Chapter Text
It’s dusk, the slight wash of amber tinting the sky and its darkness leaves stars to find their feet as the moon begins to rise. Proposals find their finality, contracts in hand and Yoongi can’t quite will time to quicken as winter’s chill sinks into his bones, his coat doing little to stave off all that leaves his limbs numb. He’s beside Namjoon, perhaps another equally as feared man leaving Seoul to bow to his feet, yet one who lies that little lower than Yoongi, countless men to do the dirty work that Yoongi takes pleasure in. Boss of the Kim family, born through old blood-stained money and years of rule beneath his father’s hand, yet it’s a family having fallen from grace just that little with time, the passing of Wonshik leaving the reigns firmly in Namjoon’s brother’s hold, ones quickly passed to Namjoon with little more than a plea. But he’s an old acquaintance, neither quite breaking the barrier of friendship but maybe it’s for good reason, for business and pleasure never quite mix, Yoongi has learned over the years, and keeping Namjoon at arm's length for when either needs the other works well, both teams filling all that they lack when hefty promises line tables.
Whilst Yoongi never dares to detail it, Jeongguk’s insistent words that they should form a contractual alliance never quite leave his mind. It’s a slight tug, never consuming but the thought lingers as they scope out a hold for imports. Small and inconspicuous, a shared venture to add to their many that are seemingly piled high, perhaps another reason for them to merge, Yoongi distantly thinks. Truth be told, they work well together. Yoongi’s that little more cunning and Namjoon’s a man whose wits pull him out of situations that others would simply succumb to. His hands are deft and mind sharp, and whilst Yoongi’s tongue may house a bite, nothing ever quite breaks their tentative allegiance. But it isn’t all Yoongi’s fault that such a partnership never fell to fruition, for Namjoon holds his family’s name in pride and perhaps Yoongi does too, working tirelessly to rid the name Min from the mouths of others and dripping with a callous laugh.
Yet Jeongguk remains steadfast in the venture, just as he does beside Yoongi each day. His body is well-built in the name of protection and as both Yoongi and Namjoon talk, his eyes never quite leave their surroundings, on guard and ready to protect the man who has perhaps given him more than he could ever lay bare. A man who pulled him from nothing, life desolate with a tarnished record stemming from the first breaths of youth, yet Yoongi saw far beyond his past and doe-eyes, and trained him to become one of his own; eventually his protector— the man beside him at every turn to shield him from harm.
“This one alright then?” Yoongi hums, perhaps that little bored, and Namjoon nods, fingers tugging at his lip as he turns to the entrance.
“If you need another, mine’s there.” He points, his voice low and honey-smooth and all Yoongi has come to know as stability, for Namjoon has never led him astray and perhaps, however selfish it is, he’d do anything that man asks of him in repayment of what lines his past. “It’ll cost you— you know that.”
“I do.”
“B-boss,” Jeongguk starts, a sweet lilt in his tone that never seems to falter. Yoongi had thought it’d find its way out of him once that innocence had left, yet it simply never did. “You two really should just team up. It’s been what— ten years now?”
Yoongi huffs, eyes trained on Jeongguk’s frame but it never deters him, just leaves what little laughter tumbles that bit more saccharine, almost teasing.
“Try and convince this bastard.” He simply replies, stepping beside Namjoon to take in the view. Namjoon laughs but says nothing further, raising the papers held in his grasp to read over once more.
Seoul glimmers before them, a little veiled by the shipping yard but still a vision, and it leaves his mind to cast to Jimin and whether all the decisions he’s made so far have been right, or whether he could never be cut out for a world such as this— whether he would’ve been much better staying within his father’s hold. But that thought itself leaves nausea to pool as anger tints his veins crimson, and at that simple notion he knows his life is far from perfect, but whatever one Jimin was exposed to under the guise of wealth was far more torturous than what his hand could ever craft.
“Alright to sign?” Namjoon asks to a small nod from Yoongi. Curt yet definite, eyes never once leaving the building that he calls his own in the distance. It’s tall and houses all that he needs, offices to shield his doings and a basement for all his tongue could never say, and whilst everyone in Seoul knows his workings, he’s rather untouchable, just as they all have grown to become. Yet he’d gladly do his time, he thinks, if those such as Jimin’s father would ever face half of all that they owe, then it’d be worth it.
With the press of ink, the deal is sealed, small hums the only sounds to fall before goodbye ’s shroud them in silence. Yoongi and Namjoon have never been ones for small talk, simply laying what cards they hold on the table for the other to so gently take, and if their men ever cross the other, it’s fair game. It doesn’t happen often, Namjoon relishing in his little taunts, as Yoongi so carelessly chides him, and Yoongi takes to all that he knows best, drawing what he needs out with his own hand. Namjoon’s passive, Yoongi has learned over the years, whilst Yoongi prefers to do it all himself, for nothing quite tastes as sweet as a kill, he tells him, but perhaps now as Jimin’s shown him just how delectable he can taste, he’s certain it’d never come close to how divine Jimin feels against his lips.
It takes little time for Yoongi’s driver to take them to their building, Jeongguk’s soft questioning garnering nothing more than the occasional shrug or glance, and whilst he’s never deterred— knowing deep down, his hyung is a gentle man— he draws quiet for a while, preparing for what task is at hand. Yoongi had mentioned prior about another job, Namjoon’s meeting simply a brief pause before he’s needed, but he didn’t detail what exactly Jeongguk was to do, and as they get closer to the building, Yoongi’s drawn-out sigh breaks what tentative silence shrouds them.
“Do me a favour and just be quick tonight, alright? I’m fucking tired.”
“Of course, boss,” Jeongguk replies, unable to bite down the slight tug of his lips, “you alright?” And perhaps he knows his mind is preoccupied with Jimin, never having seen the man so disengaged in his work. He’s usually over all they need to do— even before Hoseok gets the opportunity to meticulously plan— but as Jimin found his place within their team, Yoongi can’t seem to keep away from him.
“I’m fine.” It falls with a little bite but Jeongguk has learned never to take it to heart.
“So, Jimin-ssi… what about him?” He questions, a soft tone in his voice, maybe apprehension woven through, for no one can quite intimidate him as Yoongi can. Yet in the same breath, he knows his safety lies with Yoongi, a man who has cared for him unlike any other— a man who has given him purpose and a place to call his home.
Yoongi hums for a moment as if toying with what words line his tongue and debating on whether they should fall or be swallowed down, saliva honey-thick and rounding each vowel in a pointed drawl. “Your job is to make sure I’m safe, hm? My own personal bodyguard— it’s why I employed you. You also do my dirty work when I’m not around.”
“Yes, boss.”
“He’s an extension of that. If anyone lays a finger on him— Namjoon-ssi or otherwise— we’ll have a problem. Keep him safe.”
And Jeongguk swallows, a slight shudder coursing his spine as Yoongi’s breath sharpens, words following suit and eyes a biting gaze as if he’s his prey and Yoongi’s simply waiting for the kill, and it’s times such as these were Jeongguk almost pities those who meet their demise at his hand, for he’s merciless.
“I will, boss.”
“And if you can’t— if you get taken again— I want you to do everything to keep their hands off of him, understood? You’re responsible for both his safety and mine, yes? I won’t repeat myself.”
“You have my word, boss.” But Jeongguk’s breath wavers, wondering just why Yoongi has grown so fond of Jimin, having only known him for a few weeks, and why such insistence on staunch protection. “C-can I ask… is he…?”
Yoongi laughs, bright and assuring, a stark contrast to the thinly veiled threats just moments prior. “He’s sweet, Jeongguk-ah. Sweet.” Yet Jeongguk knows Yoongi’s demeanour could prompt harm to those that he calls his closest, simply keeping them in check with strict authority, all he has had to learn through his time at the helm.
