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Jimin was wholly unused to the feeling of jealousy. Not because he didn’t get jealous, per se, but more so because he didn’t get attached to people in the first place. One could chalk it up to daddy issues, being bullied or some genetic quirk, but Jimin never had a boyfriend for long and always dumped them first.
And despite how sexy, talented, sweet, amazing, adorable, and overall wonderful Min Yoongi was, he was not going to be an exception.
Jimin had already broken one too many rules when it came to the rapper. The first being that he slept over at Yoongi’s house after they had sex.
It wasn’t like he meant to. He was usually smarter than that. That, and he could never get his mind to slow down enough to really fall asleep in someone else’s bed. But Yoongi had fucked his brains out, and Jimin couldn’t remember his own name, much less his rules on not sleeping over.
He had told himself that it was only going to be one time.
Spoiler alert, it wasn’t.
But it wasn’t until he had his own toothbrush and a drawer, that it dawned on him that this was a problem.
Jimin didn’t have toothbrushes as his boyfriend’s house. And he certainly didn’t have drawers. He didn’t have a favorite spot on the couch, a side of the fridge, or a blanket. Except that he did now, and it was the most terrifying thing that had ever happened in his life. And they weren’t even supposed to be serious. And yet, Yoongi was the first person Jimin wanted to talk to in the morning and wanted him to be the last face he saw at night. He loved sitting on his couch, Holly in his lap, watching Yoongi cook from the living room. He even liked watching him brush his teeth.
What was wrong with him? It was like he had tunnel vision, and all he could see was Yoongi. And so, Jimin did the only thing he knew to do.
He cut himself off, cold turkey.
To Yoongi’s credit, he had taken it like a champ, only showing a brief look of confusion, asking Jimin if he did something wrong. Jimin said of course he didn’t, and that since they worked for the same company, Jimin as a choreographer, and Yoongi as an artist/producer, that he would appreciate it if they would remain cordial. Yoongi, the perfect man that he was, agreed and even gave Jimin a goodbye and kiss. And for some reason, as Jimin closed the apartment door behind him, he felt like he had just been dumped. Yoongi wasn’t even upset. It was like he didn’t care. And Jimin couldn’t figure out for the life of him why that bothered him. But it was done, and now Jimin could go back to being normal and sane.
It took about six hours for Jimin to start missing him. It took him twelve hours to break down. It took him twenty-four hours to regret his words. And it took him one week to wish he was dead. His friends, bless their hearts tried to cheer him up. The idol group he mainly choreographed for, consisting of his best friend Taehyung, Jungkook, and Hoseok had taken him out to clubs three nights in a row, throwing guys and girls in his face, trying to help him get over him. But it didn’t work. He didn’t want a one-night stand anymore. He didn’t want casual sex. He wanted a toothbrush in his partner’s apartment. He wanted a full DVR of crime docuseries that they would never get around to watching.
He wanted Yoongi.
But he freaked out, got too close, and gave him up.
If it wasn’t the consequences of his own damn actions.
Whatever. It was fine. Yoongi wasn’t that funny, and his dick wasn’t that big.
He’d get over him.
Everything was fucking fine.
Until one-night, late Jimin might add, Taehyung came rushing back into the practice room. There was an apprehensive look on his face, and his water bottle, which he had gone to fill up a was open and still empty.
“What?” Jungkook asked him from where he was stretching on the floor. Taehyung had a look on his face, glancing between Jungkook and Jimin, as if deciding on something.
Jimin crossed his arms. “What is it? Why are you looking—”
“Yoongi’s here. On a date I think. With Jennie Kim.” Taehyung rushes out. Jungkook stops stretching. Hoseok stops dancing, turning his head around so fast Jimin thought it would fall off. They were all staring at Jimin, as if he was going to explode.
Jimin’s arms fell slack at his sides, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
It had been a month. This shouldn’t have surprised him. Yoongi had a right to move on, should move on.
Jimin doesn’t know what he was expecting.
But what the fuck?
Jennie Kim?
Jennie fucking Kim?
Jimin couldn’t believe it.
“Jimin?” Taehyung pulled Jimin out of his thoughts. His voice was quiet, hesitant, as if trying to soothe a feral animal.
“Are they here? Still?” Jimin asked. Taehyung shot a cautionary glance at Jungkook, who in return gave him a non-committal shrug.
