did great,” Yoongi murmured after a while, brushing a hand through Jimin’s hair. “And… thanks for trusting me.”
Jimin hummed, eyes closed. “I always trust you, hyung.”
And Yoongi, with a small smile, held him a little tighter.
***
Jimin’s heart pounded like a drum as he stormed through the hospital’s sliding doors, his tote bag swinging behind him. He had dropped everything at work—left a class full of 6th graders with hastily scribbled math exercises on the board and sprinted out before anyone could stop him. He didn’t even hear the full details. All Jungkook had texted was: Taehyung’s in the ER. Come quick.
Panic held his chest in a chokehold as he reached the ER, searching frantically until he spotted the familiar messy brown hair and slightly too dramatic presence of his best friend lying on one of the beds, an IV attached to his hand. Jungkook stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed like a tired bodyguard who had seen too much.
“What happened?” Jimin asked breathlessly, lowering himself onto the chair next to Taehyung’s bed. Jungkook stepped to the side, silently making room.
Taehyung turned his head toward Jimin, his expression pale but slightly embarrassed. “Diarrhea.”
Jimin blinked. “You’re kidding.”
Taehyung groaned. “I wish I was.”
Jungkook chimed in with a sigh. “He drank the expired milk in our fridge.”
“It didn’t taste that bad!” Taehyung protested. “It was just a bit tangy. Like Greek yogurt.”
Jimin stared at him, horrified. “That’s literally the first sign, Tae. It’s not yogurt. It’s spoiled milk.”
“Same bacteria probably.”
Jimin scoffed. “That’s not how microbiology works!”
Taehyung curled up slightly, face scrunched. “Can we not talk about bacteria while I’m still dying?”
“You’re not dying,” Jungkook said, rolling his eyes.
Just then, footsteps approached. Jimin looked up as Yoongi entered the room, still in scrubs, hair slightly tousled under a surgical cap he hadn’t fully removed. He looked exhausted, but the moment he saw Jimin sitting there, some of the tension left his face.
“Hey,” Yoongi greeted, slipping beside Jimin and giving Taehyung a once-over. “I got out as soon as I could. I was observing a complicated thoracic surgery, couldn’t just walk away.”
“I’m fine, hyung,” Taehyung assured with a weak smile, but his voice was still strained.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” another voice joined them. Jimin turned his head and found himself looking up at a tall man with kind eyes, dressed in a white coat and holding a tablet. “I’m Dr. Kim Namjoon. I’ll be taking over your care for now, Mr. Kim.”
“Hey, hyung,” Jungkook greeted him casually. Yoongi gave a short nod of acknowledgment, his eyes narrowing slightly at the doctor’s confident demeanor.
Namjoon smiled at Taehyung, scrolling through the chart. “So. Mild dehydration, diarrhea, stomach cramps. Nothing alarming. You’ll finish your IV, take the meds I prescribed, and stay for a few more hours under observation. No need to admit you unless your symptoms worsen.”
“Thank God,” Taehyung exhaled. “I cannot be caught dead in a hospital gown. Those things are a crime.”
Namjoon chuckled. “Your pride is intact, so that’s a good sign.”
He looked up from his tablet, his gaze naturally shifting to Jimin. “And you must be the friend Jungkook texted. You made quite a sprint getting here.”
Jimin stood up politely. “Yeah, I’m Jimin. Thank you for looking after him.”
Namjoon’s eyes held Jimin’s for a second too long, smile lingering. “Well, it’s always nice to have a concerned face show up. Makes healing easier.”
Yoongi’s jaw visibly clenched as he stood on the other side of the bed, eyes darting between the two of them. Namjoon barely glanced at him before returning to Taehyung.
“You’ll be just fine. And I’ll make sure to check on you before you’re discharged,” Namjoon said, and with a small nod to the rest of them, he stepped out of the room.
There was a thick pause.
Taehyung side-eyed Jimin like a mother catching her kid texting under the table during dinner. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Jimin asked, clearly flustered but trying to sound casual.
“Namjoon-hyung was flirting with you.” Jungkook was now smirking.
Jimin frowned, cheeks heating. “He was just being nice!”
Taehyung groaned. “He called your face ‘healing’ material. If that’s not flirting, I don’t know what is.”
Yoongi quietly stepped back, brushing imaginary lint off his coat.
“I’m gonna go check with the nurses about your next fluid bag,” he muttered, barely looking at anyone before walking out.
Jimin blinked, watching him go.
Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “Uh oh.”
“What?”
“You didn’t see his face? Bro was seconds away from throwing hands over a compliment.”
Jimin sighed and leaned back in the chair, suddenly feeling very warm.
***
“So, uh… How do you know Jungkook?” Yoongi asked, doing his best to sound casual. He leaned slightly against the counter beside Namjoon, though his grip on the tablet he was holding betrayed his tension. He wasn’t even pretending to read anymore.
Namjoon glanced up from the chart he had just signed off, brows lifting slightly at the question. “Jungkook? He’s my neighbor. Lives in the unit across from me. Super polite, always offering to water my plants when I’m gone.”
Yoongi gave a short nod, trying not to sound too invested. “Right. Yeah, he’s nice.”
Namjoon paused for a second before tilting his head slightly. “Wait, how do you know him?”
“He’s… the boyfriend of my best friend’s other best friend,” Yoongi replied, wincing slightly at how convoluted that sounded aloud. “Long story. Complicated social tree.”
Namjoon let out a short laugh. “Sounds like a tangled web. You guys hang out a lot?”
Yoongi shrugged. “Sometimes. We’re not close-close, but he shows up in my life more than I expect.”
“Huh,” Namjoon hummed thoughtfully. “That explains why he knew who to call. You were his first call, right?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi nodded. “I was observing a bypass, had to scrub out early.”
Namjoon nodded. “Good friend. Shows you care.”
“Yeah, well.” Yoongi didn’t elaborate further.
There was a beat of silence before Namjoon’s tone shifted, lighter now. “Oh, the guy they were with earlier. Jimin, right?”
Yoongi’s fingers twitched around the tablet.
“What about him?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.
Namjoon smirked a little. “He’s cute.”
Yoongi blinked at him. “Huh?”
“Jimin. He’s cute,” Namjoon repeated, chuckling softly. “Kind of charming in that nervous energy kind of way.”
Yoongi’s lips pressed into a line. “I guess.”
“Is he single?” Namjoon asked, still smiling like it was a casual afterthought.
“No,” Yoongi said quickly, then paused and adjusted, “I mean—he said he was… seeing someone. Kind of.”
Namjoon raised a brow. “So not officially?”
Yoongi hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah. Not officially.”
Namjoon leaned slightly forward, resting an elbow on the counter. “So there’s still a shot.”
Yoongi scoffed under his breath. “You’re really going for this?”
Namjoon laughed. “Why not? He’s cute, friendly, and if he’s not taken… I don’t see the harm. Think I could get his number?”
“No,” Yoongi said, calm but firm.
Namjoon blinked, caught off guard. “Why not?”
“You were his doctor,” Yoongi replied, tone clipped. “It’d be inappropriate.”
Namjoon squinted at him. “I was Taehyung’s doctor. Not his.”
“Still. You know how the ethics guidelines are. The patients’ companions often fall under the same boundary of professional courtesy.”
Namjoon tilted his head. “Since when are you such a stickler for courtesy?”