“He’d be good for you, boss. I said this before but… I hate to see you lonely. I know you have Seokie hyung and I but I really do just want to see you happy. You deserve it after everything you’ve been through. You can let us take care of things whilst you settle him in— you know we’re capable.”
Another hum lines Yoongi’s tongue but he knows he can’t hold the reigns forever, and that both Hoseok and Jeongguk are more than worthy of taking more responsibility in the business, and perhaps if it means he can tend to Jimin that little more— find out all that comprises him— it may be worth more than he could ever lay bare.
“We’ll see. Namjoon-ssi needs our help on a job.”
Jeongguk’s laughter is cotton-soft, nose scrunching and eyes following suit, and whilst Yoongi had thought that almost-juvenile essence would shatter, he’s glad it never did, for he could never wish for him to ever lose such innocence. It’s sweet in a way that Jimin is not, perhaps a slight boyish demeanour compared to Jimin’s holding composure, a delicate elegance only ever born through all that money could provide.
“You two really should just team up. You have the better office, he has the better spread in this city, and Seokie hyung has the connections— wouldn’t you all be better as a team? His brother— Seokjin-ssi— far better than any of us at finding anything out… doesn’t he have another one too? Younger. I haven’t seen him much.”
“Maybe. Just focus on this though, yeah?” Yoongi knows that whilst Jeongguk’s more than capable, he’s that little misguided at times. Perhaps it’s his age or lack of experience but it leaves a small smile to tug at Yoongi’s cheeks nonetheless. “Stole from both of us— I’ll trust you can sort him out, Kookie. Play nicely, alright? Take him to the basement and I’ll have a word with him but it’ll all just be to shit him up— you know how they all are. Let them think you have a reason and watch them return with everything that they owe— foolproof really.”
“Of course, boss.”
Yoongi pats Jeongguk’s cheek, lips taut and hands bitterly cold. “What ever would I do without you, Jeongguk-ah? Changmin-ssi and his team have sourced him so I’ll trust you’ll have him downstairs for me by the hour.”
Jeongguk halts, eyes wide and lips parted, and as he turns to Yoongi, he gets that little bit shy. “Please open up to him— if he wants you. We want you happy. I know you don’t let others in easily but… there’s a reason you’re opening up to him. Let it happen and don’t scare him off. I know it’s been hard for you— all of this— and I know you never chose this like Seokie hyung and I did, so maybe it’s time someone helps you ease that pressure, boss.”
Yoongi stills for a moment, cheeks reddening beneath the weight of Jeongguk’s gaze, and for a moment he truly wants nothing more. His head dips, bashful and undaring to bare his ever-growing smile to Jeongguk, and what sighs fall seem that bit despondent as if he could never will himself to fall into Jimin’s arms should time grant his wish.
“Thank you, Jeongguk-ah. You’ve always been kind to me.”
And whilst Yoongi knows he should be preparing for his interrogation— what he could perhaps recite in his sleep— his mind is clouded with Jimin. His smile, his touch, his petal-soft kiss, and simply how he wishes to be beneath it all once more. To have him in his hold is sweeter than divinity itself, he’s quite certain, and to feel his lips against his skin— Jimin’s fingers moving with deft grace, never once giving up control— is all he could ever ask for.
It’s that little lonelier without Jimin beside him as the moon shrouds the sky in thin tendrils, and he wonders just if he got used to what tentative comfort that strung between them for the few days the motel provided, and how he could ever get such a feeling back, for it’s simply all that he yearns for. He wants nothing more than for Jimin’s soft hums to lull him into repose and for his fingers to walk his spine, for his laughter to engulf him in serenity for perhaps the first time in his life, pure and distilled with little else to tug in his mind, and as Jimin found his rest beside him, Yoongi knows he’s never borne witness to a sight more beautiful. It’s a selfish thought and Yoongi dares to indulge despite what pools within spelling that he shouldn’t, for but Jimin to be tucked within his arms once more would perhaps give him all he’s ever longed for— somebody to love. But despite this, Jimin needs space to simply settle— to get used to being thrown into a world perhaps not that dissimilar to his own— and Yoongi could never live with himself if he was the reason that Jimin withdrew.
So he simply makes do with watching him from afar. How his hips sway as dances and makes breakfast, turning the radio that little louder than Yoongi usually likes it with saccharine words around his tongue as he sings along, but Yoongi could never mind— not now. He watches as Jimin’s cheeks redden, offering him some food and what gentle pout lines his lips as Yoongi declines, and as laughter wracks his frame, it’s a trance unlike any other, and Yoongi could never dare to let it tumble from his tongue but he knows he’s falling headfirst into Jimin’s tender hold, he just hopes that should he land, Jimin will be there to catch him.
—
Jimin never finds Yoongi when he’s working, not out of fear but simply respect, and perhaps he just doesn’t wish to know the inner workings of all that Yoongi is. He knows it’s dirty work and he’s seen enough to piece together what ‘jobs’ Yoongi and Jeongguk often go to entail, leaving Yoongi blood-smeared and stoic and Jimin mumbling over dinner for Yoongi to remind him never to get on the wrong side of him, yet Yoongi only laughs. But it’s comfortable beside Yoongi despite their hiccup in the motel, and perhaps Jimin was foolish to ever even think Yoongi would be able to shield him from his world, for merciless tactics are intrinsic in his nature, and if he wishes to survive under Yoongi’s hand, they’re things he must be exposed to in order to learn how to come out unscathed should anything go awry. He holds tentative faith that Yoongi can be the man he says he is but in the same bated breath, Jimin isn’t weak— perhaps far stronger than anyone could ever imagine— and whilst he resides in the thin veil of protection Yoongi exudes, Jimin knows he could stand on his own and it’s why Yoongi’s words feel that little sweeter.
The sound of the door opening pulls him out of his daze and he places a bookmark against the book’s spine, a novel he’s read time and time again a gentle weight in his hand but it’s that comfort he adores, and at the opportunity of Yoongi buying him all he could ask for, he could never turn down another copy. But Jimin never sees the man who lingers outside the office until he stands before him, eyes wide and lips parted as he wonders just who he is, and fear finds its course within his veins yet he never shows it, simply asking for his intentions with a tender smile.
“Yoongi-ssi, is he in?” The man’s voice is gravelly but kind, and Jimin distantly remembers it from somewhere but can’t seem to place it, simply knocking on the door and opening it slightly, clearing his throat for good measure to see Yoongi turned in his chair.
“Jimin-ah, are you alright?” He asks, a thread of concern lining his tone, and Jimin never sees the man’s swift smile, a teasing tug of his lips aimed right at Yoongi.
“S-sorry, hyung. I didn’t mean to bother you but… you have a visitor.”
Yoongi’s laughter softly shrouds him in comfort, and whilst they perhaps don’t see each other as much as either would, each interaction bridges that ever-growing trust between them, that little premature they both know, but familiarity has found its feet.
“Ah, Seokie, have you met Jimin-ah?” Yoongi says as he ushers them both in, Jimin quick to bow politely to Hoseok— Yoongi’s right hand. A man whose presence has been rarely felt as he tended to deals in Japan under the guise of strengthening ties with those he knows best and Yoongi could never question him, not if it gives him the money that he needs, he so often says. It’s never quite concealed but those who know turn a blind eye, for Yoongi never quite dapples in what society vehemently condemns and vows never to start.
