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In some strange way, Jimin missed the old days, when his bandmates lived together around the clock. Jimin needed the comfort of companionship, a warm bed to crawl into when he was homesick or simply lonely. Back at the dorms, his bedroom was filled with Hoseok’s soft snoring. There was a tangible comfort that coaxed Jimin to rest alongside his companion, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he sought safety in his roommate after particularly jarring nightmares.
Tonight, Jimin roused amidst the eerie stillness of an empty hotel room. The curtains were drawn, his laptop shut off, phone face-down. The entire space was dark, and Jimin’s searching gaze couldn’t adjust.
His recent nightmares were less about monsters in closets, and more frequently involving stage mishaps or paparazzi scandals. This time, Jimin dreamt he was outed by a magazine the morning after a casual date. He bandmates blamed Jimin for his carelessness, and he was promptly cut loose from the company. Even after startling back to reality, Jimin was still choking on his own panic.
He couldn’t sleep like this, simmering in the taut atmosphere and listening to his ragged breathing. He slid out of bed, stumbling a step as gravity caught up to him. Jimin felt around the room’s desk until he grasped his keycard, and then he was out in the ridiculously bright hallway, his eyes watering at the assault.
He padded across the patterned carpet, still barely conscious, and tried to recall which room belonged to whom. He figured he would go to Hoseok, but he wasn’t exactly thinking when his feet brought him to a particular door.
Jimin knocked, blearily glanced back and forth across the hall. There was a click of the doorknob, a slight creak, and Jimin was standing across from Yoongi.
The elder was wearing sweats and a loose t-shirt, his black hair terribly mussed. He squinted at Jimin, pulled out his phone to check the clock. “It’s two a.m.?” Yoongi muttered, seemingly unsure. He shifted forward to peek over Jimin’s shoulder, ensuring there was no one behind him.
“Yeah,” Jimin confirmed, voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and scratched along his arm. “I can’t sleep. Can I…”
“Uh huh,” Yoongi grunted, not even bothering to hear Jimin finish. He opened the door wider for the younger and stepped back inside, leading the way.
Jimin ducked his head and followed along, relieved to be swallowed by the dimness of the new room. Yoongi’s computer was softly glowing at his desk, casting a meager light across the space. Jimin couldn’t say he was surprised that Yoongi was still up.
“Hoseok didn’t answer his door?” Yoongi asked, stopping in front of his mini fridge to grab some water.
“Ah, I actually didn’t… check,” Jimin replied with a shrug.
Yoongi’s brows pinched as he took a swig of water. He lowered the bottle and met Jimin’s gaze. “You came to me first?”
“Is that okay?” Jimin quickly said, prepared to turn tail.
“No, I mean—it’s fine,” Yoongi assured, shaking his head. “As long as you don’t mind listening to me typing.”
Jimin wandered to the bed and perched at the edge, tracking Yoongi’s movements as he sat at the desk.
“What’re you even doing this late?”
“Editing.”
Jimin snorted. “Is that really more important than getting rest when we have another show tomorrow?”
Yoongi swiveled the chair around to face Jimin. “Ten more minutes.”
“We both know that’s a lie. What’re you working on? Stuff for us, or stuff for you?”
Yoongi made a shooing motion. “You’ll know when you know. I thought you came here to sleep, not berate me.”
“Hyung,” Jimin sighed. “Your exhaustion’s gonna catch up to you.”
“So is yours,” Yoongi lightly retorted. He turned around and tapped at his computer.
Jimin puffed out his cheeks and flopped back onto the mattress—he was too tired to be dealing with this stubborn hyung. He stared at the pristine white ceiling, the blotches of shadows shifting along its surface. Jimin closed his fist around the fluffy comforter and rolled onto his side. He tugged a pillow down and squished his cheek into it, shutting his eyes.
This was their second night at this hotel, so the pillow cover actually smelled like Yoongi—his shampoo, his faded cologne, the subtle muskiness of his sweat. Jimin nuzzled deeper into it, pulling his legs up toward his stomach, curling inward. Yoongi’s echoed typing was soothing, relaxing Jimin’ nerves as pictures began to formulate behind his eyelids. He could actually fall asleep like this.
He heard a sigh and a pause in Yoongi’s movements. “You can get under the covers,” he stated.
Jimin merely grunted.