Yoongi looked away. “Since now, apparently.”
Namjoon snorted. “You’re acting like I asked to date your dog or something.”
“I just think it’s better if you don’t. That’s all.”
Namjoon studied him for a beat, then relaxed again, deciding not to push further. “Well… I mean, if he’s not really taken, and I’m not actually his doctor... I’ll take my chances.”
Yoongi stayed quiet, jaw locked.
Namjoon patted the counter, a casual smile still on his face. “Anyway, good talk. I’ll see you at rounds tomorrow. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find a reason to run into Jimin again.”
Yoongi didn’t reply, only gave a stiff nod.
Namjoon flashed a grin over his shoulder as he walked away. “Think I’ll really try to get his number.”
The moment the hallway emptied, Yoongi released a slow breath through his nose, staring blankly at the tablet in his hands.
He didn’t know what this thing with Jimin was—not yet. But whatever it was, it wasn’t something he was willing to let Namjoon flirt his way into.
And that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
***
Yoongi tossed the damp towel into the hamper with a careless flick of his wrist before walking toward the closet. He moved with a kind of quiet grace, the muscles in his back shifting with each step. The room was still hazy with the aftermath of something unspoken, something intimate.
Jimin lay on the bed, sheet draped loosely around his waist, eyes following Yoongi’s every movement. His gaze dropped for a second—Yoongi hadn’t bothered to hide anything, letting himself be bare and unbothered. But Jimin didn’t say anything. He just watched.
Yoongi came back with a clean set of clothes for both of them, kneeling on the edge of the bed to help Jimin get dressed. It was tender. He didn’t ask if he needed help, just slid the boxer shorts gently up Jimin’s legs, then pulled an oversized shirt over his head with practiced care. His fingers brushed Jimin’s skin so lightly it felt more like a ghost passing through.
“You okay?” Yoongi finally asked, voice low, nearly a whisper.
Jimin nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just tired... and maybe sore.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but it faded quickly, replaced by something quieter.
Yoongi nodded and slipped into his own clothes without a word. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—but it was loaded. When he was done, he climbed back into bed and sat beside Jimin. They both stared ahead, not looking at each other, not speaking. Just sitting shoulder to shoulder, a safe distance between them, breathing the same air as the noise of the city outside dimmed to a hush.
There was an ache building in Yoongi’s chest. An ache he was trying so hard to ignore, but failing at miserably. He’d never felt this way before—not like this. Not with anyone. Not even in those brief, silly attempts at love in his past. This wasn’t just about the sex or the comfort. It was the way Jimin looked at him when he thought Yoongi wasn’t paying attention. The way Jimin laughed too loud when he was nervous. The way he touched him like Yoongi was something breakable.
It was terrifying.
Because Yoongi had feelings for Jimin. Real ones.
And the scariest part? He knew he shouldn’t.
He was playing a dangerous game. A game that only had one ending.
“That doctor—Namjoon.” Jimin spoke suddenly, voice almost hesitant.
Yoongi didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on the far wall. He just listened.
“He’s asking me out on a date.”
The words landed heavy in the room. Like a pin dropping in a church.
Yoongi didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. But his throat felt like it had closed up. Still, he forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah?” he said. “That’s... nice. He’s a good guy.”
Jimin turned his head then, looking at Yoongi with eyes that said more than he ever could. They were wide, searching. Like he was hoping Yoongi would say something else. Something real. Something like don’t go. Or stay here. Or choose me.
But Yoongi just gave a small shrug and added, “You should go. See where it goes.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Jimin still stared at him. Waiting.
But Yoongi didn’t say anything more.
He couldn’t.
Because if he did, it would all unravel. And he wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready to admit that he wanted something more—when he knew he couldn’t keep it.
Instead, Jimin looked down, his lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. He let out a small, breathless laugh, sad and quiet. Then he looked back up at Yoongi.
Their eyes locked.
They didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
The space between them was suddenly charged, fragile, like the edge of a cliff.
“Okay,” Jimin whispered, barely audible.
Yoongi’s heart clenched. He wanted to stop him. He wanted to take it back. But instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and said the only word he could.
“Okay.”
They sat there like that—two people tangled in something too complicated to name. Their knees almost touching, their hands close enough to brush, but not quite.
That night, no one had to know anything.
No confessions. No promises. No regrets.
***
“Well, just a question.” Jimin scrunched his nose, pouring himself another glass of soju. His cheeks were flushed—half from the alcohol, half from the courage it gave him. He tilted his head Yoongi’s way, lips curved in a loose, teasing smile. “Don’t overthink it.”
Yoongi leaned back on his hands, legs stretched out on the balcony floor. The night was quiet, a soft breeze dancing through the open railing, making Jimin’s hair flutter slightly. They had music playing low in the background, something lazy and jazzy from Yoongi’s playlist. A half-finished takeout box sat between them.
“I’m listening,” Yoongi said, voice casual.
Jimin stared into his glass, swirling the liquid inside like it held answers. “Did you ever think…” he paused, glanced at Yoongi before looking away again, “that we’d somehow end up together?”
It was meant to sound light. Casual. Like a joke, almost. But the silence that followed said it landed deeper than either of them wanted to admit.
Yoongi didn’t answer right away. He shifted, running a hand over his mouth, like he needed time to choose the exact right lie.
Then, with a quiet breath, he said, “No. Not really.”
Jimin blinked.
Yoongi gave him a small smile—an easy one, practiced. “I mean… That’s the whole point of this, right? The practice. The arrangement. So your next real kiss—your next real relationship—feels less scary. Less awkward.”
He said it like it was obvious. Like they’d always agreed on that.
Jimin let out a small laugh, breathier than it should’ve been. “Right,” he said, knocking back the soju. “Practice.”
“Exactly,” Yoongi said, reaching for the bottle and refilling his own glass. “We’re not... y’know, that. Never were.”
Jimin nodded, eyes fixed on the dark city skyline in front of them, lights blinking like they were trying to mimic stars. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He didn’t ask any follow-up questions. Didn’t press. Didn’t show Yoongi how his words had felt like a thread snapping somewhere inside his chest.
Because if Yoongi never thought about it—never saw it—then maybe Jimin wasn’t supposed to, either.
Maybe he was just supposed to keep pretending that the way Yoongi’s lips felt like home was all part of the act.
So he clinked their glasses together and said, “To practice.”
Yoongi smiled. “To practice.”
And they both drank.
But Jimin tasted heartbreak in his.
***
Jimin came to the hospital for his routine checkup scheduled by the school he’s working at. That’s just one of the benefits that he’s extremely happy about. Not that he really needed it given that he has his own doctor.
He smiled after getting the results of his laboratory tests, checking it as he walked away. He doesn’t understand anything except that everything was normal. That’s a good thing.
He was just about to call Yoongi to ask him if he’s free to grab lunch together. He heard the food in their cafeteria is good despite leaning on the healthier side of the spectrum. Though he was not into that thing, he just wanted to try what Yoongi was eating all the time.
“Jimin!” He lowered his phone, quickly turning to see who owned the unfamiliar voice. “Hey,”
Jimin frowned, trying to recognize the man but when he smiled, “Oh, Dr. Kim. Hi!”
The doctor chuckled, straightening his back which emphasized the height difference between them. That’s kinda hot, Jimin thought. And to be fair, Dr. Kim is definitely an attractive guy.
