Chapter Text
Yoongi was wholeheartedly surprised at how much of his happiness depended on one single fat cat.
For days now, Prince Humperdinck has been irritable, tired, and unlike his usual hyper self.
When Jeongguk tried to bait him into playing with his favorite toy and Prince Humperdinck just shut his eyes and set his big fluffy head back down onto his paws, Jeongguk had looked up at Yoongi and Jimin and burst into tears.
Which then caused Namjoon to look up from his book, a eyes huge and scared, head looking back and forth from Jimin and Yoongi to Jeongguk to Prince Humperdinck.
Jimin moved to console Jeongguk, a frown marring his lips now, too.
So, in short, when Prince Humperdinck was in a bad mood, that would put Jeongguk in a bad mood, which would then throw Namjoon and Jimin into bad moods, and ultimately had Yoongi feeling very concerned and very upset and very much Needing To Make His Boys Feel Better.
That’s how he ended up here, in the parking lot in front of the veterinarian’s building, trying to calm down an extremely anxious and agitated Prince Humperdinck.
“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” Yoongi said, blindly sticking a finger into the cat’s carrier in a last-ditch attempt to soothe him.
Prince Humperdinck had started to freak out the moment he caught sight of the building, remembering that the last time he was taken there he had gotten three very painful shots. The feline hadn’t let any of them except Jeongguk touch him for a week straight.
“Ow! Prince Humperdinck, you absolute fucker,” Yoongi jerked his finger out of the criss-crossed wires after he felt little sharp teeth chomp around his skin. “I’m just trying to help, you brat.”
Not for the first time that morning, he regretted telling Jimin he’d be the one to take Prince Humperdinck to the vet.
But Jimin had looked so tired, and when the younger had offered to switch tasks with Yoongi and have the photographer take the kids to school and have Jimin take the cat to the vet instead, Yoongi had taken one look at the resigned expression on Jimin’s face and was quick to volunteer his mental (and apparently physical) wellbeing to get the cat checked out himself.
Prince Humperdinck let out a little yowl of anger and distress, and Yoongi threw him a deadpan expression.
“I don’t want to be here either, okay? Let’s just get it over with. In and out then we’re done.”
Ignoring the tiny pinpricks of blood beginning to build on the surface of his finger, Yoongi turned off the engine and picked up the carrier.
The yowling got louder, and if strangers looked at him oddly as he chanted, “Shut up, you’re fine, we’re fine,” during his entire walk across the parking lot, Yoongi pointedly did not make eye contact.
The entire affair was stressful and annoying and if someone had told him six months ago that he’d be in a vet’s office with a huge cat screaming at him in anger while having to tell the vet with a completely straight face that the thing’s name was Prince Humperdinck, he would have choked at the ridiculousness.
But here they were, Yoongi fishing out his credit card in order to pay for a consultation that confirmed Prince Humperdinck was suffering from an upper respiratory infection, unfortunate but not severe, and that he would get better within the week with a lot of rest and food and water.
When the two of them were finally back in the car, the carrier on the passenger seat and Yoongi in the driver’s, the two of them made long, unamused eye contact.
“You didn’t handle that very well,” Yoongi finally said.
Meow.
“I don’t think you deserve any treats once we get home, if I’m being honest.”
Meow.
“You bit my finger, you ingrate.”
Meow.
Prince Humperdinck spent the rest of the afternoon lazing in a sun spot in the apartment, tail swinging slowly as he munched on the two treats laid out on the carpet in front of him.
☆
Though Jimin hardly admitted it to himself, being a father was somehow simultaneously his greatest pride yet also his greatest insecurity.
Not that he was ashamed or regretful towards Jeongguk and Namjoon — quite the opposite, actually — but there were times in which he didn’t feel good enough.
When he went to pick them up from school and the rest of the kids’ moms and dads smiled at him thinly, anything but inviting or friendly.
Being a single dad was hard, especially when the rest of the parents and teachers looked at him like he was something to pity. Especially when he was handed birthday invitations and had to decline because he had to work and didn’t have time to even let his kids have a bit of fun with their classmates. Especially when he got a call thirty minutes past their designated pick up time because he had fallen asleep at his work desk, fatigue dragging his eyelids down like anchors. Especially when he felt like he had a million tasks to do but only two hands, especially when he was cooking but Jeongguk began crying in the living room, especially when he was in the shower and Namjoon needed help with homework, especially when he felt like he couldn’t breathe because everything was coming at him so quickly and overwhelmingly that he could barely blink.