“Yes, but—” Taehyung started but Jimin was moving past him and out the door before he could finish his sentence.
He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know where they were, or if he was going to find them. But he needed to see it. Needed to see Yoongi hold her, touch her, keep a possessive arm around her waist, kiss the back of her neck, pull her into his lap.
He needed to see him do all the things he used to do to him.
He needed to see that he wasn’t special. That he didn’t mean anything to him.
And then he found them, in the hallway, a couple meters in front of Yoongi’s studio. They were walking, smiling, laughing.
Jennie was stunning. He knew that already, of course, he wasn’t blind. He and Jennie ran in the same circles, so he had seen her at a few parties. But up close, Jennie was breathtaking.
It felt like a punch to his gut.
Jennie and Jimin didn’t look a thing alike. No similarities whatsoever.
Was this Yoongi’s type? Was she Yoongi’s type?
If she was, what the hell was Yoongi doing with him? It didn’t make any sense.
Yoongi spotted him first. His smile—his smile for Jennie dropped a little, and his eyes widened. Jennie, spotting Yoongi’s change in demeanor, flipped her long black hair over her shoulder, turning around.
Her smile grew wider, and she walked over heels clacking in the silence of the hallway, bowing politely.
“You’re Park Jimin, right? I’m Jennie, I’m a huge fan.” Her red lips smiled up at him from a bit away. Jimin couldn’t help smiling back, even when he didn’t want to.
She was nice too, and humble? Dammit!
“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m a…a huge fan as well.” Jimin replied, voice sounding strained, and a bit high-pitched.
God, what was he doing?
He wasn’t like this.
He didn’t get jealous.
And what was there to be jealous of? He broke up with him. He had no right, absolutely none, to try and interrupt their date, make Jennie a villain in his mind.
He’d lost. And he was going to have to accept that.
Yoongi places a gentle, totally appropriate touch on Jennie’s arm, and she turns back to him smiling.
“Oh, right! Lead the way, then.” Yoongi smiles at Jimin, a tense, awkward, shy thing, before he half-heartedly waves and walks with Jennie in tow to his studio.
To his studio.
Jimin can remember all the things they did together in his studio.
He would like to believe that it’s a thing. A thing Yoongi does with all his partners, and that Jimin isn’t special whatsoever, and whatever moments happened between them were wholly orchestrated and not at all genuine.
But in his heart, he won’t be able to let the moments go. He knows it. Those touches, the sweet caresses in the dim light of his studio. The whispers in his ear, the squeezing of his thigh, the shared laughter the inside jokes.
It was his.
And now it’s going to be hers.
Jimin returns to the dance room, and his thoughts must read on his face, because Taehyung is rising from the floor and trapping him in a bear hug.
“I’m fine, Tae.” Jimin says, but he knows it falls on deaf ears. Hoseok’s cooing in the background, telling Jimin how great he is and how he’ll find someone else, and Jungkook is just watching, a pitying look on his face.
“We don’t need to make a big deal out of this, please. It’s one guy. It’s not the end of the world.” Jimin tells them.
Taehyung nods, but Jimin can tell he doesn’t believe him for a second. Jimin doesn’t think that he would believe him either.
“Let’s get wasted tonight, and we’ll make you forget all about him.” Jungkook suggests. Taehyung’s lips purse at the mention of alcohol, but Hoseok’s smile brightens.
Jimin, desperate to not go home alone tonight, to not sit in his bed and wish for certain someone, agrees.
“Okay. But I’m not getting wasted. Three drinks, and I’m out.” Jimin states. Jungkook snorts.
“Famous last words, Park Jimin.”
_
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuuuuuuccccckkkk.
Jimin’s head hurts. Jimin’s head hurts in a way that he wasn’t sure it could feel. He’s dying. He must be dying. What other pain is so intense, is so unbearable?
Jimin’s stomach rumbles, an evident sign of hunger.
Okay, so he isn’t dying. He just feels like he’s dying.
Four drinks, his ass. Jimin must’ve drank three times that amount, because he can’t remember a single thing from last night, outside of agreeing to go out for drinks. Poor boys, they must’ve had to take him home last night. Lunch would be on him one of these days, as an apology for having to deal with him. He knew that under the influence, he could be… a lot. It’s why drinking was so few and far in between for him.