“It’s Namjoon. Doctor is too formal.” He said, still smiling. The dimples were just hard to miss.
“Oh,” Jimin laughed, nodding, “Namjoon ssi, hi.”
“Hi,” He fixed his stethoscope, keeping it inside his pocket. “Uhm, what were you in here for? Are you okay?”
“Just my annual checkup for work.” He answered, “Already got my results so yeah,”
Namjoon held his hand out, “May I?” pertaining to the folder Jimin was holding.
Jimin gave it without much hesitation. He just waited until Namjoon said something.
“They’re all great. Uhm, you’re just borderline anemic so… green leafy vegetables. They’re rich in iron.” He returned the documents to Jimin with a smile, “Well, speaking of which, have you eaten? Mind if I ask you out for lunch?”
Jimin blinked, momentarily surprised. It had been a while since someone asked him out so directly, and Namjoon’s tone—gentle, casual, but confident—caught him off guard.
“Lunch?” Jimin echoed, looking down at his phone. He had just typed Yoongi’s name, thumb hovering over the call button.
He hesitated, then locked the screen and smiled up at Namjoon. “Sure. Why not? I’ve heard your cafeteria’s decent.”
Namjoon grinned, dimples deepening. “It’s definitely not Michelin-star level, but I promise it won’t kill you.”
They walked side by side down the hallway, the sound of their shoes tapping lightly against the tile floors. Namjoon led the way, pushing open the doors into the staff cafeteria. It was surprisingly bright, filled with soft conversations and the hum of lunch hour. Jimin noticed how many people greeted Namjoon with a smile or a respectful nod—he was clearly well-liked around here.
They grabbed their meals—Namjoon chose a balanced plate with grilled tofu and brown rice, while Jimin reluctantly passed on the fried chicken and settled for a colorful vegetable stir-fry and miso soup. He frowned at the salad bar before sighing and adding some spinach to his tray.
“Trying to impress me?” Namjoon teased as they took their seats near the window.
“Trying not to get scolded about iron deficiency,” Jimin shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You doctors don’t let anything slide.”
Namjoon chuckled, the sound deep and comforting. “Guilty.”
Lunch passed in a warm blur. Namjoon talked about his younger years in med school, his embarrassing first time stitching a wound, and the time he tried to flirt with a pharmacist and ended up giving her his grocery list instead of a prescription. Jimin laughed so hard he snorted water through his nose, and Namjoon handed him a napkin with a sheepish grin.
“You’re really funny,” Jimin said between giggles, wiping his mouth. “I haven’t laughed like this in ages.”
Namjoon tilted his head, watching him with kind eyes. “That makes me happy to hear.”
There was a small pause. Jimin sipped his soup, eyes catching the soft afternoon light that filtered through the window.
And then Namjoon spoke—gently, sincerely.
“Jimin… I like you.”
Jimin looked up, surprised again—but not unsettled. Namjoon didn’t look nervous. If anything, he looked calm. Certain.
“I know we don’t really know each other that well yet,” Namjoon continued, “but I’ve seen you around a few times now. And I don’t know, there’s just something about you. I’d really like to get to know you more. Outside of… you know, random run-ins at the hospital.”
Jimin blinked, heart thudding softly against his ribs. There was no pressure in Namjoon’s words. Just honesty. Warmth. A light kind of hope.
He smiled, feeling something flutter in his chest. “That’s… sweet. Really sweet.”
“I’m not expecting anything,” Namjoon said quickly. “You can say no, or take your time. I just didn’t want to walk away today without telling you.”
Jimin nodded, smiling as he stared down at his tray. “Thank you.”
They finished lunch a little more quietly after that, but the silence was comfortable. Easy.
As they left the cafeteria and parted ways at the hospital lobby, Jimin finally pulled out his phone again.
There it was.
1 missed call from Yoongi.
1 incoming call, answered—21 seconds.
Jimin stared at the screen for a while, thumb hovering.
And just like that, his chest felt a little heavier… though he wasn’t sure why.
***
The rain tapped steadily against the windows of their apartment. Jimin stood barefoot in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. The lights were dim, the room quiet except for the soft patter of water outside and the occasional clink of dishes as he cleaned up after their dinner.
Yoongi was late. Again.
Not late like he used to be—texting Jimin every hour with updates, calling when he knew he couldn’t make it in time for their plans. No, this was a new kind of late. The kind where his silence stretched longer than usual, where his calls went from daily to every few days. The kind where his absence left a hollow echo that clung to the walls.
Yoongi had just stepped in the door, rain clinging to his shoulders, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. He didn’t say much—just dropped his keys into the bowl by the entrance and shrugged off his coat with that same tired grace he always carried after long shifts.
Jimin was in the kitchen, microwaving leftovers. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard Yoongi approach, but before he could say anything, Yoongi leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Soft. Quick. Like a routine.
Like brushing teeth. Like locking the door. Like breathing.
Jimin didn’t even get the chance to lean into it.
It didn’t feel like anything.
Not want, not warmth, not affection. It was a habit. One Yoongi didn’t even seem to think about. One he walked away from as easily as he had come.
Jimin was unsure when Yoongi started to live in his apartment. Maybe it was a month ago or a little more than that. Yoongi had started to add more color into Jimin’s apartment—his favorite dark blue tumbler, his newly bought gray slippers, his medical books that consumed the spaces of Jimin’s coffee table. Jimin even bought more sticky note pads and all the kinds of highlighters he could find.
Yoongi had invaded Jimin’s life now more than he did before.
He moved through the space like a ghost, his presence there—but only barely. He didn’t touch Jimin’s shoulder like he usually did. Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t even meet his eyes.
He walked past him, straight to his room, mumbling something about taking a shower.
Jimin stood there a moment longer, staring at the doorway Yoongi had just gone through. His tea had already gone cold, but he didn’t notice.
He walked to the couch and sat down, pulling a blanket over his legs—the one Yoongi always left crumpled when they’d watch movies together.
The TV wasn’t on. The silence wasn’t warm.
And the worst part?
This wasn’t the first time.
Lately, everything about Yoongi felt like it was fading. His smiles were dimmer. His words shorter. The way he used to unconsciously lean into Jimin when they sat together—gone. The glances that used to linger now barely passed a second. They still shared a bed sometimes, still touched skin to skin—but the warmth never lingered like it used to.
Jimin clutched the blanket tighter, eyes stinging.
He knew people changed. Life got busy. Careers got in the way.
But this—this felt like Yoongi was slowly untying every knot they had made between them, one by one, without saying a word.
A quiet retreat.
And Jimin, who always believed he could feel when something was ending, realized for the first time that maybe their ending had already begun.
And neither of them had the courage to name it.
Not yet.
***
The TV was playing some random late-night variety show, volume low, colors flickering softly across the living room. The takeout boxes were open but half-empty, mostly untouched. Jimin sat cross-legged on the couch, absently picking at rice with his chopsticks. Yoongi was beside him, leaning back, exhausted from his shift. His scrub top was wrinkled, his eyes half-lidded.
For a while, they didn’t talk. They didn’t need to.
These were the kinds of silences they used to enjoy—quiet, safe, shared.
But not tonight.
Not with everything hanging heavy between them.