He’s not like Choi, he mentioned to Jimin one evening with whiskey lining his tongue, lips aching to kiss yet they never did. Drugs are never imported and those who meet their demise are ones who have taken the innocence away from others, and whilst it never sits quite right with Jimin, it provides him a thin veil of comfort to reside in. He never asks about the man’s dealings, simply taking Yoongi’s words as they lie never to let his life entwine with his own— hell, he says, and you’d be lucky to come out unscathed should you survive. But Jimin’s family is entwined with it all, he delicately finds out, more about what his father owes and how his brother is far worse, and seemingly the only ones shielded from their dealings have been his mother and himself leaving an apologetic Yoongi to spell all that Jimin thinks he knows.
“Ah, a cutie. Just yours, Yoonie?” Hoseok teases, a little laughter strewn through his taunt, and whilst it’s directed more to Yoongi whose eyes roll, Jimin’s cheeks hold a crimson-tinted blush in embarrassment.
Yoongi’s stare is pointed, Hoseok-ah falling from a biting tongue, yet Hoseok simply laughs— close, Jimin gathers.
“Only teasing, you. You’re so easy to rile up, hyung. Park’s son, hm? Pretty, aren’t you?”
“Hoseok-ah, leave him. What do you want.” Yoongi grumbles, turning to meet Jimin’s gaze. “Sweetheart, sit down, yeah? On the sofa. I doubt we’ll be long. And mind Seok-ah, yeah? He’s a tease and thinks it’s fun to piss me off. Harmless, I promise you.”
“Sorry, Jimin-ssi. Sometimes hyung scolds me but…” He trails off, leaning just that little closer to Jimin before he moves to sit. “It’s really fun to tease him, he looks like a little kitten.” It’s a loud whisper and one that garners a drawn-out sigh from Yoongi but leaves Jimin’s lips to tug into a petal-soft smile.
Jimin stifles a giggle, undaring to meet Yoongi’s eyes as he sits on the sofa. “It’s lovely to meet you, sir.” He manages, a sweet lilt woven in his tone that Yoongi could never scold.
“Hyung, hm? Call me hyung. Ah, Yoonie , what a cutie!”
Yoongi’s laughter is honey-warm as Hoseok takes his place beside him, eyes quick to wander on the screen housing what Jimin can only presume are plans, yet Yoongi never shies away from hiding them from Jimin, perhaps knowing he’ll never let them fall from his tongue.
“You’ll get on, I assure you.” Yoongi’s words feel gentle, tumbling such as cotton and ever-fond, and as Jimin smiles, Yoongi notices it never quite reaches his eyes as worry of intrusion lingers against his face. “You alright, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart .
A name that leaves Jimin weak at the knees and he does his best to stammer through what lines his tongue. “I-I can leave…” He says, albeit whispered, but Yoongi quickly shakes his head.
“I want you to stay.” Yoongi simply replies, and Jimin does all that he can to bite down what flutters within his chest.
Jimin hears little of their conversation, words strung in a drawl lulling him further into what fatigue lines his frame, but he can’t quite take his gaze off of Yoongi. His lips protrude in a soft pout as he speaks, laughter strewn between their frames sounding all that is heavenly, and it leaves Jimin’s lips to curl in sweet serenity, simply watching the man who’s perhaps given him a reprieve to smile amidst all that he’s possibly seen. He slumps, poise having found its falter as he rests his head on the arm of the sofa leaving Yoongi to gently laugh when he sees, and if Hoseok wonders if Yoongi has begun to fall, he never bares it, simply storing it away to tell Jeongguk later. They all wish for their hyung to find happiness after all he’s been put through— the barrel of a gun to his head dealt by the man who should have shown him mercy— and whilst Yoongi tries never to let it show, it does.
“Have fun, Yoonie,” Hoseok’s voice pulls Jimin out of his delicate slumber, eyes having found their brief close willing time to pass. “Bye, Jimin-ah.”
Jimin waves, a small thing leaving Hoseok to giggle and mumble just how lovely he is, and perhaps it’s a little exaggerated but he wants nothing more than love for Yoongi, and he knows this may be the beginning of something quite tender, for it’s the first person Yoongi’s ever let in
“Hi, sweetheart. You alright? Not too shaken, are you? I feel like I haven’t seen much of you this week.” Yoongi asks, swivelling in his chair to meet Jimin’s sleep-laced gaze.
“I suppose it’ll be what I’ll have to get used to, won’t it?”
And Yoongi hums, a small nod as his lips part in a gummy smile, one barely shown yet leaves Jimin that little breathless each time he sees it.
“Seokie’s right, you are very sweet. Would you have dinner with me? It’s getting a bit boring alone and— and I like to eat with someone beside me.” It’s a vulnerability that Jimin can’t help but soften to, quickly nodding with a small laugh tumbling past his lips. “I’ll cook, hm? I’m not terrible. You still don’t seem used to it, it must be hard if you’re not born into it all.” Yoongi can see there’s something keeping Jimin just that bit guarded, reserved from baring all, and whilst he wishes to unearth all that comprises him, he wonders if the words that begin to fall are simply too thick, stringing between them in tensity. “What’s bothering you? You seem a bit brighter today but… what’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Jimin sighs, small and barely there, and perhaps if the air didn’t still around them, Yoongi would never hear it. “My— my father. You won’t hurt him, will you?”
“Why would I? Don’t you trust me?”
Jimin stammers around words that hold weight against his tongue, feeling just that little leaden and sickly. “Can I be honest, hyung? I think I trust you a little too much. For a man like you that I’ve just barely met? I shouldn’t but… I do.”
Yoongi’s smile grows that bit wider, spreading his thighs before gently patting them, ushering Jimin to sit against him. He does, hesitant steps and cheeks housing a soft blush, and Yoongi has perhaps never seen a man as sweet standing before him. Delicate yet never fragile, simply housing an air of elegance and gentleness that he could never quite match. But it tugs him closer with every parting breath, and perhaps if those who saw them believed Yoongi held the upper hand, they’d be mistaken, for Yoongi could do all that Jimin asked in a heartbeat.
Yoongi draws his hand to Jimin’s cheek as he sits, a chair never quite fitting beside his desk, and whilst the one Hoseok sat on merely moments prior would do, perhaps selfishly, Yoongi just wishes for him in his grasp once more. It’s an affection born through mutual understanding, Jimin a mirror of his past self— someone he wishes to shield from all he has endured— and possibly be the man to leave him breathless. Yet those are thoughts that rarely surface for he knows what thin line he treads and Jimin may simply want him just as they started; as nothing more than a way to let off what adrenaline courses veins.
“I feel quite a lucky man to have that trust and I promise I won’t break it. Just be good for me, hm? I’ll give you all that you need but I can’t have you living like you used to— not here. They’ll find you and I’d prefer you to stay out of all of this for as long as possible.” He grazes Jimin’s cheek with the calloused pad of his finger, newborn soft beneath his touch.
“I will. Something tells me I won’t be needing that.” And there’s a glint in Jimin’s eye that floors him, that timid demeanour finally finding its falter as Jimin’s lips tug into a teasing smile, and perhaps Yoongi can finally show Jimin all there is to know; finally, he may have settled.
“Good. Now let's make you dinner, yeah?”
But Jimin halts, stilling in Yoongi’s hold, his palm drawing down to cup his cheek and gently graze the soft rounds, and Jimin can’t quite help but lean into it. “Can I wash up first?” He asks, sweet under every small ministration, and Yoongi wonders just if time may lead the reversal, would Jimin tend to him so divinely?