Jimin sighs into his pillow breathing in the familiar scent. He lays in the bed for a little while longer, letting his body sink into the mattress. Unfortunately, the headache becomes too much to bear, and he needs to go and take a Tylenol before his head actually explodes from the pressure. He lifts his head up and opens his eyes, only to find two pills and a bottle of water on the nightstand.
Those angels. Those angels sent from heaven. He would kiss them. He would marry them.
He looks for his phone, to shoot a quick thank you text, but can’t seem to find it anywhere. Since he doesn’t remember getting home, it makes sense that he wouldn’t remember where he put his phone. He just hopes it’s still here. He stumbles out of bed, bare feet landing on the soft carpet. There’s a pile of clothes on the floor, and he pushes it to side, stumbling out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.
There’s a terrible taste in his mouth, which can only be attributed to the alcohol. He turns on the bathroom light and hisses.
Holy shit. His eyes are burning. Squinting, he fumbles on the counter looking for his toothbrush.
No not this one, this one’s all black. His is white. He places the toothbrush back in the holder, and grabs his, brushing his teeth.
He doesn’t have a black toothbrush.
He doesn’t have a spare toothbrush in his bathroom. Jimin opens his eyes all the way, ignoring the sensitivity in his eyes, the pounding in his head.
This isn’t his fucking bathroom.
This isn’t his apartment.
But this is his toothbrush.
Slowly, as if he was on a landmine, Jimin opens the door and peeks into the bedroom. It’s empty, as it was when he woke up, but he does notice the distinct black accent wall, and the four-poster bed.
He’s gotten railed on that four-poster bed.
How and why was he in Min Yoongi’s apartment?
Did Yoongi know he was here?
Of course, he knew he was here, this was his place!
Fuck.
Fucking fuckity fuck fuck!
Jimin exits the bathroom as quietly as possible, and notices that the pile of clothes on the floor are in fact his clothes. And the clothes he’s currently wearing are in fact, not his clothes, but Yoongi’s. It’s an old band t-shirt and sweatpants, and it’s an outfit of Yoongi’s that Jimin’s worn before.
He would like to think that drunk Jimin had the decency to politely ask for clothes and that he changed in the bathroom.
But drunk Jimin is a stupid bitch who doesn’t have any critical thinking skills, apparently.
Jimin’s at a loss of what to do. He needs to leave, obviously. But he’s not sure how. He doesn’t even know where his phone is. Maybe Yoongi took his hostage. Maybe he burned it. Maybe Jimin really did leave it at the club. Maybe he’s in a hyper realistic dream and Jimin is not currently in his ex-not-boyfriend’s apartment.
And maybe pigs could fly and maybe Jimin wasn’t a moron.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Sighing, and praying to a god that he didn’t believe in, Jimin hoped Yoongi wasn’t home. It would be the nice thing to do, to leave before Jimin wakes up and save him the embarrassment. Though, in Jimin’s defense, who the hell lets a drunk guy into their home?
If anything, this is his fault.
Jimin opens the bedroom door and walks down the hallway to the kitchen.
Much to his chagrin, the kitchen is not empty. Yoongi is standing over the stove, cooking something that smells amazing, a small towel slung over his shoulder.
His bare shoulder. His shoulder is bare, along with the rest of the upper half of his body, because Yoongi is shirtless.
There is a part of Jimin that wishes he were dead at this moment. But that part is so quiet, so feeble, so small, to the part of Jimin that quite literally salivates at the sight of it. Of him.
Before Jimin has a chance to school his features into aloof indifference, Yoongi turns around. There’s a soft, albeit a bit wary smile on his face.
“You’re awake. For a second I was worried that you had literally drunk yourself to death.” Jimin doesn’t respond. His tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth.
Abs.
Abs.
Chest.
Was Yoongi saying words to him right now? Did people typically respond to words?
Shaking his head slightly, Jimin took a few steps forward, fully entering the kitchen.
“Yeah, I’m up.” He says, dumbly. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what’s going on.
As covertly as he can, he looks around the kitchen. He can’t help but notice that there are no remnants of a woman staying over.
God, he hopes he didn’t embarrass Yoongi. He can’t even remember how he got here in the first place.