“So,” Jimin said suddenly, not looking at him, “you coming with me to Taehyung’s thing next weekend?”
Yoongi blinked slowly. “What thing?”
“The fundraiser. He mentioned it. You said you might come if you weren’t on call.”
Yoongi let out a long breath, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m tired, Jimin.”
Jimin nodded slowly, setting the chopsticks down. “You’ve been tired a lot lately.”
“Long hours,” Yoongi muttered.
A pause.
“Yeah. Long hours and… short temper.”
That made Yoongi glance at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jimin leaned back, resting against the cushions. “Nothing. Just… we don’t really talk anymore. Not really.”
“We’re talking now,” Yoongi said, voice low, almost defensive.
Jimin let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. “This? This isn’t talking, hyung. We’re pretending things are fine. We’re always pretending.”
Yoongi ran his hands through his hair. “What do you want me to say, Jimin? That I’m confused? That I’m fucked up about this whole situation? You know I am. So what’s the point?”
Jimin’s voice dropped to something almost fragile. “You could start by saying something honest. Something real.”
Yoongi’s jaw clenched. He looked away.
“Fine,” he said, and it came out colder than he meant. “You want honest? We fuck. That’s it.”
Jimin froze.
His heart seemed to stop for a moment, breath caught in his throat.
He turned to look at Yoongi, eyes searching his face like he didn’t recognize him for a second. “That’s all it is to you?”
Yoongi exhaled heavily. “Jimin—”
“No,” Jimin cut him off, voice tight. “Don’t ‘Jimin’ me like that. You don’t get to say things like that and expect me to just sit here.”
Yoongi’s shoulders slumped, head falling back against the couch.
“I’m tired,” he said again, softer this time. “I’m tired of not knowing where we stand. I’m tired of wondering what this is. If it’s anything. If it ever was. Every day I come home thinking maybe we’ll talk about it, maybe we’ll define it, maybe I’ll stop feeling like I’m drowning in something I can’t name. And then we just… don’t.”
Jimin swallowed hard. “So you say something cruel instead?”
Yoongi looked at him finally, his eyes a mess of conflict and fatigue.
Jimin shook his head. “Do you blame me?”
Yoongi blinked. “What?”
“For this,” Jimin gestured between them. “For the fucked up friendship. For everything we’ve ruined. Do you blame me?”
Yoongi didn’t answer.
He just stared.
Long and hard.
And it was worse than a yes.
Because Jimin could read Yoongi’s eyes like a book—they had grown up beside each other, through every heartbreak, every awkward stage, every success, every quiet night of laughter in this very apartment. And now?
Now, Yoongi’s eyes didn’t soften.
They just looked away.
That was his answer.
Jimin stood up, his voice barely a whisper. “You could’ve just said you regretted it. Would’ve hurt less.”
Yoongi stayed silent.
Because it wasn’t regret. It wasn’t that simple.
But his silence said enough.
Jimin walked to his room, footsteps quiet, leaving Yoongi alone on the couch with the TV still flickering in the background and two cold takeout containers between them.
Yoongi didn’t follow.
He just sat there, eyes staring at the wall, heart pounding in a rhythm he no longer understood.
And that night, for the first time in a long time, neither of them dreamed.
Because there was no comfort left in pretending.
***
It had been over a week.
Jimin felt like he was drowning in silence.
Every morning felt heavier than the last. He would wake up expecting—hoping—to see a message or missed call, anything. But his phone remained painfully blank, and so did the other side of his bed. Yoongi hadn’t called since that night. Since the argument. Since Jimin said too little and Yoongi walked away with too much unsaid.
He had tried to busy himself—teaching, meetings, even Taehyung’s animal shelter event tonight—but the ache in his chest remained stubborn, raw like an unhealed wound he kept touching.
The moment Jimin stepped into the venue, Jungkook spotted him and waved excitedly, weaving through the small crowd.
“Where’s Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook asked the moment he reached him, eyes scanning the room, like he half-expected the older man to appear behind Jimin.
Jimin leaned in for a quick hug, forcing a smile. “He’s on call.”
It was dry. Simple. Enough to shut down any follow-up.
“Oh, too bad,” Jungkook said, shrugging with a hint of disappointment. “Taehyung needed to use the toilet. He’ll be out soon.”
Jimin gave a soft chuckle. “God, don’t tell me it was diarrhea.”
The younger man barked out a laugh. “No, it’s not. He just needed to pee, that’s all. You know how he gets when he’s nervous before these things.”
It was a small party—a warm, modest event with string lights hanging from the garden’s overhead beams, soft jazz in the background, and a beautiful spread of catered food and local animal shelter booths Taehyung had invited over. His heart was in this cause, and it showed in every thoughtful detail.
“Namjoon-hyung!” Jungkook called out suddenly, patting Jimin on the shoulder before hurrying off.
Jimin turned to see Namjoon walking in, tall and confident in a cream-colored suit, looking effortlessly dashing. He hadn’t seen him in a while—maybe the time they saw each other in the hospital three weeks ago.
“Hey,” Namjoon greeted with a smile that made Jimin feel momentarily lighter. “Hi, Jimin. It’s been a while.”
“Hi, Namjoon-ssi,” Jimin replied, smile polite.
Before more could be said, Taehyung finally emerged from the house, waving. “There you are!” he beamed, rushing over to pull Jimin into a tight hug. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jimin murmured.
“Doctor Kim!” Taehyung turned to Namjoon and embraced him too. “Thank you for coming. This means so much to me.”
Namjoon laughed. “You’re lucky I like dogs.”
Taehyung smirked. “I’m lucky you like me.”
Moments later, Taehyung and Jungkook were pulled away by a group from the shelter who needed help with a presentation. Just like that, Jimin and Namjoon found themselves standing by the bar together, the party moving around them like a quiet buzz.
They shared drinks—something fruity and light that Jimin let Namjoon pick—and before they knew it, they were laughing. Genuinely laughing.
It was easy. It was light.
Namjoon was witty, gentle, and disarming in a way Jimin hadn’t realized he needed. They talked about things—Namjoon’s latest experience with a patient and Jimin’s students.
It was nice. It was almost too nice.
That’s why Jimin had to say something.
“I should tell you…” Jimin said after a moment of silence, fiddling with the condensation on his glass. “I’m interested in someone else.”
Namjoon tilted his head, not surprised. Not really. “It’s Yoongi, right?”
Jimin’s lips parted, stunned by how calmly Namjoon said it.
“I… yeah. It’s complicated,” Jimin admitted, voice barely audible. He looked down, avoiding the other man’s gaze. “We’re not… together. But it’s not exactly over, either. I don’t even know what we are.”
Namjoon nodded, looking thoughtful. He didn’t ask for more. Didn’t push. “I understand.”
There was a beat of quiet between them again. Then the music shifted—a gentle instrumental waltz spilling into the air, inviting couples to the small space by the garden fountain that had turned into a dance floor.
Namjoon stood, offering a hand.
“I understand you like someone else,” he said, smile soft but sincere. “But I love to dance. It’d be awkward to do that alone.”
Jimin hesitated—just a breath, just a second.
Then he smiled and took Namjoon’s hand. “Just one.”
They moved slowly, gracefully, as if neither of them had anything to prove. Jimin let himself be led, his body falling into rhythm with Namjoon’s steady steps. It was comforting, even if his mind kept flickering to someone else. Someone who wasn’t there.