“So lazy,” Yoongi mockingly complained. “You disturb me in the middle of the night, settle yourself in the middle of my bed, and won’t listen to any of my suggestions. Such a bratty dongsaeng.”
Jimin wrinkled his nose and felt around above him, grabbing a pillow and chucking it in Yoongi’s general direction. There was a dull thump as it collided with the carpet.
“Close one, but you missed,” Yoongi drawled. “Why’d you even come to me, Jimin?” He continued, still maintaining a hint of humor.
Jimin hesitated to actually consider it, though—it’s not like he’d consciously dragged himself to Yoongi. His body had acted on its own, seeking out a remedy for his aching unrest. “I don’t know,” Jimin eventually replied, voice muffled by his half-squished face. “I guess you make me feel safe?”
Yoongi swiveled his desk chair, elbows against the armrests as he leaned forward. His gaze prickled against Jimin’s skin. “You’re having bad dreams again, huh.”
Jimin hugged the pillow tighter and frowned. He opened his eyes to gaze at the window, the view partially covered by thick, tan curtains. A peek through the exposed glass showed blinking lights, the faraway bustle of a city that never ceased to move.
“Not like I can do much to avoid them,” Jimin murmured. He paused, stretched out his legs with a muted grunt. That twinge of panic arose again, lingering from his dream and flaring. He didn’t remember it in images, just the tension in his nerves, the tightness of his throat. In that state of chaos, his voice had been ripped away along with any sense of control. If anyone close to Jimin understood the matter, he figured it’d be Yoongi. “Do you get those nightmares where you’re outed, and they just ruin the rest of your day? Every time, it sits at the back of my head, like I should be prepared for the worst in reality.”
“Not often, but yeah, I s’pose I’ve had those,” Yoongi pondered. He ruffled his hair and rested back against the chair, glancing about the room. “I don’t think you’ve got too much to worry about, Jimin-ah. You’re careful, and even if you do go out with guys, the press is much more inclined to believe you’re out with a male friend than with a hookup. Y’know the heteronormative media.”
Jimin snorted and sat up to meet Yoongi’s eyes. “Hyung, don’t generalize. It’s still dangerous.”
“And that’s why I don’t date.”
“Uh huh. More like you won’t make time for companionship.”
Yoongi scoffed, tapping his bare foot against the carpet. “Park Jimin, you really did come in here just to give me a hard time. Have I not taught you to respect your elders?”
“You’re supposed to lead by example, hyung, and all you do is criticize elders and authority.” Jimin released his pillow and scooted toward the edge of the bed, sliding off to approach Yoongi. He was nearly between his hyung’s legs before stopping.
“It’s what needs to be done,” Yoongi shrugged, gaze flickering up to meet Jimin’s. He looked curious yet expectant, resting his hands in his lap to avoid reaching out to touch the younger. “Doesn’t mean you should take a tone with me.”
Jimin huffed out a breath. “Stop being so dramatic; you know I love you.” He crossed his arms over his chest and bent down, hovering above Yoongi—the latter was still unflinching. “And you’re the one always lecturing me,” Jimin muttered.
This close, observing Yoongi’s every shifting feature, Jimin was drawn into a memory from months prior. More than months—perhaps over half a year now. They’d been out drinking together, as was typical for them while on short breaks. Jimin had pestered Yoongi into paying off their collective tab, although Yoongi likely would have done the same unprompted. He was unabashedly the giving type.
Travelling home was a troublesome task, with Jimin hanging off Yoongi’s arm like a sloth to a branch, trying not to trip over every crack in the sidewalk. Yoongi was almost as intoxicated, but at least he could walk without support.
Jimin couldn’t remember their conversation well, and it surely wasn’t more than nonsensical babble and distracted ramblings. Jimin giggled so much his chest ached, and Yoongi had to yank him back up after nearly toppling over on multiple occasions.
When they reached their apartment building, Yoongi steered them away from the elevator, not wanting Jimin to disturb the sober occupants waiting to ride. They stumbled into the stairwell, Jimin complaining about the burn in his calves.
“What’re you whining about? You’re the fittest person I know,” Yoongi grumbled, dragging Jimin up two more steps.
“No,” Jimin slurred. “Jungkookie is. He tried to bench me, hyung!”
“Uh huh.”