“Do you think you can eat?” Yoongi asks, ignoring Jimin’s wide-eyed stare. Jimin always envied that, Yoongi’s ability to be nonchalant, to be a mature adult. Sometimes, Jimin still felt like a 27-year-old teenager. Jimin nods, moving down to the barstool and sitting down awkwardly. Yoongi watches him for a moment, and unreadable look flickering on his face.
He turns around, fixing Jimin a plate of food, which really does look amazing, before placing it down in front him.
“Thank you,” Jimin replies. He lifts the chopsticks, before setting them down.
He can’t do this.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Yoongi, whose leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, watches him for a moment, before his lips twitch up and he bursts into laughter.
He quickly finds out that this only makes Jimin more confused, more angry, and more ready to get the hell out of there. Jimin sighs, rolling his eyes and standing up, looking for his shoes.
He will not just sit there and be laughed at, but Yoongi was faster, bolting up from his relaxed stance on the counter, rushing in front of him, gentle, warm hands on Jimin’s biceps.
God, Jimin missed his touch. Jimin missed his hands. He knew first hand what those hands could do.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you I swear.” Yoongi tells him, though a small smile still plays on his lips.
“It was just—I was just waiting for you to flip out. I wanted to see how long you were going to avoid the topic. I wasn’t doing it to be mean, Jimin.”
Jimin involuntary shivers at the sound of his name from his lips. Had it really only been weeks since he’d heard it?
Jimin needed to get a grip. He was losing it. This was his ex.
Ex?
Not ex. They were never…
The throbbing in his head is a tell-tale sign of a headache that must’ve snuck past his Tylenol. He steps back, rubbing his temples, moving toward the couch. Yoongi follows him silently, eyebrows knitted in concern.
“Tell me everything. Start to finish.” Jimin demands. Yoongi raises an eyebrow.
“You actually don’t remember anything?” He asks, sounding skeptical. Jimin’s withering glare must be proof enough, because Yoongi sighs, leaning back a little, gaze going up to the ceiling.
“Okay, well you’ll have to ask your friends for what happened before they dropped you off here—” Yoongi starts. This has Jimin sitting up straight.
“Dropped me off?” Jimin asks, his voice high-pitched.
Jimin can’t believe this.
His friends would never!
…Okay, his friends absolutely would.
Another smile threatens to appear on Yoongi’s face, but he thinks better of it.
“Yeah, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook dropped you off. Said that you refused to go to your house. They had to carry you inside.” Yoongi mentions the ordeal in a casual manner, walking Jimin back to the counter, sitting him down gently. Jimin lets him, if only because he’s so thoroughly confused that he’s not sure he can walk for himself right now.
“I,” Jimin starts, before clamping his mouth shut. What is he supposed to say? He’s sorry? Sorry doesn’t even begin the cover the emotions he’s feeling right now. He’s mortified, he’s ashamed, he’s hungover, and being so close to a shirtless Yoongi…
He’s a little bit horny, if he’s completely honest with himself.
“Eat, Jimin. We can talk, but only after you eat.” Yoongi instructs, voice still filled with mirth, but no longer teasing. Jimin sighs, picking up the chopsticks once more.
He takes a while to eat. Not because the food isn’t good, or because he’s too tired, but because he genuinely isn’t sure he wants to hear what Yoongi wants to say. Is Yoongi mad?
From the peeks Jimin takes at him, he doesn’t appear so, though Yoongi’s always been a bit slow to anger. Right now, all Yoongi does is eat, looking completely at ease.
Jimin sighs trying to remember. If he thinks hard enough, he thinks he might remember being dragged up here. He hears the echoes of Hoseok’s laughter, the drunk complaints of Taehyung and Jungkook trying to carry him to Yoongi’s door. He faintly remembers the feeling of being tossed into a pair of warm steady arms, but his memory halts there and picks up this morning.
Was Jennie there? At Yoongi’s apartment. Jimin doesn’t remember seeing her, but he doesn’t remember much of anything.
Oh God, did Jimin chase Jennie out? Swing at her, yell at her, ask for her autograph? Maybe that’s what Yoongi wants to talk to Jimin about, to tell him to stay the hell away from them. But if he wanted to do that, why go through all the trouble of feeding him? Of letting Jimin sleep in his bed when Jimin knows he has a guest bedroom?
They didn’t…
No. No.