Or so he thought.
Because just then—right at that moment—Yoongi walked in.
He stood by the archway entrance, chest rising and falling unevenly as his eyes scanned the room.
And then he saw them.
Jimin. Smiling. In another man’s arms. Laughing.
The light hit him just right—his hair slightly tousled, cheeks flushed with wine, and his fingers curled around Namjoon’s wrist like they belonged there.
Yoongi didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
For a moment, he simply stared. And then he turned.
Without a word, without a trace, he left.
Jimin didn’t see.
Didn’t feel the sharp gaze from across the room.
Didn’t notice the cold rush of wind that followed the door swinging shut.
He was still dancing. Still pretending—for just a little longer—that his heart wasn’t aching.
But the moment the song ended, the weight settled again. Heavy. Cold. Familiar.
And this time, it was because he didn’t even know Yoongi had come.
Or that he had left.
***
“Eomma…”
It came out in a fragile whisper—barely a sound, more like a breath—but it was enough to make Mrs. Park drop everything and turn toward her son.
And then Jimin broke.
He hadn’t planned to. He thought he’d just come home to Busan for a few days, sit quietly in his old room, maybe eat some of his mom’s cooking and sleep off the ache that had taken root in his chest. But the moment he saw her—his mother, still in her apron, hands flour-dusted from baking—he collapsed into her arms.
“Oh, baby. What happened?” Mrs. Park asked softly, already wrapping him up in an embrace he didn’t know he needed so badly.
Jimin didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
Instead, he cried—loud, guttural sobs that came from a place deeper than hurt. It was the kind of crying you did when you were finally somewhere safe.
It had been a month.
A month since that awful night in his apartment.
A month since he and Yoongi fought.
A month of silence.
No calls.
No texts.
Not even a forwarded meme or a passing, “Get home safe,” like Yoongi used to send without fail.
Yoongi was gone.
He had walked out that night and never looked back.
And Jimin had tried—God, he tried—to move on. He threw himself into work, teaching his kids, planning lessons, grading endless quizzes. He stayed late at school, volunteered for extra events, anything to keep his mind off the ghost of a doctor with tired eyes and hands that once held him like he meant something.
But nothing worked.
So here he was. Home.
Mrs. Park waited until his breathing settled, until he was curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over his legs and a warm cup of barley tea in his hands.
She sat beside him, not pushing, just waiting.
“I messed up,” he said, voice hoarse. “I messed up everything that was perfect just because I wanted more.”
Her eyes didn’t leave his face.
“I asked Yoongi hyung…” He paused, cheeks coloring despite the tears. “I asked him to teach me about… sex.”
There was a silence.
“I know how that sounds,” Jimin muttered, gripping the tea tighter. “It was stupid. He’s my best friend. He was my best friend. And I thought I could handle it. I thought I could keep it casual and learn and—God, I don’t even know what I was thinking.”
“Did something happen?” Her voice was gentle.
He nodded, bracing himself for shock or disapproval.
But Mrs. Park simply blinked, lips twitching slightly. “You know I always thought you two would end up together.”
Jimin stared. “Eomma—”
“What?” She shrugged, not unkindly. “I’ve known Yoongi since the minute he was brought out of this world, Jimin. That boy used to eat dinner in this house like it was his second home. I watched him grow up. I watched you grow up. And somewhere along the way, it became obvious. You two were never just friends.”
Jimin tried to laugh. It came out brittle. “He didn’t think that, apparently.”
“Maybe. We’re not sure,” she said simply. “But love’s hard for some people. Especially someone like Yoongi, who’s lived so long holding everything inside.”
Jimin’s eyes welled again, throat tight. “He didn’t even call, Eomma. He just walked out of my apartment that night, and that was it. Not a single message. Not even to ask if I was okay.”
“Did you reach out?” she asked gently.
He shook his head. “I couldn’t. I was scared. And maybe I thought… if he cared, even a little, he’d call first.”
Mrs. Park didn’t push.
“I love him,” Jimin whispered, the words catching on his lips like they’d been trapped for weeks. “I love Yoongi hyung. I think I’ve loved him since college, or even before that. I don’t know. I thought it was just some stupid puppy love that would eventually go away but I didn’t realize how real it was until I was lying in bed wondering why it hurt so much when he left.”
She moved closer, letting him lean into her again. “Then tell him.”
“I’m scared. I’m scared that I might actually ruin what’s left of us.”
“I understand,” she said. “But you’ll never know unless you try. And if it really is the end, then at least you’ll know you did everything you could.”
Jimin was quiet.
“I’m not going to tell you what he’s thinking,” she added. “I know Yoongi well enough to guess, but that’s not my place. What I will say is that he always looked at you like he was waiting for permission to love you.”
Jimin blinked.
“And maybe,” she continued, “he just didn’t know how to ask for it. Or maybe when you finally gave it, it scared him. But that’s his journey, Jiminie. Not yours. Yours is to figure out what you want—and whether your heart’s willing to wait.”
He swallowed thickly. “I don’t want to wait, Eomma. But I also don’t want to let go.”
Mrs. Park kissed his temple, holding him like she used to when he had nightmares as a child.
“Then don’t,” she whispered. “You don’t have to decide everything tonight. Rest. Be still. Let yourself be loved here for a while. The answers will come. They always do.”
Outside, the sea breeze danced through the open window. The sound of waves mingled with the gentle clink of tea cups and the quiet sobs of a boy who had loved too hard, too quietly, for far too long.
And in that moment, for the first time in weeks, Jimin let himself breathe.
***
Jimin hadn’t expected to see him.
Not here. Not like this.
He had returned to Seoul the night before, heart heavier than when he left. The silence between them still lingered like smoke that refused to clear. But something inside him had shifted during his days in Busan. He didn’t have all the answers—but he knew now that he couldn’t keep pretending this didn’t hurt. That it didn’t matter.
So he showed up at the hospital.
Not to confront.
Just… to see him.
To know, maybe, that he still existed somewhere beyond the ghost in his memory.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Jimin stepped out into the quiet hallway of the cardiac ward. He almost turned back—almost gave in to the fear clawing at his chest—when the door to the staff lounge opened.
And there he was.
Yoongi.
Wearing scrubs. Hair slightly damp, probably from a hurried shower. He looked tired—so much more tired than Jimin remembered—but real. Solid. Alive.
Jimin froze.
So did Yoongi.
They stood across the corridor from each other, as if separated by more than just a few feet. As if a thousand unspoken words stretched between them.
Yoongi opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Jimin stepped forward. Just once. Slowly.
And then, with a voice too soft to be anything but honest, he asked, “Can we talk?”
Yoongi didn’t speak. But something shifted in his face. The wall, the distance, the quiet fury that once lived in his eyes—all of it faltered for just a second.
He gave the smallest nod.
And Jimin almost crumbled from the weight of it.
They moved to the hospital rooftop—a quiet place where Yoongi often went to breathe when the world got too loud. Neither of them spoke until the door clicked shut behind them.
The wind was cold. The sky was gray. But at that moment, none of it mattered.
Jimin turned to face him, eyes glassy, “I missed you.”
“I missed you.” Yoongi breathed out like it was the most relieved he had ever been. He hesitated to touch Jimin, hands stopping midway. As he dropped it beside him, “Damn, I missed you a lot. It was driving me insane.”