“He did! Y’don’t believe me,” Jimin retorted with a pout, stopping cold on a landing between flights. He tugged his arm out of Yoongi’s grasp and leaned heavily against the cold, cement wall. “He teases ‘bout how small I am. ‘M not a toy!”
“Jiminie,” Yoongi sighed. “I know, I know. Let’s go.” He pointed at the flight in front of them, making a sweeping motion up. “It’s already late.”
Jimin shook his head, adamant that he stay put. “You like me even if I’m small, huh hyung?”
Yoongi rubbed his forehead. “I don’t see what difference it makes.”
Jimin hummed and swayed, pressing the back of his skull to the wall. He squinted at the overhead light. “Minimini. We’re minimini, hyung.” He blinked down again, looking at Yoongi. Jimin reached out to grasp Yoongi’s hand, pulling the elder toward him.
“We have, like…” Jimin mumbled, “A special connection.”
“Connection’s a big word for you.”
Jimin smacked Yoongi’s chest. “You’re not listening.”
“Fine, Jimin. What’s our special connection?”
Jimin titled his head and absently played with Yoongi’s long fingers. “We’re short. And smart. And too thoughtful. And, um, we drink lots.”
Yoongi quirked up a half-smile. “That seems pretty surface-level.”
Jimin shook his head. “We also both like boys.” He waited a breath, then he leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Like, too much. You’ve had boyfriends, right?”
Yoongi exhaled. He glanced around, suddenly tense—scared of someone overhearing. “Yeah, some.”
“Mm, me too,” Jimin murmured. He snaked his hand up to fidget with the hem of Yoongi’s shirt. He pressed his lips together, suddenly very serious. “They don’t stay long.”
“Because we’re busy.”
Jimin’s brows pinched together. No, that wasn’t entirely right. “They just… don’t get it.”
Yoongi reached down, grabbing Jimin’s wandering hand and carefully holding it between both of his own. “Don’t get what?” He asked, tone soft now.
“What it’s like—to be us, to live like us. They wanna go on dates and trips, and meet family or whatever. But we can’t. We’re not normal people.” Jimin bit the inside of his cheek, hiding the sting of his watering eyes. “’S not fair.”
“No, it’s not,” Yoongi quietly agreed. “But you’ll find someone someday. It takes patience.”
“But I already found you,” Jimin protested.
Yoongi’s posture tensed, and he stared at Jimin like he was waiting for the younger to crack a joke, to elaborate on a seemingly all-too-serious confession. “Yeah, you’ll always have me as a friend.”
“Not like that. That’s not what I meant,” Jimin sighed.
“Jimin—”
“What if I loved you, loved you a whole lot?”
“I’m flattered, really, but that’s not… something we can do,” Yoongi stated, treading cautiously. He seemed to be slowly sobering up from Jimin’s words alone.
“You don’t love me,” Jimin whispered.
“No, I—” Yoongi rushed to amend. “I do, Jimin. I really do. But you know we can’t act on that. It’s not fair to everyone else.”
Jimin averted his gaze, his vision blurring.
“We’ll be caught, and there’ll be consequences. You know that,” Yoongi said as gently as he could, fully aware that the words stung Jimin all the same.
Jimin turned toward Yoongi again, quietly crying, his nose and cheeks ruddy. It was the alcohol hitting him this hard, Jimin reasoned. He wouldn’t be this stricken otherwise.
Yoongi folded into him, then, enveloping Jimin in a hug. As Yoongi pressed his face against Jimin’s shoulder, the younger wrapped his arms around Yoongi’s neck.
They stood in the empty stairwell, Jimin’s breathing stuttered, and waited until they collected their resolve.
Yoongi tugged Jimin back into reality by patting his hip. The elder was arching a brow up at Jimin, his eyes underlined with dark circles. “Will you go to bed if I join you?”
Jimin blinked away the remnants of his overly emotional memory and nodded. He staggered back and turned on his heel, promptly crawling under the bleached white covers and listening while Yoongi shut down his computer.
Then the room was swathed in darkness, Yoongi joining him atop the mattress with a heavy exhale. The bed groaned under the added weight, and as Yoongi shifted around for comfort, Jimin turned on his side, facing Yoongi.
He stretched out an arm to squeeze Yoongi’s bicep, the action prompting the latter to face Jimin, as well.
“Thanks for putting up with me,” Jimin murmured.
“What kind of hyung would I be if I didn’t?”