Jimin expels the thought as soon as it enters his brain. Not-ex boyfriend or not, Yoongi wasn’t like that, and he feels guilty for even associating Yoongi with something as grotesque. Plus, having sex with Yoongi was something Jimin always remembered.
Feeling his face flush, Jimin lowers his chopsticks only to be met with the sound of porcelain clanking. He had finished. Jimin looks up from his bowl, and Yoongi’s gaze is on him, and…
Good God, Jimin had forgotten how intense Yoongi was. Jimin has to fight to stop his jaw from falling.
“Are you ready to talk, Jimin?” Yoongi asks. There’s an odd tone that Jimin can’t interpret, but he nods anyway. He’s safe. He’ll hear what Yoongi needs to say, and he’ll get the hell out of there.
“Where’s my…where’s my phone?” Jimin asks.
“I left it charging by the couch. I take it you don’t remember throwing it at the wall.” Yoongi says, and there’s that sinful teasing lilt to his voice again. Jimin winces, shame heating up his neck.
“Sorry, I’m not usually—” He trails off, as Yoongi raises an eyebrow.
He’s not usually what? Violent? Jealous? He is. He knows that. It’s the reason he’s here in the first place.
Yoongi stands up, taking Jimin’s dishes and placing them gently in the sink. He walks over to Jimin, hand outstretched in silent question. Jimin takes it. He doesn’t have to think twice about it.
They silently walk over to the couch, and Yoongi sits down first, Jimin following suit. Yoongi’s body is angled to the side, head propped up on his hand as he watches Jimin silently for a moment.
Maybe he’s waiting for Jimin to start? An apology, maybe? He’s certainly owed one.
“I’m…I’m sorry.” Jimin says, voice timid. Yoongi gives him an odd look, one that he can’t quite decipher.
“What are you apologizing for?” Yoongi asks, and it throws Jimin off-guard. What is he apologizing for?
“For interrupting your date, for chasing her away, for showing up drunk at your doorstep in the middle of the night, for sleeping in your bed, for eating your food—” Jimin tacks off all his transgressions, barely taking a second to breathe.
“Jimin,” Yoongi’s hand goes to Jimin’s knee, steadying him. Jimin takes a deep breath, sighing.
“I—I don’t know what came over me. I really am so sorry.” Jimin repeats.
And embarrassed, and jealous, and sad, though he doesn’t say them out loud.
“I’m not—Jimin I’m not mad at you.” Yoongi says. Jimin’s brain short-circuits.
“Why?” He blurts out before he has the chance to think about it. “I crashed your date.”
Yoongi snorts. “You said hi to us when we were getting water, in a company building where we both work. I’d hardly call that crashing a date.
“Yeah, but I showed up here, I sent her away, didn’t I? You couldn’t---” Jimin trails off, praying that Yoongi puts the two pieces together.
Yoongi’s giving him that look again, and Jimin wants to demand that he tells him what he’s thinking.
“You didn’t kick her out Jimin. Jennie never came to my apartment.”
Jimin tries not to appear so happy with this new information, but the truth is, he’s elated. There’s an unreasonable, unwarranted pride in the fact that while Yoongi and Jennie may be dating, that it’s Jimin who went into his bed last night, and it’s Jimin that Yoongi made breakfast for, not her.
Of course, that doesn’t mean anything, Jimin tries to tell himself. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work.
“Well, I’m sorry regardless. I shouldn’t have…I’m not even sure what my friends were thinking bringing me here. This isn’t right, and I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I find my things.” Jimin says, making a motion to get up.
Yoongi’s hand stays firmly on his knee, not painful, but unrelenting. His eyes are boring into Jimin’s soul, and his breath catches in his throat.
“Jimin, your friends brought you here because you asked them to.” Yoongi says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“The question is I can’t figure out why you would ask them to.” And it’s that question, that phrase that Jimin had been trying so desperately to avoid.
Jimin tore his gaze away from Yoongi, staring at the floor. What was he supposed to say?
I asked my friends to bring me here because I’m not over you, and I never will be. Because I got scared, I made a terrible mistake in letting you go and it’s killing me inside to see that you’re moving on, doing all the things we did together with other people. People I couldn’t compete with in a million years.
Of course not. So, Jimin says nothing.
“I…I need to get going.” It’s a cop-out, it’s a blatant lie, and Yoongi apparently doesn’t fall for it, because his hand doesn’t move. He leans back a little, head tilting to side in that adorable way he does, and Jimin’s heart constricts against his chest.