And the entire time, though he rarely showed it, Jimin was constantly, constantly afraid.
Afraid of being a bad father, afraid of neglecting his work and running out of money, afraid of neglecting his children and making them feel as if he didn’t love them enough, afraid that Namjoon and Jeongguk would have to share a room even when they got older, afraid that one of the cats would get sick and he wouldn’t have enough saved up for a vet visit, afraid that one day Jeongguk and Namjoon would wake up and realize that they’re missing something, and yearn for that something that is beyond Jimin, afraid that his boys would grow up and realize they had a terrible childhood because Jimin hadn’t done enough, hadn’t been enough.
And this all spiraled into big black holes that ate away at the light inside of Jimin when things were at their worst, when he barely made the rent for the month or when he forgot to get Jeongguk’s banana milk during their weekly grocery shop again.
Jimin bit down hard on his lip, the sight of Jeongguk’s tiny shoulders slumping in disappointment hitting him hard.
“I’m sorry, Gukkie,” Jimin said.
Jeongguk’s bottom lip was extended into a pout. “You forgot last week, too.”
“I know,” Jimin closed his eyes. “Appa’s really sorry. I’ll get you two cases next week, okay?”
Jeongguk didn’t say anything, just walked out of the kitchen and clambered onto the couch, sadly scooting Hooter into his lap and petting her.
“Guk,” Jimin called.
Even though he knew that Jeongguk was only four, and that the art of reassurance was not yet a concept his toddler could understand or master, Jimin felt desperate for something.
For an ‘it’s okay’, or for an ‘I love you’, or even a tiny spark of excitement over the prospect of getting extra of his favorite drink the following week.
Jeongguk gave him nothing, not even looking up at him, continuing to pet the cat sadly.
Though Jimin knew that his son could have reacted much worse, could have thrown a violent tantrum or cried or screamed, for some reason this hurt him more.
Jeongguk was just disappointed, and it was Jimin’s fault.
The moment Yoongi and Namjoon came back inside from collecting the mail, Jimin left the boys in Yoongi’s care and beelined towards their bedroom, feeling heavy and hot and achey and sad.
The sun had just set, and Jimin should start making dinner now, but the room was cast in a blue twilight shadow and Jimin wanted to wrap it around himself like a quilt and hide for the rest of the night.
Taking a deep breath, Jimin slumped down on the floor and against his bed, sitting in the space slotted in-between it and the window.
He didn’t realize how long he had been sitting there until he felt a warm hand run up his back and squeeze the back of his neck gently.
“Jimin?”
When Jimin didn’t respond, Yoongi physically scooted Jimin’s body forward a few inches so he could fit himself in-between Jimin and the bed, slotting Jimin in-between his legs.
Wrapping his arms around Jimin tightly, Yoongi squeezed reassuringly, lips pressed firmly to Jimin’s nape, and the younger felt a low sob escape him. And everything was warm then, wrapped up in Yoongi’s universe, the starlight veins and moondust skin and rainstorm breath.
“Too much?”
And Yoongi just. Yoongi just knew.
Could take one look at the line of Jimin’s spine and understand what he needed.
Understand that there were times when Jimin broke apart a little too far and needed someone to hold him together, just for a bit. Needed someone to fill those hairline cracks with a steady presence and gentle kisses and honey eyes.
“Forgot,” the tiny word slipped from Jimin’s lips like a confession.
“Hmm? What?” Yoongi hugged him closer, mumbled the words into Jimin’s skin.
Another sob wracked Jimin’s body, unreasonable amounts of devastation destroying the lit up cities in his mind, leaving behind ash and dust and ghost towns.
“I forgot Guk’s banana milk again!” Jimin wailed, burying his face into his own knees as best he could within Yoongi’s tight hug.
Despite himself, Yoongi let out a tiny laugh.
“You’re laughing at me,” Jimin cried, bringing a hand down and swatting at Yoongi’s arms. “It’s not funny. He was so disappointed, and—and last week I promised him that this week I’d buy it for sure, and now he thinks I’m a terrible dad and—”
Jimin’s voice lilted up in a telltale sign of another sob coming, and Yoongi hushed him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s not funny,” Yoongi’s voice was grave now, and he brought his large hands up to blindly wipe at Jimin’s cheeks, unable to see with his own face pressed against Jimin’s neck. “Jimin, baby.”