“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll make you something nice, alright?” Yoongi leans in a little closer, breath grazing his skin prompting a blush to tint Jimin’s cheeks rose. “Aren’t you lovely?” He whispers, lips teasing before Jimin’s own and perhaps he’d bridge the gap if he wasn’t frozen before him, but it seems Yoongi reduces him to little more than a stammered tongue. “Take your time and come down when you’re done. I doubt it’ll be ready but I don’t feel like I’ve seen you all day and I’ve missed seeing you around. You bring life here, Jimin-ah, maybe that’s what we’ve all needed.”
“Sorry, hyung.”
But Yoongi shakes his head, the tips of his fingers never halting their brush. “I’ve just been busy, I shouldn’t have neglected you— it’s all new. I’ll invite Seokie and Jeonggukie over tomorrow— I think it’s important for you to get familiar with them. Seokie’s good— he really would do anything for you. I’m sure Jeonggukie would do the same.” A small smile toys against Jimin’s lips, and as Yoongi draws closer, his own pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, it’s one ever-growing. “Get washed, yeah? I’ll make us some dinner.” Another follows, perhaps lingering that little longer but it feels serene, and for once Jimin begins to feel wanted— despite its unconventional nature, he wonders if he has truly found the place where he belongs.
He leaves Yoongi to prepare dinner, Yoongi’s gaze unable to falter from his frame as he turns to the stairs wanting nothing more than to hold him, kiss him breathless and to be the man who leaves him undone— a gentle hand drawing out what sounds he found delectably divine. But it’s simply more than that, and whilst physically he craves that once more, he truly wants to be Jimin’s pillar, and perhaps he’ll finally have a pillar of his own; a man who can understand him with kindness and stand beside him, just as he’ll undoubtedly stand beside Jimin. It’s far too early to tell and maybe it’s born through Yoongi’s lack of experience, never one to let his heart bare all that it is, but with Jimin it seems to show all that it can without intention, and whilst it’s a vulnerability he isn’t quite versed in, it’s one he delicately welcomes, for he knows Jimin is worth it. And as his heart leads the course, his head stays steadfast, that Jimin is simply an asset that they do not have and to take down the man who’s caused his hurt will only be that bit sweeter by his own hand.
Jimin washes with his usual routine, lavender and chamomile shrouding his frame and hands rubbing lotion into his skin leaving it cotton-soft. It’s unchanging and provides a small piece of home with Yoongi more than happy to buy all he needs. But Jimin isn’t quite sure whether Yoongi’s expecting grandeur for dinner, having bought perhaps all the clothes he could ever need in the time he’s spent at his apartment, settling on something that little neater just in case, never wishing to offend.
It’s funny, he thinks, that comfort has found its feet stringing between them yet the turn of the month hasn’t fallen and the new year simply lingers against the horizon. Yet there’s a familiarity that can only be born through proximity and whilst neither dares to spend every waking hour in the other’s presence, what time they do have together is nothing short of sweet. Yoongi never condescends, never chides and always draws out gentle laughter from Jimin’s tongue. He’s a little silly, he learns, that Yoongi may be a man Seoul’s most wicked fear, but deep down he’s gentle and kind, laughter lining walls as they settle with coffees in hand— wine and whiskey to follow— and Jimin begins to find peace in his smoke-peppered hold, warm and assuring and everything home simply could never provide. Yoongi is swear, solace strung through every breath that parts and Jimin begins to believe that Yoongi would never dare hurt him, simply a man who could never bring harm to those that he holds close. He resides in the notion that Yoongi never harms those innocent, that each number against his score is the result of those doing that that he abhors. Yet that’s cold comfort knowing what lines his life, the result of the demise of so many and it leaves Jimin just that little nauseous at the single thought, however, it’s a life adjacent to Jimin’s own, not least for gaining an empire no matter the cost.
He makes his way to the kitchen, Yoongi’s gentle hums shrouding him in comfort to the background of what sizzle stems from the pan, Yoongi having begun to sear marinated meat for their dinner.
“You smell nice, sweetheart.” Yoongi begins as he turns to Jimin, pulling out a barstool for him to sit against, not before a swift peck to his head leaving Jimin just that little bit giddy. “Did I buy that for you?”
“In the order that came the other day, it’s the lotion.” It falls light as he sits, Yoongi’s gaze trained firmly on his own and Jimin has learned to simply welcome his undivided attention. The kind of care he’s never quite felt, that every word that tumbles past his lips holds a worth beyond all he could ever believe.
“Get comfortable, alright? It won’t be too long, and let me know if you need to order anything else.” Yet Jimin simply shakes his head, a small apology falling leaving confusion to contort Yoongi’s face.
“It’s a lot. You’re kind to me but it’s overwhelming. I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t this reserved the night I met you, were you? But you’re right— it’s a lot. I’d never expect you to be comfortable right away. Tell me if it’s all too much, Jimin-ah, yeah? Tell me if you ever need anything.” Yoongi hums, fingers aching to graze the supple round of Jimin’s cheek but his fingers are honey-lined, sticky and coated with the gochujang sauce he made.
Jimin laughs a little, sweet and divine and Yoongi thinks he could perhaps hear that sound for all eternity, not that he’s worthy— he’s quite certain he could never be.
“I feel fine, I promise, it just might take time. Though, that was a bit of an act that night just for you to fuck me.” And Yoongi’s laughter bubbles against his tongue, eyes closed and head tilted back. “Can I help with cutting anything?”
“You could just these carrots— thin, yeah?”
Jimin nods, taking leave from the stool and standing beside Yoongi. His hands are washed and as his palms find rest at his waist, gently moving beside him, Jimin’s breath stammers against his tongue. He places peeled carrots before him, lips a hair’s breadth from grazing his lobe as he bends over him, all but caging him against the kitchen bench.
“In little sticks if you can. I’m making japchae.” And it shouldn’t leave Jimin all but breathless, yet it does, Yoongi’s chest pressed against his spine and lips puffing heat against his ear. He withdraws as quickly as he positioned himself, turning to place the next batch of sliced meat in the pan, sauce sticky against its base.
“You know, I wondered the other night… you’re sweet to me. Is it a ploy, hyung?” It falls with a little tease, a drawl woven through each vowel and lined with a soft laugh, leaving Yoongi’s lips to tug in a gentle smile.
“No? Why would it be? It’s no secret that your father owes me, but haven’t I said that it isn’t your burden to carry?”
“So was I just that good then, hm?” The playful lilt never leaves and Yoongi hopes it never does, simply seeing Jimin finally that bit brighter spreading warmth within his veins.
“I won’t lie, I don’t usually come back but I would for you. Time and time again.” And sincerity finds its weave throughout each syllable that falls, eyes housing it in spades threaded against deep umber irises, and whilst Jimin doesn’t quite dare to look, he knows Yoongi’s gaze is firmly on him— never faltering. It prompts a blush to tint Jimin’s cheeks crimson, breath giggle-lined and eyes trained on finishing the julienne of the carrots.
“It isn’t a burden having me here, is it?”
“Have I made you feel that way?” Yoongi asks, a little bit solemn.
“You haven’t, I just… maybe I still don’t quite understand… why me?”
“Come here— they look really good, done?” Jimin nods, taking place beside Yoongi turns the meat over, grilling the other side. “You overheard me on the phone— strike one. ” Yoongi holds up a finger, finding its eventual rest grazing just beneath Jimin’s eye. “I can be a selfish man and I didn’t want to leave you— that’s strike two . And the final one? I know your family, Jimin-ah. I know your father and what a vile man he is, and I know that if you ever opened your mouth about what we did, it’d give him reason to hurt you. I wouldn’t have given you a problem, he would’ve, and I took to you too much to let that happen to you. That’s why. But having you here? It’s nice. I like having someone close who doesn’t ask questions or rile me up, you’re just nice to be around.”