Jimin huffed. “I don’t know—you wouldn’t really be you at all.” He skimmed his fingers across Yoongi’s arm, touch light, until he rested his palm on the mattress beside Yoongi’s chest. “I remember how much you used to cook for me.”
“Because you would stop whining about being hungry.”
“I think you’re secretly eager to please.”
“To please you, yes,” Yoongi huffed.
“We’d also go on a lot more walks at night and talk, decompress from long practices,” Jimin wistfully recounted. “I wish we could still do that—I miss it.”
“Mm,” Yoongi grunted. “Me, too.” He shut his eyes and moved his hand atop Jimin’s, beginning to play with his fingers. “If you miss talking to me that much, you could come hang out in my studio. Maybe I’ll even give you the code.”
“Would it really be worth the annoyance of having someone hovering around while you try to work?” Jimin teased. He hooked his pinky around Yoongi’s.
“Yeah,” the elder smiled, like he was too tired to even bother lying.
“Good, because I… I really do get lonely.”
He felt Yoongi’s palm curl into his own, rubbing his thumb across Jimin’s knuckles. They laid in that position, wordless and idle for a few long moments. Jimin peered at Yoongi through the dark, watched the subtle fluttering of his lashes.
“I know,” Yoongi eventually whispered.
The defeat in his tone stung Jimin, because Jimin knew Yoongi felt that loneliness, too. No matter the money, success, and recognition they received, it could never replace the simple joys of a normal life. They couldn’t have friends like they used to, couldn’t maintain normal love lives. They were at the whim of the industry, their company, their fans. True connections were scarce this high up.
Jimin knew how lucky he was to form the kind of bond he had with Yoongi.
Jimin’s lips parted, and he hesitated, his heart nervously skipping a thump. “Hyung,” he mumbled, pressing his cheek closer to the pillow. “I love you.”
It was the second time he’d said it that night, but Jimin was sure even Yoongi noted the shift in meaning. This one was tentative yet reverent, full of gentle sincerity.
Yoongi released Jimin’s hand, only to snake his arm out and pull Jimin closer by his hip. Jimin braced his palms against Yoongi’s chest, and the elder nuzzled into Jimin’s fluffy hair. “I love you, too.”
Jimin clenched his jaw, feeling a weight settle in his stomach and a tight sensation form in his throat. He balled his fists into Yoongi’s shirt and swallowed, then tried to inhale a shaky breath. “Can we…” He whispered, hesitant, “Talk about this? For real, this time. Because I mean it, hyung. My feelings for you are so strong. I don’t—I don’t want this to be it. I want more.”
Yoongi circled his arms around Jimin’s waist, hugging him fully. Rather than replying, he just held Jimin. He rubbed along the younger’s back, slotted a leg between Jimin’s. They were all tangled up, and Jimin could hear Yoongi’s heart thundering.
“Yeah,” Yoongi finally answered, like a release of trapped breath. “Yeah, we can. I shouldn’t have tried to brush this off in the first place.”
Jimin lifted his head, shocked by Yoongi’s response. His hyung was so careful, especially in regard to his dongsaengs. He’d do anything to protect them, even deny his own feelings and desires. When Jimin lifted himself to hover over Yoongi, he saw his own relief reflected in the latter’s gaze.
Jimin broke into a beaming smile, and without another thought, he bent down to kiss Yoongi.
Yoongi was still for the first second, then after his surprise wore off, he cupped Jimin’s cheek and pulled him in deeper. A series of pecks evolved into longer, sweeter kisses—then open-mouthed, bruising, and hungry. Jimin pulled at Yoongi’s lower lip, and he laved over the assault with his tongue. Just as they had escalated into a makeout laced with heat and want, they simmered down into gentle kisses broken by gasps and stolen breaths.
Jimin retreated back far enough to rest his forehead against Yoongi’s, basking in their mutual warmth and affection.
“Tomorrow,” Yoongi said, stroking his fingers through the fine hairs at Jimin’s nape. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”
Jimin nodded, and he kissed Yoongi again, smiling into it.
They eventually had to pull away, only to lay flush together in the center of the bed, Yoongi’s chest to Jimin’s back. Jimin hugged the elder’s arms to his own midsection, drifting off while Yoongi massaged little circles onto Jimin’s skin.
It was the best sleep Jimin had in months.