“I’m tired,” Jimin confessed. “I keep forgetting important things and I’m never good enough and—”
“Stop, Jimin. Hush,” Yoongi crooned, his voice quieter and gentler and not unlike the voice he used to soothe Jeongguk and Namjoon to sleep. “You’re okay.”
Jimin quieted then, sniffled and let his head hang.
“You are their entire world, Jimin, do you understand me?” Yoongi whispered fervently into Jimin’s neck. “There is not a single person they would rather see at any given time. They miss you when you’re not with them, and even when you are, they can’t get enough of your attention.”
“I could be better,” Jimin whispered.
“You’re already the best,” Yoongi argued. “Just the fact that we’re here, having this conversation proves that. You love them so much, Jimin. In the end, once they’re grown up and independent and looking back on their time with you, that’s what they’ll remember. Not the amount of toys they had or whether or not they had banana milk. Your love is what they’ll cherish. Everything you have done and will do for them is done out of pure, inexhaustible love. They’re young now, but they’re both already bursting at the seams with the kindest hearts and souls I have ever known. And that’s because of you.”
“…And you, now, too.”
The way Jimin said it was an unspoken invitation, a question, a hand stretched out hoping for something strong and reassuring and familiar to grab back.
When Yoong kissed the back of Jimin’s neck three times, Jimin wanted to crawl into Yoongi’s heart and stay within that safety for a short while. He realized he was grateful because these arms would always be home to him, this scent would always be familiar.
“Of course,” Yoongi said. “I’m here now, too.”
☆
Christmas was fast approaching, and the snow falling outside the window had the entire city feeling like it was trapped inside a snow globe, quiet and serene and beautiful.
Jimin had come up to him one cold morning as Yoongi stood in the kitchen making coffee.
He felt arms wrap around his middle and a face nuzzle into the back of his neck, Jimin’s breath hot against his nape.
“Yoon,” Jimin rasped out.
“Morning, baby,” Yoongi muttered back, eyelashes still weighed down with leftover sleep. Yoongi reached up to pull down a second mug.
“I jus’ thought of something,” Jimin murmured. “That we need to do as soon as possible.”
“Mmm?”
“A family Christmas card,” Jimin said.
“A family Christmas card?”
“We need one.”
Yoongi’s heart did an embarrassing schoolgirl flutter in his chest at the sound of Jimin calling them family. He knew it was a term Jimin didn’t throw around lightly. Knew that it was a miracle that the boys had been taken with him since the beginning, with no qualms about having to divide Jimin’s time with Yoongi. Though it was pretty recent that Yoongi had moved in with them, things became familiar and routine in the best way very quickly.
The two of them woke up together, a tangle of cold feet and noses and sleep-rumpled shirts, always to shrill shrieking, and whether it was the shrieking of a phone alarm or of two toddlers depended on the day.
On the weekdays, Jimin made breakfast and packed the boys’ lunches and made sure their backpacks were in order while Yoongi helped them eat, a flurry of sticky hands and dropped forks and an abundance of soiled napkins. Then it was school uniforms shuffled over complaining heads and cold arms, thick socks on feet and shoes double knotted tied tight and goodbye kisses all around. Yoongi and Jimin switched off walking them to school, and when they got back home the other will have already cleaned up the boys’ mess, their own breakfast neat and panic-free laid out on the table.
The two of them could usually eat leisurely with their freelance jobs, hands intertwined and feet resting on top of each other, nursing their steaming mugs of coffee until the very last dregs were drained.
It was during these moments that Yoongi would take in his fill of Jimin without fear of being disrupted. Jimin, who was beautiful all the time but even more so underneath gentle morning light. When the sun was soft and treated everything like it was fragile. When Jimin looked back at him with starry eyes lit up with the promise of a lifetime full of mornings just like these.
And Yoongi knew during these moments that he waited his whole life to feel something like this. Knew that even when he doubted himself and inspiration felt like a finish line that was too far away, all he would have to do would be to look at Jimin and grab onto the feeling of safety and fondness and utter love that built inside of him and things would be okay.
Better than okay.
So now, with Jimin peering at him with wide, hopeful eyes, Yoongi could do nothing but nod his consent.
That was how they found themselves piled onto the couch that weekend in terrible matching Christmas sweaters.
Jeongguk kept pulling at the collar, whining that it was itching his neck, and Namjoon had completely ruined his combed hair by nuzzling his head passionately against Prince Humperdinck’s in greeting when he had gotten to the living room.