Jimin’s breath stammers and his eyes widen just that little, saliva syrup-thick against his tongue. “I can’t understand how a man like yourself can be like that… I sound harsh, god , I say things without thinking sometimes.” It leaves Yoongi to laugh, head once more thrown back and body delicately wracked, and Jimin finds tentative comfort in baring himself to the man despite his position— that no matter what finds its fall, Yoongi could never scold him.
“You saw me kill someone. I’m not a good man but it doesn’t mean I’m heartless. I may not know you but you’ve made your mark on me enough to want to keep safe— you wouldn’t be on your own. Isn’t that reason enough to have you around? And as Jeonggukie said, if you can help us, you’ll be invaluable.”
Confusion settles in Jimin’s eyes, wondering just what his role will entail, and it leaves just as much apprehension as curiosity to pool within his chest. “What kinds of things would I do?” He dares to ask, Yoongi’s lips tugging in a knowing smile as he turns his attention back to him, meat replaced with vegetables in a brief fry.
“Look pretty beside me.” And Jimin laughs, perhaps not quite believing Yoongi’s words yet they’re met with a serious glance, never biting but one halting his smile, falling as question settles in its place. “I mean it. When I go abroad, I like someone with me. You’d be perfect, sweetheart. But your charm— it’s how you got me, wasn’t it? It’d be useful. Men aren’t bright when they have a pretty man before them, I’m sure you know that.”
Jimin hums, lip tugged between his teeth as he simply thinks for a moment, silence stilling around them unmarred save for the hiss of the pan. “You want me to be your honeypot, right? Seduce them so you have your way with them.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Would that be alright?”
“I-I’m not sure, but you’d be around, wouldn’t you?” Jimin asks, hesitancy now thick against his frame, but it doesn’t seem all that wicked in actuality, simply doing all he’s ever done for Yoongi to take his course. His hands would be free from all, he thinks, and he wonders just if it’d garner his place beside Yoongi— a place that deep down, his heart yearns to be.
“I would and I’d never let you get hurt. Jeonggukie wouldn’t either, he’s had explicit instructions on your safety.”
Silence once more shrouds them for a moment, only to be broken by another tentative question. “And if I can’t do it?”
“Then you can’t and you’ll still stay with us. As I’ve said, your place here isn’t transactional, sweetheart.”
“Can I think for a bit?” Jimin’s eyes hold a brightness that Yoongi rarely bears witness to, and as he cups his cheek, he pokes a piece of meat between parted lips.
“Of course. Taste this, hm? Tell me what you think.”
Jimin’s lips tug as he chews, eyes rolling just that little in satisfaction leaving a small hum to line his tongue, and as Yoongi wipes what sauce clings to his lips with his thumb, Jimin’s cheeks redden.
“Oh, you are good. I didn’t expect you to cook this well at all.” He closes his eyes as a smile takes hold, Yoongi pushing another piece in his mouth for good measure, and perhaps if it’s simply to see Jimin smile that little wider, he never dares to let that thought tumble.
“You’re sweet, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi’s words are soft, shyness settling yet he hides it well, quickly turning back to the stove.
It’s warm as they eat despite winter’s chill firmly showing its hand, but conversation strings between them fueled by japchae-lined tongues and the simple want to delve deeper into what comprises the other. Yoongi learns that Jimin went to university to study literature— against his father’s wishes, he grimaces, and perhaps it bares all he never quite wishes to let fall, leaving Yoongi’s jaw to clench. But it was an education he enjoyed, never once wishing to take over his father’s business, deeming such a life one he’d rather leave than be forced to stay in. He knows he’s lucky, that there are many others who’d give all they have for the life he’s led, but perhaps they never knew what pain lined each breath, simply wishing it all away. The grass is always greener, they say, but Jimin knows that with Yoongi, his is the most divine pasture, a little blood-laced yet impossibly kind, unwavering safety and sanctuary shrouding him in all that he never knew was possible.
“You’re stronger than you know, sweetheart,” Yoongi says as it draws quiet, threads of hurt lacing Jimin’s eyes having fallen just that little. “And I’m lucky to have you here— I really am.”
“You— you are too,” Jimin replies, perhaps a beat too quickly, yet it leaves Yoongi’s cheeks to frame a sweet smile. “I don’t think you realise just how strong you are. I know you’ve gone through things you might never tell me— and that’s okay— but I can tell. I think you’re a very strong man and— and know that if you need to… hyung…” he pauses for a brief moment, hand finding Yoongi’s own over the table, drawing light grazes just as Yoongi has done to him. “You can always cry to me. You can always come to me if… if you need someone, hyung. I know it’s hard to trust someone you don’t know too much but if you’re willing to protect me then… you have me.”
Yoongi’s tongue rounds around words that never fall, simply a whispered, “Thank you, that means more to me than you’ll ever know,” finding its feet as vulnerabilities rear their heads.
The night falls with them tucked beneath blankets on the sofa, the sound of the TV doing little to stave off what strings between them— delicate tension seemingly unmarred— and whilst both ache to simply touch the other, pull them close and perhaps never let go, neither dare to bridge the distance. Vulnerabilities lie before them and despite feeling more exposed than Yoongi’s ever felt, it feels sweet, finally someone to ease the burden should he let them in, yet it’s that simple thought that’s perhaps most daunting.
—
Christmas comes and goes with little more than Jeongguk and Hoseok coming over, Yoongi having hauled himself in his office and Jimin isn’t quite sure why he expected any different, for he’s a man who never seems to take much notice of such holidays. But Jeongguk and Hoseok see faint disappointment thread through Jimin’s eyes, getting to know him that little better leaving laughter strewn through all that it can cling to, and whilst the situation is perhaps less than ideal, Jimin knows he’s never felt a place quite as homely as in their presence. Whilst presents aren’t given, food is eaten, fried chicken lining their fingers with its grease as sticky-sweet sauce clings to their tongues, yet Yoongi never appears, buried in what work he says he has, but Hoseok’s slight frown spells to Jimin that he might not be telling the truth. They leave after a while shrouding Jimin in muted silence, the slight muffle of the TV before him playing cheesy Christmas movies he’s seen more times to count becoming his only company, but it’s warm before the fire, cheeks rose-tinted and limbs shielded by a thick blanket, and it gives some semblance of comfort despite Yoongi’s absence. And as the night draws on, Jimin’s eyes turn a little more heavy-lidded as the moon finds its languid descent, but Yoongi stands beside him, a slight puff of heat drawing Jimin out of his fragile repose.
“H-hyung,”
“Merry Christmas, Jimin-ah. I’m sorry I couldn’t spend it with you all today.” Sincerity never falters, but perhaps what lies deeper and never quite bares itself is the thought that Yoongi could never be worthy of such celebrations, that Christmas such as any other day is a stark reminder of all that he’s become and all that he’s sacrificed to simply live.
“Merry Christmas, hyung. You’re here now. Want a drink? Jeonggukie bought over some mulled wine if you wanted a glass.” Jimin asks, sitting up to make room for Yoongi on the sofa, but as he shakes his head, his face falls just that little, selfishly wishing to spend the evening with the man he’s come to find tentative comfort in.
“I—I should sleep.”
“Oh.” It falls fast and dejected, and Yoongi can’t help but tear his gaze from Jimin’s now-solemn face, wondering just if he could ever be worthy of something so sweet or if he’s simply the wicked man he’s always been told. It’s a name he’s grown into— had to, he knows— a name once given to a little boy holding the world in his palm, now meant for a man who lines fear in the hearts of Seoul.