Finally, Jimin broke down and let his tears fall. His shoulders were shaking and Yoongi had no other instinct but to wrap Jimin in a hug. It was like they can both breathe without feeling choked out.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Yoongi kept whispering like a prayer, his voice cracked at the edges. “I really didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”
Jimin nodded, sobbing, “Sorry too. I—it was my fault. I’m sorry for ruining what we have.”
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi kept whispering, the words trembling. “I said such cruel things before I left. I pushed you away and pretended like it didn’t hurt. But I was drowning, Jimin. I didn’t know how to look at you without breaking down.”
Jimin clutched at him, voice shaking. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve stayed. I would’ve held you through it. I would’ve understood if you talked to me.”
“I know,” Yoongi said, voice raw. “But back then… I didn’t think I deserved that. And then—at Taehyung’s fundraiser. When I saw you and Namjoon dancing…” His eyes closed, a slow exhale leaving him like it carried everything he’d buried. “It felt like my time ran out. Like I’d finally lost you. Because I was too much of a coward to fight for you and to finally be honest.”
Jimin pulled back enough to look at him, eyes red-rimmed. “You didn’t lose me.”
“I thought I did,” Yoongi confessed. “I stood there watching you—God, you looked so happy. And I hated myself. I hated how easy it seemed for him to stand next to you when I’d been frozen for years. I couldn’t breathe. All I could think was… he’s going to say it first.”
Jimin blinked slowly. “Say what?”
“That he loves you,” Yoongi whispered.
The silence fell heavy between them.
Yoongi continued, “That day at the hospital… I called you. You didn’t pick up, but the line connected. And I heard him. Heard Namjoon tell you he liked you. I stood in the hallway like a fool, holding my breath, waiting for you to answer. I couldn’t breathe thinking he got there first. That I had no right anymore.”
Jimin swallowed thickly. “You should’ve talked to me.”
Yoongi shook his head. “I didn’t think I could. Every time I tried, the words wouldn’t come out. And when I did speak, I said things I didn’t mean. Hurtful things. Because I thought if I made you hate me, it’d be easier to let go.”
Jimin looked up at him, heart cracked open. “Did you think that every time you called me baby, I wasn’t hearing anything? Like my heart wasn’t exploding?”
Yoongi stilled.
“Because it wasn’t nothing for me,” Jimin said, voice low, trembling. “It was something. Every single time. Every time you touched me, it felt like you were saying everything you couldn’t out loud. Like I mattered. Like I was yours.”
Yoongi’s eyes grew glassy. “Those were the only moments I could at least pretend that you’re mine.”
“I was, hyung,” Jimin whispered. “I was yours. I was just as much of a fool as you were. I thought if I said anything, you’d leave. That I’d ruin us—the only thing that really mattered in my life. So I kept it in. All of it. I’ve loved you all this time.”
Yoongi let out a strangled sound. “You did?”
“I do,” Jimin said. “Not just now. Always.”
Yoongi took his hand carefully, like it was something sacred. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Jimin tilted his head.
“I know you think I’ve been through things. That I’ve had other people. But the truth is… you’re my first. In everything.”
Jimin’s lips parted.
Yoongi’s gaze didn’t waver. “My first kiss—remember that day? We were kids. You kissed me during playtime, then ran off laughing like it was a game.”
“You remember that?” Jimin said, eyes wide.
“I never forgot,” Yoongi said softly. “You were the first person I ever loved. The only one I ever let in. Even the most intimate things—I’ve only ever shared them with you.”
Jimin’s throat tightened, “What? So you’re not… you haven’t—?”
“I haven’t slept with anyone else. I’m a bigger loser than you. A 27-year old virgin.,” Yoongi tried to laugh, “I agreed to this deal thinking I was doing it to help you, to protect you—but really, I did it because I couldn’t stand the thought of you being with someone else. Even if it wasn’t real for you… for me, it always was.”
Jimin stepped closer, eyes full of everything he never said. “It was real for me too. Always. I loved you quietly. Carefully. But I loved you.”
Yoongi exhaled, finally allowing himself to believe it.
“I love you,” he said, like it had been sitting on his tongue for years. “Not as your friend. Not as a memory. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone, like I never will again.”
Jimin’s hands framed Yoongi’s face. “And I love you. In every way you thought I couldn’t. I just didn’t know how to tell you without ruining what we had.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Yoongi whispered. “You gave me everything.”
When their lips met, it was tender. Reverent. Like they were sealing something eternal. All the time lost, the distance, the silence—it disappeared in that kiss. Jimin clung to him like an anchor, and Yoongi held him like something he’d never let fall again.
When they pulled apart, Jimin was breathless but smiling.
“What?” Yoongi murmured, brushing tears from his cheeks.
Jimin leaned in, resting their foreheads together. “I’m just… happy. I didn’t think we’d ever get here. But we did.”
Yoongi closed his eyes, holding him tighter. “I’m never letting go again.”
“Eomma’s gonna be freaking thrilled.” Jimin chuckled,
“Not just her. My mom too. They’ve been plotting this our entire lives.” Yoongi whispered back,
And above them, the sky stayed gray.
But beneath it, they were whole.
And this time, they had each other—without fear, without silence,
Finally, without pretending.
***
The sun streamed in through the blinds, casting golden slats of light across the hardwood floor. The morning was still and quiet, except for the soft hum of the kettle and the familiar shuffle of socks on wood.
Jimin padded into the kitchen, hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder, hair messy and eyes still heavy with sleep. He blinked as he leaned against the doorway, watching Yoongi move around like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like this wasn’t new. Like waking up in the same bed, together, wasn’t something they were still getting used to.
But it was.
Sort of.
“Hey,” Jimin croaked, voice low and hoarse.
Yoongi looked up from where he was pouring hot water into two mugs. A soft smile pulled at his lips.
“Morning, baby.”
Jimin flushed immediately, nose scrunching. “Still not used to that.”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Too late now. You’re stuck with it.”
Jimin shuffled forward and bumped his forehead against Yoongi’s shoulder. “I’m not complaining.”
Yoongi chuckled and let him stay there, one hand reaching up to smooth over Jimin’s hair. “Sleep okay?”
“Only ‘cause you didn’t leave,” Jimin mumbled.
“I never planned to,” Yoongi said, quiet but certain. “Not anymore.”
Jimin sighed into the warmth of his side, letting it settle. “It’s weird, you know?”
“What is?”
“This. Us. Being together-together.” Jimin lifted his head, eyes sincere. “Like, technically, not much has changed. But at the same time, everything feels different.”
Yoongi passed him a mug of tea. “We used to sleep in the same bed. I’ve always made you breakfast. I know how you take your tea, what side of the bed you like, when your allergies act up.”
Jimin smiled, eyes warm. “You’ve always taken care of me.”
Yoongi met his gaze. “Because I’ve always loved you.”
The words settled between them, soft and sacred.
Jimin looked down at his mug, fingers tightening around the warmth. “I still get nervous sometimes. Like I’ll mess this up. Like maybe I’ll love you too much.”
Yoongi tilted his head. “There’s no such thing.”
Jimin looked up. “You sure?”
Yoongi leaned in and kissed his cheek, lingering just a second longer than needed. “Positive.”