Jimin was trying his best to keep his sons and their cats in place, and if he was being honest the felines were easier to control than his hyper boys.
Yoongi was behind the camera, sat up on a fancy tripod that has been in danger of being knocked over nine times and counting, setting the self timer and getting ready to rush towards the couch once the countdown started.
“Are you guys ready?”
“Appa.”
“Guk, honey, please sit still, this will only take a second okay?”
“I’m pressing the button now.”
“Appa?”
“Say cheese!”
“Appa, Hooter is peeing on me!”
“Yoongi! Shit, Yoongi, are you okay?”
A week later, Seokjin and Hoseok opened an envelope and pulled out a cheery little photo.
It was bordered with green and red, Happy Holidays from Jimin, Yoongi, Jeongguk, Namjoon, Hooter, and Prince Humperdinck! written in swirling white font at the bottom.
In the frame, there was a large blur taking up the bottom half of the photo. You could see Yoongi’s pale skin and flailing arms, black head of hair hurtling straight towards the ground as the photographer had tripped trying to quickly make his way towards the couch.
Namjoon’s face was one of absolute horror, tears of disgust and shock beginning to brim in his normally happy eyes, and he had Hooter halfway picked up, trying to get her away from him as a stream of pee could be seen collecting on the toddler’s lap.
Jimin was looking towards Yoongi, face morphed in concern, mouth open in a cry of shock.
Jeongguk was completely poised and beaming at the camera, Prince Humperdinck a fat furry lump in his lap, ignorant of the chaos around him, his missing front teeth proudly on display.
☆
The only downside to Jimin’s apartment complex was the lack of individual laundry units. The entire building shared one laundry room tucked away in a corner of their first floor, and Jimin dreaded laundry day more than he probably should.
Jeongguk, strangely, loved it.
Every Sunday, he would wake up with a burst of energy, stars in his eyes and cheeks spread wide, shouting cheerily about it being ‘lawn-dy day, Appa, it’s lawn-dy day!’
Jeongguk adored the laundry room.
The noises the machines made, the scent of fabric softeners that lingered in the air, the way some of the machines would shake and rumble if the load was a tad too heavy, the bright noises that the buttons made when you pressed them, the warmth of the clothes right out of the dryer — everything in that room was stimulating and exciting to the four year old, and if Jimin let him he would probably play in there all day.
Before Yoongi, Jimin would have to carry all of their clothes down by himself, often having to make two trips. Lugging around the detergent and baskets while simultaneously trying to keep track of two hyperactive toddlers had always been exhausting, but now that Yoongi was there laundry day was a lot easier for Jimin.
Yoongi would help carry a basket, often even letting Jeongguk sit in it on top of all of the dirty clothes, despite Jimin’s protests that the basket handles were going to snap off with the added weight. But in the end, neither of them could deny Jeongguk’s cheerful whoops and ecstatic laughter when Yoongi swung the basket back and forth, rocking it like a sailboat.
During these times, Jimin would kiss Namjoon’s head and show him a little extra affection, knowing that his six year old was a smidge too big to be hauled around like that anymore.
Sometimes they would go back upstairs while their clothes washed, but other times they would stay in the room and Yoongi would chase them around with a towel over his head, hands outstretched into pretend claws, while Namjoon and Jeongguk screeched and knocked over baskets and ran through the maze of laundry machines, barreling into Jimin’s torso for protection.
Jimin would swoop them up and pretend to try to make a run for it, and Yoongi would grab hold of all three of them, hoisting them up and spinning them in a full circle.
Once he set them down he would pull the towel around them, their bodies huddled together, a mess of giggling and tangled limbs and to an outsider they would just see flurries and lumps of movement underneath the towel held together by Yoongi’s pale hands.
And for a few minutes the world would be made up of the familiarity of their heads pressed together and fuzziness of the towel brushing their cheeks and their shared warm breaths and laughter and Jimin attacking all of them with kisses, uncaring of where or who his lips brushed next.
And that apartment complex’s laundry room became a tiny pocket of warmth and love that the two toddlers grew up and took away with them, and in the future on Jeongguk and Namjoon’s hardest nights sometimes they would lean back and close their eyes and smell lavender fabric softener and feel the towel wrapped around their bodies hoisted into their fathers’ arms and remember the way their bellies ached from laughter, and the two of them always found peace and comfort in this little memory of home.