“I… I suppose I can stay up. Did you have a nice day?” Yoongi moves to sit beside Jimin who pulls back the blanket, immediately throwing it over Yoongi’s thighs as he sits. He’s tucked in the corner, toes grazing Yoongi’s leg as they’re drawn up, hair that little tousled and cheeks doughy, skin sleep-soft and warm and perhaps, Yoongi dares to think, it’ll all be alright with Jimin beside him.
“I did. Your friends are really nice.”
Yoongi laughs, it’s strained but reaches his eyes and Jimin wonders just why Yoongi never joined them, but simply being beside him for a moment feels right— more so than he could ever envisage.
“I’m glad. They tease me more than anything but they’re reliable— it’s what I need.”
Jimin’s hum is delicate, head drooping just that little as he reaches for his glass of mulled wine. He’s more tired than anything, trying to stay up just to wish Yoongi sweet dreams .
“Saved you fried chicken. Hoseokie said you wouldn’t eat it but I wrapped it up just in case.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” And perhaps Hoseok is right yet how could Yoongi ever deny Jimin? How could he ever reject a gesture that he’s certain was simply mindless for Jimin, but is one lined with an affection Yoongi has never borne witness to? “I’ll be sure to have it.”
“If— if you heat it quickly in the oven— hot— it’ll be nice. The sauce was sweet but spicy.” Jimin’s voice is little more than a faint whisper, a tender wash against his breath leaving serenity to shroud their frames.
“Don’t you want to sleep?” Yoongi asks, but Jimin simply shakes his head.
“Waited up for you.”
Yoongi’s breath stammers, eyes widen, and what pit lines his chest feels that little deeper— ever-consuming. He places a tentative palm on Jimin’s knee, watching as he finishes the rest of the wine leaving his lips burgundy-laced and delectably sweet, fueling the ache to simply reach and kiss them. Yet his eyes wander to the coffee table before them, a small sprig of mistletoe with a note scrawled in Hoseok’s writing— for Yoongi and Jimin , it reads— and perhaps Jimin simply never sees it, slightly shielded from his view by the bottle of wine beside it, but Yoongi wonders just why his two closest are so adamant about him finding someone, and if they, too, see just how perfect Jimin is.
“You didn’t need to, Jimin-ah.”
“Wanted to. Wanted to say Merry Christmas .” The words leave Jimin’s lips to tug, a sweet lilt despite what fatigue clearly settles.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” And Yoongi wishes to reach for that small sprig, let his lips graze Jimin’s own as his palms cup his cheeks. His body beneath his own, soft and gentle, as if little else matters but what they so delicately seem to hold. “Shouldn’t you sleep? You look exhausted.” He watches as Jimin’s eyes fight their close, lips parted in serenity and tugging just lightly at each corner.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Get to bed, hm? Thank you for staying up, Jimin-ah. I’m sorry it couldn’t be a Christmas like you’re used to.” But Jimin simply shakes his head, little strands tumbling against crimson-laced cheeks and Yoongi bites down with all that he holds not to reach and hold him, treat him so tenderly and let him fall apart beneath him. Lips against lips, fingers finding rest brushing lines down spines, and a hold so delicate— the kind that deep down, Yoongi knows he needs for himself.
“Was nice, don’t apologise. Just wish you were here, s’all.” His words fall that little more slurred now, sleep all but tugging him under despite his best efforts to stave it off.
“Let me get you to bed, sweetheart, yeah?”
Jimin nods, small and perhaps barely there yet Yoongi catches it, helping Jimin to his feet who all but stumbles at the first step, prompting Yoongi’s hand firmly around his waist in support as a smile never quite leaves his lips. They’re close, bodies pressed together and the sprig of mistletoe within an arms reach, but Yoongi never dares to hold it within his grasp, unwilling to break what delicate comfort they’ve found themselves engulfed in, and despite knowing what foundations spurred on their lives to entwine, what strings between them feels that little deeper to Yoongi as each day passes. It’s no longer simply lust-lined, for Yoongi isn’t quite sure— that even in this brief time together— he could ever find peace without Jimin beside him.
He settles Jimin in his bed, covers drawn back as he clambers beneath them, tucking them tightly under his chin, and whilst he aches to dip down, let his tongue poke between softly parted lips, he never does, simply a small peck against his head as he wishes Jimin goodnight . His response is slurred and perhaps more sounds than words, but it spreads warmth within Yoongi all the same, and whilst he’s never placed weight on days such as Christmas, perhaps this is the first he’s ever felt some fragile happiness, vowing never to let Jimin feel what hurt he has had to endure.
Jimin has warmed to Yoongi much more than he ever thought he could, seeking out his attention when alone at home and each small touch leaving him with rose-dusted cheeks. Yoongi’s that little more stoic when others are around, he learns— perhaps to save face— but when they’re simply together, Jimin could never envision a comfort more serene. For a moment he forgets just who Yoongi is— who he is— and resides in what trust strings between them as Yoongi draws more out of him than he could ever know. Yet whilst nights, when Yoongi isn’t occupied with work, feel divine, when he’s away Jimin feels loneliness sink into his veins. They laugh together, jokes never far from tongues and touches feel light and gentle as if never intending to be more than simple assurance, and Jimin begins to believe that whilst their first meeting was clouded by wanton lust, Yoongi’s motive is never that, for he makes Jimin feel worth more than he could ever spell. Christmas wasn’t quite all he had imagined but Yoongi’s kindness never faltered beside the veil of hurt within his gaze, and as New Year settles before them, the early ring of fireworks in the distance despite midnight still hours away, they sit in Yoongi’s small living room beside his bedroom, a place of comfort that he’s readily entrusted Jimin into residing in. No other find their rest there and Jimin dares never to read into it, for what answers that may arise could lead him further into falling for a man he knows he should never let his heart yearn for.
“You should play your guitar, hyung.” It falls that bit cheeky with a teasing drawl, never quite meaning it but Yoongi immediately stands at Jimin’s words, walking over to the guitar tucked beside the lit fireplace before sitting it against his thighs. “I bet you’re good— your hidden talent.” Jimin’s laughter is light, woven through each vowel and leaving a slight playful air to string between them.
“Hm, you’ll have to tell me if you like it, I haven’t played for a while— never had the time to.” Yoongi hums, watching as Jimin curls up that little more beside him, and as he starts to play, his eyes widen in surprise, never quite expecting what delicate sounds Yoongi draws from the tips of his fingers.
They’re warm, honey-lined notes tumbling into each other with grace and dexterity— penned by a learned hand. Despite Yoongi’s words that Jimin should never expect much, it’s a sound more beautiful than Jimin could ever have thought— a sound he knows he could reside in forever. Jimin gently hums along, a song he’s well-versed in eventually tumbling from his tongue in a feather-light chorus, leaving Yoongi’s lips to tug and gaze to find welcome rest against Jimin’s face. But it ends quickly, perhaps as shyness takes its course as Yoongi places the guitar beside him, head dipped and a smile lining his rose-tinted cheeks, a strained puff of laughter the only sound to cut through what tension finds its feet.
“You play beautifully, hyung. You should play more often, you’re very talented.”
And Yoongi hums, air stilling around them for a brief moment before he turns to Jimin once more. “I don’t get on my knees often but I would beg to truly hear you sing, sweetheart.”
Jimin’s lips part as his eyes widen, a small gasp tumbling from his tongue as it finds its way around a stammer, words never quite eventuating as they fall. Each word that Yoongi lays bare is one tugging Jimin that little closer into his hold, and he wonders how dangerous it’d be to let himself completely fall, or if this is simply a ploy for his father’s demise.
“You don’t have to do that.” He replies quietly, words uncertain and petal-soft. “I-I’d just show you… maybe not now, though.” It’s lined with a small smile and Yoongi aches to touch. To cup his cheek and hold him within his palm, kiss him breathlessly to draw out what saccharine sounds he knows will take their fall.