They stood there for a while, sipping tea in the silence of a Sunday morning, side by side like they had been for years. But now, Jimin could reach over and lace their fingers together without second-guessing it. He could rest his head on Yoongi’s shoulder and know he belonged there.
At one point, Yoongi reached for a strawberry from the fruit bowl and held it up to Jimin’s lips without a word. Jimin rolled his eyes fondly but took a bite anyway.
“You’re spoiling me,” Jimin said, chewing.
“I’ve been spoiling you for years,” Yoongi replied. “You just didn’t notice.”
Jimin grinned. “I noticed.”
Yoongi turned to face him, brushing his thumb lightly over Jimin’s lower lip. “Still scared?”
“Yeah,” Jimin whispered. “But less than yesterday.”
Yoongi’s smile deepened. “Good. We’ll take it slow. One morning at a time.”
Jimin nodded. “As long as you’re with me.”
“Always,” Yoongi said.
***
Jimin walked across the glass doors of the hospital with a bounce in his step and a lunchbox swinging from his hand. School had ended two weeks ago, and while he enjoyed the break, the sudden absence of structure made his days feel slow. He hadn’t seen Yoongi in three days—three long days—and he was feeling restless. He missed him.
So he sent a quick text:
Jimin: I’m here. Cafeteria. I brought snacks. Hurry or I’ll eat them all.
It didn’t take long before he saw Yoongi approaching, a smile blooming on his face the moment he spotted him. The change in Yoongi was obvious now—he was more radiant, less tired, and there was an ease in his steps that hadn’t been there before. Like he wasn’t carrying the weight of unspoken feelings anymore.
“Hey, baby,” Yoongi greeted as he reached the table, his voice soft and happy in a way that made Jimin’s chest ache—in a good way.
Jimin hid the smile threatening to split his face, ducking his head slightly before pulling out the chair beside him for Yoongi to sit. “Hi, love.”
Yoongi paused mid-sit, grinning. “I love it when you call me that.”
He leaned in and placed a kiss on Jimin’s forehead, then settled in beside him. “How are you?”
“I’m bored and I missed you,” Jimin replied with a giggle, fishing out the lunchbox from his tote bag. “So I brought some snacks. It’s nothing much, really. I just wanted to do something for you.”
He set the colorful lunchbox on the table. It had cartoon bunnies on the lid—one of those he saw his students carry to school, and he decided he wanted one too. Inside, two kinds of sandwiches were neatly packed: egg and tuna—Yoongi’s favorite whenever he grabbed food from the convenience store.
“You made this?” Yoongi asked, a little surprised as he opened the box.
Jimin nodded shyly, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I tried to make it look cute but… I think one step at a time, yeah?”
Yoongi chuckled, clearly endeared. He leaned in again to kiss Jimin on the cheek. “Thank you, baby. I’ll make sure to eat these.”
“You better,” Jimin replied with a pout, nudging the box toward him. “I won’t leave until you finish everything.”
“Alright, alright,” Yoongi said, taking a sandwich. He placed a gentle hand on Jimin’s back. “I have to eat this fast before the residents call me again.”
Jimin sighed and leaned on his hand. “Are you having a hard time? Are your seniors being mean to you, hmm?” he asked in an exaggerated baby voice, which made Yoongi groan and laugh all at once.
“They’re all kind, baby. It’s okay.”
He took a big bite of the sandwich, chewing thoughtfully, and then looked at Jimin in disbelief. “Baby, this is so good. I think this is better than the ones I buy.”
“Really?” Jimin’s eyes lit up, but then narrowed playfully. “Or are you just saying that because you don’t want to upset me?”
“I’m serious, baby,” Yoongi said with a grin, already reaching for the second sandwich. “This is really good.”
Before Jimin could tease him further, someone called out—
“Hey, guys!”
They both turned to see Namjoon walking toward them with a clipboard in hand and a bright smile.
“Namjoon-ssi,” Jimin greeted cheerfully, waving.
Yoongi merely gave a stiff nod. It wasn’t that he disliked Namjoon—not really. But he hadn’t quite come to terms with the fact that Namjoon had once confessed to Jimin, and worse, Yoongi had heard it. The memory still made something unpleasant twist in his gut.
“It’s nice to see a pretty face around here again,” Namjoon said with a grin, his gaze landing on Jimin.
Unconsciously, Yoongi’s hand clenched under the table. “My boyfriend is indeed pretty,” he said, voice calm but firm.
Jimin blinked, taken aback by Yoongi’s sudden boldness, but he smiled shyly and leaned a little closer.
“How’s life going?” Jimin asked, steering the conversation.
“Real busy,” Namjoon replied with a tired sigh. “The rounds haven’t let up.”
“Have you eaten anything?” Jimin asked kindly. “I made some sandwiches. You can ha—”
Before he could even finish his sentence, Yoongi grabbed the remaining sandwiches from the lunchbox and took a dramatic bite from each one, one after another. Then he turned to Namjoon with a faux-innocent look.
“Oops. My bad,” Yoongi said, his mouth half full. “There’s hotteok on the menu today though.”
Namjoon looked stunned—and then amused. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he nodded. “Yeah, I guess I’ll have that instead.”
As Namjoon walked off, Jimin turned to Yoongi, completely failing to suppress his laughter.
“You’re so petty,” he said through his giggles. “You really bit every single one?”
Yoongi shrugged, chewing. “You offered my sandwich to someone who once tried to steal you. I panicked.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Jimin said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye from laughing too hard. “It’s adorable.”
They were still giggling when two more figures approached their table.
“Well, well, look who’s all domestic.”
Jimin looked up to see two men—both tall, one with sunbeam energy and the other with a princely air. Hoseok and Seokjin.
“Yah,” Yoongi groaned, half-laughing, half-panicking. “Why are you guys here?”
Seokjin arched a perfectly shaped brow. “We heard there were free sandwiches. But apparently, someone bit them all out of spite.” He turned to Jimin, “Hi, I’m Seokjin and this is Hoseok.”
Hoseok leaned on the table, eyes flitting between Jimin and Yoongi. “So this is him, huh?”
“The Jimin,” Seokjin added, smiling wide. “We’ve heard so much about you, Jimin-ssi.”
Jimin blinked, flustered but smiling. “Oh? All good things, I hope?”
Seokjin smirked. “Let’s see. Yoongi talks about you like you invented oxygen, so yeah. Pretty good.”
“Yah!” Yoongi groaned again, this time hiding his face in his hands.
“Oh my god,” Jimin said, cheeks now flaming. “He does not.”
“He does,” Hoseok said, grinning. “Also—your boyfriend is possessive. It’s honestly kind of impressive.”
“Don’t feed him,” Yoongi muttered behind his hands.
Jimin giggled again and reached for Yoongi’s hand, linking their fingers together under the table. “I like it.”
Yoongi looked up at him, face softening instantly. “You do?”
Jimin nodded. “It makes me feel wanted.”
“Well, you are,” Yoongi said simply.
Hoseok gagged. “Okay, we’re leaving. This is getting disgustingly cute.”
“Congrats, by the way,” Seokjin said, patting Yoongi’s shoulder before flashing Jimin a wink. “You’ve officially tamed him. Didn’t think it was possible.”
As they walked away, still teasing and laughing, Jimin leaned his head on Yoongi’s shoulder.
“I like your friends,” he murmured.