☆
Jimin sighed as he closed the trunk of his car and moved to the driver’s seat, starting the engine and beginning the drive home.
He was turning thirty-nine that day, and he honestly just couldn’t wait to go home to Yoongi so they could order unhealthy takeout for dinner and drink an entire bottle of wine each.
Jeongguk and Namjoon, 20 and 22 now, couldn’t make it home for their Appa’s birthday, university piling on more and more assignments for them both.
Jimin was okay with it. He understood they were busy.
Too busy to even give Jimin a call, even though it was more than halfway through the day. Even though the sun was setting and there was a tiny pit of sadness in his stomach as he drove through the streets of New York, and Jimin had to blink away tears when he drove past the neon orange Hooters sign.
Making his way to their home lying on the outskirts of the city now, Jimin parked the car in the garage and got out, yelling for Yoongi to come and help with the groceries.
Stepping inside, the walls were littered with picture frames.
With a professional photographer as a husband, it wasn’t surprising that almost every moment of their life since Yoongi had come into it was captured.
Photo albums stuffed to the brim were haphazardly labeled and lining every shelf.
“Yoongi, there’s more bags in the trunk, could you get them?” Jimin tried again, making his way to the kitchen.
He dropped the produce onto the counter.
“Want me to get them, Appa?”
Jimin’s head shot up at the sound of Namjoon’s familiar voice.
Both his sons were taller than him now, having shot up at alarming rates during their teenage years and growing broader as they aged, and Jimin had to tip his head back a bit to look his son in the eyes, shock brimming in his and devilish delight in Namjoon’s.
As a literature major and philosophy minor, Namjoon definitely looked the part, with his purple hair and kind, smart eyes and unique fashion sense that was full of baggy pants and brightly printed shirts and funky hats and chunky glasses.
Jimin stared at his son standing in the kitchen as if he were an apparition created by the fading light and Jimin’s nostalgic heart.
“What?”
“Too late, I already got ‘em,” Jeongguk sang from behind Jimin, coming into the kitchen with the rest of the bags, five on each arm in a blatant proud display of strength.
Jeongguk, who was studying to become a veterinarian, was also part of so many music clubs that Jimin could hardly keep track of them, and the boy was always either singing or listening to music, his days and nights defined by the songs that he listened to.
Namjoon rolled his eyes at his younger brother, and Jeongguk grinned back, a lifelong camaraderie prevalent in the easy teasing way they treated each other.
Even as they grew up, they never drifted apart.
Time brought them together, unlike with many other siblings, and Jimin was happy that his sons were still best friends, even in early adulthood.
“You’re home,” Jimin let out a half shriek, half sob, and did a strange hop in which he tried to crash into both of his children at once, opting for a hand outstretched to Namjoon and his arm around Jeongguk’s torso, who was within reaching distance.
“Surprise!” the two said at the same time, and the way both of their eyes lit up in glee the same way they would when they were younger had something devastatingly sad yet happy swell in Jimin’s chest.
Watery smile on his face, he was crushed between Jeongguk and Namjoon, the two of them mumbling out ‘Happy Birthday’s and pecking the top of his head.
“I thought you forgot,” Jimin confessed, breathing in their scent and hugging them as hard as he could.
Once they pulled back to protest, he immediately began fussing, smoothing down a lock of Jeongguk’s styled hair and fiddling with one of Namjoon’s swinging earrings.
“I told them to keep it a surprise,” Yoongi’s voice came from the entryway, and three heads turned to see him leaning against the counter, warm smile on his face.
Though there were smile lines and crow’s feet etched into Yoongi’s skin now, Jimin thought the man was just as beautiful as the first day they had met.
Loved the way Yoongi still had a camera permanently swinging around his neck, the way his cheeks were always red in the mornings, the way his body fit against Jimin’s so effortlessly that it seemed like they were born from the same star.
“You knew,” Jimin gasped out, affronted. “You knew how sad I was when they said they couldn’t come home.”
Yoongi shrugged, laughing, coming over and planting a kiss right on Jimin’s pouting lips, ignoring Jeongguk and Namjoon’s groans of protest. “Thought my angel would enjoy a little surprise.”
Jimin huffed, turning his back on all of them and beginning to unpack the groceries.
“I want Chinese tonight,” was all he said, and three sets of familiar laughter bounced against the walls of the room and Jimin soaked it up like a flower soaking up sunlight, bottling it away like ambrosia within his ribcage and keeping the precious sound as close to his heart as possible.
“As you wish.”