“That’s alright. Stay here though, yeah? I’ve got you something.” Yoongi stands, quickly dipping into his bedroom to pull out a small box, once more taking place beside Jimin, perhaps that little closer now. “Here. It’s nothing much but… I felt bad I didn’t spend Christmas with you all and I could tell it means a lot to you. Take it as an apology.”
Yoongi hands Jimin the velveteen box, emerald green and soft beneath his touch, and as he opens it, his eyes widen just that little more, delicate fingers pulling out a dainty necklace housing a lilac stone.
“H-hyung… it’s beautiful. But— but I haven’t gotten you anything in return.” Each word stumbles through a whispered breath, Jimin’s eyes almost brimming with tears as Yoongi’s lips tug, and Jimin knows he’s never felt so cherished as with Yoongi, that the brief time they’ve spent together has truly given him a sense of worth beyond words.
“I don’t need anything, I just want to see you smile. Let me put it on, hm? You look like you suit jewellery like this— pretty things.”
Jimin nods, turning around for Yoongi to fasten the platinum clasp, the tips of his fingers lingering against his nape and drawing faint lines. Yet Jimin knows it could never mean anything, barely a month has passed from when they met and perhaps Yoongi gave the others a gift too, or perhaps it’s simply the thought he lets lie to stave off his stammering heart.
—
It’s cold without Yoongi beside him, Jimin learns, especially as winter turns that little harsher, nights drawing longer and what chill lingers seemingly never takes its rest, leaving bones to ache and yearning to settle for warmth as he sleeps. It’s a juvenile thought really, he thinks as he sits on the sofa with a well-read book in his hand from Yoongi’s bookshelf, but if Yoongi were next to him, that chill wouldn’t feel as biting and perhaps loneliness wouldn’t leave his heart to ache. Once more, it turns late before Yoongi arrives, seemingly always on a job now with Jeongguk beside him, Hoseok occasionally coming over to work in Yoongi’s office yet the building that they share seems to take precedence over Yoongi’s penthouse, never willing for others to know its whereabouts— not with Jimin inside, he so often details. And as December rolls into January, a month passes, Jimin becomes that little more comfortable in Yoongi’s home yet aching to spend more time with the man. Perhaps it’s simply the sudden isolation from all that he’s known, no longer nights that little tipsy beneath stranger’s sheets to rid of what ache resides deep, but he occupies himself the best that he can and finds comfort in both Jeongguk and Hoseok who tend to him oh-so-carefully. They become his tentative support, two men who’d string what stars line the sky just to see him smile, yet they both know that Yoongi would do that and more for Jimin’s heart, never quite daring to let those thoughts tumble from his lips.
Jimin hears a mumbled drawl, Yoongi thanking his bodyguards just as usual before stumbling into the apartment, and Jimin never quite sees his state before he turns to his bedroom, often in his own to avoid potential scolding at seeing what he perhaps shouldn’t, but that never comes as Yoongi stands in the hall just before the living room, leaving Jimin’s eyes to widen just at the state of him. His shirt is bloodied, his lip bruised and his cheek cut, what cotton lines his frame ripped and a strained smile settles against his face that Jimin could never mirror, for he stands and all but rushes over to him, eyes laden with concern and a sinking feeling deep within his chest.
“H-hyung,” he begins, drawing the hem of his own t-shirt up to wipe what blood lies fresh against his skin.
“They got me good tonight…” It falls with a slight puff of laughter, once more strained and unsure, but Jimin pays it little mind, simply scanning his frame for his injuries. The tips of his fingers graze his cheek in a cotton-soft touch, eyes wide and brows furrowed in worry, and for the first time, nausea settles within Yoongi’s core; what was once seemingly a badge of honour leaves him more vulnerable than he could have ever thought.
“It’ll hurt. Where else?” Jimin asks, his voice a hushed whisper and uneasy.
Yoongi swallows thickly, tongue decidedly leaden in his mouth as his eyes avert from Jimin’s own, simply watching what pain threads through them leaving that pit to grow a little larger in his chest.
“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’ll be fine.”
Yet Jimin shakes his head, leading Yoongi further into the room and beneath the light, a small gasp parting his lips as it reveals more of what damage has been dealt against Yoongi’s frame.
“I’ll clean them— you shouldn’t get hurt, hyung.” And it’s these words that leave Yoongi breathless, yet never in the way he could wish for, simply wanting the ground to swallow him whole. But Jimin braces himself and waits for a firm hand, the veil of gentleness finally breaking, but it’s one that never comes as Yoongi simply nods, letting Jimin tend to him so delicately. “Take— take a shower or bath and… and I’ll clean these.” Jimin stammers after a moment of silence, turning to find all that he can to clean Yoongi’s wounds.
It takes Yoongi little time to have a shower, body clean except for what grazes line his skin, and the sting of water against those open cuts leaves his eyes to prick, but perhaps Jimin’s worry-laden eyes branded into his mind leaves those same tears to tumble. He gets out to Jimin standing by the door, hesitant as he holds gauze and bandages, steriliser to clean each wound, and Yoongi knows he’s a lucky man to have someone tend to him so kindly, but he wishes Jimin never had to see this side, trying to so desperately shield him from all of what comprises his world. But there’s only so much secrecy can hide as it’ll always find its way out, and now Jimin has seen him so vulnerable— no longer wearing each wound with pride of victory— he wishes for nothing more than to sink into his hold.
“Come in, yeah?” Yoongi says, his voice that little wavered as Jimin steps closer.
“I’ll just treat the wounds, is that alright?” Yet Jimin gasps as Yoongi turns around, the white towel blood-soaked around his frame doing little to conceal what gaping cut lines his back.
It leaves that same nausea to pool once more, exposed before Jimin as he bears witness to all he wishes he could have prevented. “Sorry— you shouldn’t see me like this.”
Jimin says little else, simply ushering him to sit down on the bed as he tends to the grazes on his face. At the first press of alcohol, Yoongi breathes in a shudder, prompting Jimin to gently hold his hand as he tends to each cut. Cotton-soft assurances fall, eyes ever-fond yet laden with worry, and Yoongi can’t bring himself to peer into them for too long, solemnity finding its feet to shroud them in delicate tension. His touch is as gentle as Yoongi’s was to him, tending to every graze with a deft hand and what skin is still intact is lightly kissed, Yoongi’s breath stammering against his tongue with each one that’s pressed against him.
Jimin leans forward, trying to get to the large wound on Yoongi’s back but he can’t quite reach, fingertips whisper-soft against his frame.
“Lie on your stomach, I’ll get to it better that way.” And his voice falls equally as so, providing warmth and distilled kindness through a faint whisper, never once asking how each one was earned. He aids Yoongi onto his stomach, careful of never aggravating what wounds have now found their tentative heal, and lets his fingers trail his skin in an absent-minded touch. “Oh, Yoongi…” He sighs, words stammering under his breath yet Yoongi hears every sound that falls, tugging him further into what guilt lines his frame. “It’ll hurt, hold my hand and squeeze it, alright? It’ll sting.”
Yoongi nods, clutching Jimin’s hand once more, and as Jimin gently dabs the cloth laced with alcohol on his skin, he all but hisses.
“I’m so sorry, hyung.” It’s instinctual as Jimin continues, soft apologies falling with each grimace, but Yoongi never jolts, earning himself a small kiss on his nape as Jimin finishes. “You’re doing so well. I’ll wait for it to heal a little and put gauze over it. Shouldn’t be too long, I promise.” Each word is mumbled against his skin, a soft graze in assurance leaving Yoongi to gently hum, fingers tightening in Jimin’s hold and for a brief moment, he forgets about just why Jimin’s beside him.