“Jimin,” Yoongi says, and it’s all it takes for the dam to break.
He can’t do this.
He knows what Yoongi wants him to say, and he’s a coward, and he can’t do it, and he needs to leave before he bursts into tears, because he’s an easy crier and he most certainly will if Yoongi continues to look at him like Jimin can do no wrong. Jimin brushes Yoongi’s hand off, standing to his feet, and begins to look for his phone. Where did Yoongi say it was? He told him, right? His hands are running through his hair, and his vision is blurring, and his cheeks are hot and—
And Yoongi’s hands are on him, and he can breathe again. Soft, firm hands wrap around Jimin’s waist, and the tears that blur his vision finally spill over and Jimin’s crying and trying to fight Yoongi off and it’s not working because Yoongi is so much stronger than he is and that’s making Jimin cry even more.
“Why are you doing this me?” Jimin’s impressed that he can even speak through the tears.
Yoongi’s rubbing soothing circles on Jimin’s back. “What am I doing to you, Jimin?”
Jimin laughs, but it’s mirthless and wet and sad. “We were supposed to be casual.”
Yoongi’s silent, and for a moment, the two just stand there, Yoongi behind Jimin, holding him close.
“We were supposed to be casual.” Jimin says again. “We were supposed to be casual, but I have a toothbrush. I have a drawer.” Jimin emphasizes. He wills Yoongi to hear him, to understand what he’s saying.
“There was nothing casual about me and you. There’s no universe, no reality where I could be anything casual with you.” Yoongi tells him. And that only causes Jimin to cry more.
“It would never work. We could never work. You must know that.” Jimin protests, and Yoongi’s turning him around, and they’re facing each other.
Yoongi’s hands move up Jimin’s body until they’re cradling his face, and Jimin can’t look anywhere but at him.
“We were working. You knew that and that’s why you ran, because you were scared at how good we are together.” Yoongi insists. Jimin’s shaking his head, but it doesn’t matter, because Yoongi won’t believe it. Jimin won’t believe it.
“You’ll leave me.” Jimin whispers. “You’ll find someone better. We’re not…God you are so far out of my fucking league it’s humiliating.”
“You don’t believe that.” Yoongi says, eyes searching Jimin’s face, as if he’s trying to find something. “I could never—shit—Jimin, I don’t think there’s anyone in this world who’s better suited to me than you.”
“Jennie’s just like you!”
“And she’s nothing like you.” Yoongi’s voice is firm, resolute. If Yoongi weren’t supporting him, Jimin’s sure he would be falling.
How does he do it? How does he know exactly what Jimin wants to hear? How does he say it with so much passion, so much care that Jimin thinks…
That Jimin thinks he might love him.
Jimin sighs, defeated. He doesn’t know who he was trying to fool. There was no one else, there’ couldn’t have been anyone other that him.
It was Yoongi, or it was no one.
“Are you sure? Are you sure you want this?” Jimin gestures to himself. Yoongi stares at for one second, then two. And then he’s kissing him, softly, tentative, as if giving Jimin time to push him away.
But Jimin doesn’t. He never will again.
Jimin’s clutching him now, holding on to him for dear life as Yoongi tears down every wall Jimin has worked so hard to build, brick by brick. And Jimin is his once more.
He’s not sure he ever wasn’t his.
“I want all of it.” Yoongi says between kisses, smiling so hard that Jimin’s not sure they can be considered kisses anymore.
“I want your drama, and your mood swings, and the kicks in your sleep, and your clothes in my drawer, and your toothbrush in my bathroom.”
“I want your laughter, and I want your tears. I want all of you, Park Jimin, and don’t think for a second that I can’t handle it. I can take it. I can always take it when it comes to you.
“Fuck,” Jimin says, and he’s smiling too and kissing Yoongi all over and they’re falling onto the couch, wrapped up in each other, legs intertwined, and bodies pressed together, breaths mingling and arms locked around each other in a death grip.
“Okay,” Jimin says after a while. “But there’s no takebacks.” Jimin pokes Yoongi’s chest.
“Of course not.”
“And if I catch you on another date with a superstar again, I will kill you.”
Yoongi’s smiling, pulling Jimin down into a kiss that leaves him breathless.
“I expect nothing less.”