Yoongi rested his cheek against Jimin’s hair. “They like you too. Maybe a little too much.”
Jimin laughed. “You gonna bite them next time too?”
“If they get too close? Absolutely.”
And Jimin just giggled, knowing full well that he wouldn’t have it any other way.
***
“Oh my gosh!” cried Jimin’s mother, hands clasped over her chest, visibly overjoyed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?!”
“What’s happening? What are you yelling abou—” Mrs. Min, who appeared from the hallway wiping her hands on a dish towel, gasped mid-sentence. She mimicked Mrs. Park’s stunned stance. “What are you so doing here?!”
Jimin laughed, already stepping forward to wrap both women in a hug. “Hi, eomma. Hi, auntie. We missed you too.”
Mrs. Park held him close with a sniffle. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, Jimin-ah. And you just walk in here like you didn’t disappear on me.”
“I was busy!” Jimin defended with a playful smile. “But we thought we’d surprise you today.”
Mrs. Min tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing fondly. “We?”
Jimin stepped aside, revealing Yoongi standing behind him with a bashful grin. “Hey, eomma.”
Mrs. Min’s expression melted instantly as she opened her arms. “Son, come here.”
Yoongi walked into her embrace, pressing a kiss to her cheek before hugging Mrs. Park. “Hi, auntie.”
“You always know how to sneak back into our hearts,” she said, gently pinching his cheek. “Come in, come in. Sit down, both of you. I was just about to set the table.”
“You don’t need to go through the trouble,” Jimin said, but his stomach betrayed him with a small growl.
“Oh, perfect timing,” Mrs. Park declared. “I just finished the kimchi jjigae. And there’s grilled mackerel, japchae, and some leftover pajeon from this morning.”
The table filled quickly with warm dishes and the comfort of home. Jimin and Yoongi sat side by side, instinctively passing each other utensils and favorite side dishes like they had a hundred times before.
Conversation flowed naturally as they ate, from hospital stories to neighborhood gossip to the latest updates about Mrs. Min’s new gardening obsession.
“Hydrangeas are a lot of work,” she said, sipping water. “But worth it when they bloom. You’ll see them in front of the house.”
“I want to see pictures,” Yoongi smiled, finishing his second bowl of rice. “Did you plant the ones I brought you last spring?”
“They’re doing well! I even named them.”
“You named your flowers?” Jimin teased.
“Of course. One is named Jimin, because it droops a little when it rains but always perks back up in the sun.”
Yoongi nearly spit out his water.
Mrs. Park was busy adding more food to their plates. “Honestly, watching you two now just feels right. Like the world realigned itself.”
That’s when Mrs. Min set her chopsticks down and asked with a twinkle in her eye, “So, when are you going to tell us?”
“Tell you what?” Jimin asked, feigning ignorance as he nudged Yoongi under the table.
Yoongi cleared his throat and smiled at both women. “We’re together.”
The two mothers gasped again—hands over hearts, smiling like they’d just won the lottery.
“I knew it!” Mrs. Min pointed at them.
“I said it would happen,” Mrs. Park added smugly, already dabbing her eyes with a napkin. “I just didn’t think you’d make us wait this long.”
“Wait until I tell your uncle,” Mrs. Min said. “He’s going to say ‘Finally!’ and pretend like he wasn’t clueless.”
“We should book that venue in Jeonju,” Mrs. Park added. “The one with the lanterns and the koi pond.”
Mrs. Min gasped. “Yes! And I already have extra invitation cards. We can just change the names.”
“Eomma,” Jimin whined through his laughter.
Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck. “Can we… date first? Before we start ordering tuxedos?”
“Oh, let us have our moment,” Mrs. Park said, waving her hand. “We’ve waited years for this.”
As lunch turned into long cups of tea and fruit, the boys helped clear the table, laughing at the old stories their mothers swapped and promising to visit more often.
Eventually, Mrs. Min checked the clock and stood up. “I need to finish watering the garden before the sun sets. Dinner’s at seven, and I’ll cook something special for the whole family tonight.”
“Can I stay with Jimin until then?” Yoongi asked, a little too hopeful.
Mrs. Min smiled warmly. “Of course you can. You basically lived in this house anyway.”
Jimin grinned and pulled Yoongi upstairs by the hand, passing the hallway photos and old school medals on the wall.
Inside the bedroom, nothing had really changed. Soft blue walls, a cluttered shelf full of action figures and books, and the same old white curtains fluttering in the breeze.
Yoongi plopped onto the bed, sighing deeply. “This is still the comfiest bed in the world.”
Jimin climbed in beside him, curling into his side. “You know this was always our room, right?”
“I know.” Yoongi turned to face him, eyes soft. “I used to follow you here after school, eat your snacks, nap beside you. Sometimes you’d make me read to you when you couldn’t fall asleep.”
“I remember that,” Jimin said with a fond smile. “You always fell asleep before I did.”
Yoongi laughed. “Only because you’d make me read that same picture book about the raccoon and the moon over and over.”
“It was comforting!”
Jimin turned around and reached for a small plush bunny on the shelf. “You remember this?”
“Oh god.” Yoongi rolled his eyes with a grin. “That bunny went through everything. I think it saw us get in trouble more than our parents did.”
“I cried when you hid it in the freezer,” Jimin pouted.
“I was five! I thought it needed to cool down.”
They laughed, their hands naturally finding each other’s again, fingers tangling together under the blanket.
“Do you ever think,” Jimin began, “how funny it is? That you used to just sneak in here, sleep on that bean bag, and now you’re… my boyfriend?”
Yoongi leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “I used to wish for it. Every night I walked home from here, I’d wonder… what if I just stayed? What if I told you then?”
“You stayed anyway,” Jimin whispered. “Just took us a little while to figure it out.”
They lay there quietly, the hum of the late afternoon outside the window, wrapped in old memories and new promises.
“Hey,” Jimin murmured.
“Hm?”
“If you try to put Bunny in the freezer again, I’m breaking up with you.”
Yoongi chuckled, kissing his cheek. “Noted.”
And then they both fell into laughter again, tangled in warmth and nostalgia, knowing that this—this feeling—had always been theirs to come back to.
“Do you think it’ll be really weird if I gave you a blowjob here?” Jimin asked quietly while staring at Yoongi’s crotch.
The elder one looked at him, “I can’t decide whether that’s hot or just straight up illegal.”
Jimin cackled, nodding. “You’re right. You’re right. Let’s wait till we come back to Seoul.”
“But I really missed that mouth of yours though.” Yoongi groaned,
“Shh, have some shame. This bed is just a baby.”
Yoongi raised a brow, slightly pinching Jimin’s side to tickle him. “Like it didn’t witness the first time you masterbated.”
“Yah!” The younger one hit Yoongi’s chest, embarrassed. “I don’t even want to think about that. It’s just embarrassing.”
Yoongi sighed like his way of ending the teasing, tightening his hold on Jimin, stroking his hair gently. “I love you, Jimin-ah.”
“I love you, Min Yoongi.” Jimin smiled, looking up at him. And carefully, he leaned to kiss Yoongi on the lips, gentle and sweet—like a seal to their love for each other.
They were back to where it all started. Their hometown, the place where they fell in love and the place they were going to get married.
Yoongi’s and Jimin’s story didn’t end there. Instead, they wrote another book with love that was louder and braver than anything.
—fin.