“S-sorry…” Yoongi’s voice falls a little broken, perhaps weaker than Jimin has ever seen, or maybe it’s never weakness that finds its feet, but vulnerability in a strength he rarely displays.
“Don’t be. I just want to make sure you’re okay. Nothing hurts, does it? Nothing’s broken? I don’t need to call an ambulance?” Yoongi shakes his head as Jimin’s fingers trail down his spine, a delicate touch as he presses a final kiss to his head.
But Yoongi wonders why Jimin never asks how it happened, and why such unwavering understanding stills between them. “Why— why aren’t you mad?”
“Mad? It’s part of your world, isn’t it? I trust you’ll tell me if and when you want to— I’d never push you. You’ve shown me kindness, hyung, let me do the same to you.”
Yoongi’s eyes widen, meeting Jimin’s gaze to still see that same worry thread within it. “I’m just… I’m sorry.” And Jimin never replies, simply bending to draw his hand to his lips and pressing a petal-soft graze against them.
“You can sit up if you want. I’ll just tape it up, alright? Just for today— it’ll be alright to air out from tomorrow.”
Yoongi does, Jimin’s gentle hand hauling him up before he tapes up his wound, turning around to leave him to dress. He stays at Yoongi’s tentative command, wanting nothing more than to tend to Yoongi just as he has to Jimin, and perhaps it’s that little selfish, but he wishes to be tucked in his hold once more, staving off what chill of loneliness has found its way. Yet Yoongi never specified how long, a yawn parting his lips prompting Jimin to turn to the door and deep down he knows that Yoongi may want privacy to rewind all of the night's events— what Jimin never knows but the simple thoughts line his mind of all that could’ve transpired— prompting that same ache to settle within Jimin’s chest once more.
“You should get some sleep, hyung. Goodnight.” He says, his voice a little wavered and hesitant, and perhaps what hurts more than seeing Yoongi stagger through the door is watching how his face falls, eyes pleading with words unspoken.
“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this, sweetheart.”
Jimin shakes his head, the beginnings of a strained smile tugging at his cheeks. “I chose it, didn’t I? I knew you’d hurt people and people would hurt you, but I suppose you hurting those who kill innocent people eases my mind a bit. Robin Hood , aren’t you?” It falls with a gentle string of laughter, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt— that little blood-stained, never finding time to change it as he tended to Yoongi’s wounds.
“D-did you… did you want to stay?” Yoongi stammers eyes wide and lips parted in a soft pout, and Jimin is quite certain he’s never seen the man more vulnerable. “Or… or not. You don’t have to. I just—”
“Did you want me to stay, hyung?” Jimin’s question falls quickly, words grazing Yoongi’s own. “I will if you’d like me to.” And Yoongi nods, tongue undaring to part with all that he wishes to say, but it prompts Jimin to step that little closer, sitting on the bed beside him and placing a gentle palm on his knee.
“Have you eaten?”
Jimin laughs softly with eyes sweet crescents as he nods. “Jeonggukie came and brought us some jjajangmyeon— he’s very kind, isn’t he? You were right, we get along well. Have you eaten, hyung? I can make you something if you’d like. You must be hungry.” His thumb grazes circles against his thigh, clothes and covered yet spreading distilled warmth through Yoongi’s veins, and he finds it difficult to fight melting into his touch, so he simply lets himself reside in all that Jimin offers as fatigue settles.
“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. You’ve done more than enough tonight— thank you.”
“You look tired, hyung. Won’t you sleep?” Jimin asks, yet Yoongi simply shakes his head.
“I— It’s okay. It’s been a lot.” Each word is laced with a slight waver, perhaps fear that Jimin may leave him despite his insistence he’ll stay, and it’s a fear voiced through stammered breath, prompting Jimin’s hold to tighten just that little. “I don’t want you to leave.” He bares that bit more whispered, as if never quite willing for Jimin to hear it, but he does, his face falling and eyes widening as the words shroud them in tensity.
“I-I don’t have to.”
“I don’t want to force you to stay.”
“But you aren’t. I’ll stay— you should sleep. I won’t leave you, hyung. I promise you.”
Yoongi nods, not quite certain of what words may fall if he lets them, so he simply draws back the covers and lets Jimin clamber beside him after taking off his blood-stained shirt, sweet tousled curls splayed out against ivory pillows and turned to face Yoongi, eyes still housing concern. He yawns despite his attempt to stifle it leaving a slight smile to tug at his cheeks as a light giggle bubbles against his tongue.
“If you need me, wake me, alright? Goodnight, hyung.” He says, words housing unwavering sincerity as he shuffles that little closer to Yoongi.
“Goodnight, Jimin-ah. Thank you.”
Yet despite closing his eyes, hearing the soft puffs of heat from Jimin’s breath— the only thing marring what silence all but pierces Yoongi’s ears— sleep never quite takes him. Jimin’s serene beside him, lips just barely parted and hands resting beside his head, and Yoongi can’t bite down all of the evening's fears. His throat constricts, eyes opening to Jimin still before him and breath stammering, his eyes pricking with the salted sting of tears and for once he wishes he were alone— that Jimin never sees him revealing all he so desperately wishes to conceal. Jimin never deserves this, he thinks, such a sweet, beautiful man wrapped up in his father’s dealings, and Yoongi never quite hears what sniffles wake him— tumbling from his own lips— nor does he feel what tears cascade heated tracks down crimson-blotched cheeks, not until Jimin’s fingers draw up to his skin, gently wiping away each one with a delicate touch.
“Hyung, come here.” He says, shuffling a little closer, arm around his waist to pull him onto his frame, affirmations never halting from his tongue.
Yoongi’s head finds its rest on his bare chest, nose brushing Jimin’s throat as soft fingers card through slightly damp strands, and what clings to his lips is a soothing hum, finally lulling Yoongi into fragile serenity. Jimin’s hold is firm yet cautious, cotton-soft kisses against his head as he lets a hand graze the top of his spine, and as Yoongi teeters on the border of much-needed repose, he, too, kisses Jimin’s skin in silent gratitude for all that he has provided.
“Thank you, Jimin-ah. I-I’m sorry.” Yoongi manages, his voice thin and fatigued and he never quite sees the smile that toys on Jimin’s face, his hold tightening just that little as he does so.
“Try to sleep, alright? I’ve got you, hyung. I won’t leave you. You’re alright here— with me. Nothing will hurt you.”
And for all of the nights that Yoongi has dealt with it alone, he now has Jimin beside him, an unwavering hold lulling him into tender respite. He doesn’t deserve it, he lets himself believe, but for a moment he’s simply enough to reside within Jimin’s delicate care. It doesn’t take long for him to drift off, Jimin’s hums and the warmth of his skin against his own shrouding him in comfort, easing the descent within his grasp.
“You’ve been through more than you’ll tell me, hm? Is that why you want to keep me safe?” Jimin asks through a whispered breath, unwilling to sleep before Yoongi does, wanting to ensure he finally finds some small moments of peace despite what events left him scarred. “Don’t think I don’t know, hyung. But you’re more than you’ll ever let yourself believe— I can tell you never wanted this.” Jimin presses a final kiss to Yoongi’s head, tugging him just that little bit closer. “Sweet dreams, hyung.” His words fall cotton-soft, and as he’s certain Yoongi’s breath calms as sleep takes its firm hand, he, too, closes his eyes to let what fatigue lines his frame pull him under; Yoongi a welcome warmth against him leaving that ache of loneliness to find its falter.