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Yoongi leaned back against the headboard, taking a deep drag from the cigarette resting between his lips, scribbling new lyrics into the notebook on his lap. He’d probably end up fighting with Jimin over this, but for now, his husband was too busy staring at himself in the mirror, wearing one of those ridiculous face masks.
Yoongi jotted down a few more words on the last line, then turned to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray. The sound of approaching footsteps made him glance up, and there was Jimin, standing in front of him with a devilish grin and mini pajama shorts.
“Ah, for fuck’s sake.”
Jimin ignored him. Despite the chick-patterned mask covering his face, his eyes somehow managed to look threatening. He leaned down, holding out another sheet mask, and in a sickly sweet tone, he chirped, “Self-care night!” as he slapped it onto Yoongi’s face.
Sometimes, Yoongi just couldn’t believe this. He shared a bed with the man who burned down stages, bared his soul, and showed the world his rebellious side. But this was the same man?
Jimin pulled back, inspecting the cat-shaped mask now plastered across Yoongi’s face. Then he leaned down, planting a lingering kiss on Yoongi’s lips, before crawling across the bed to his side. He plopped down, adjusted his pillow, and completely ignored the daggers being glared in his direction.
“I’m expecting sex in return for this mask.”
“That’s not how this works, hyung.”
“I hate these masks. There should be some compensation.”
“Look on the bright side. You love me.” Jimin reached out, grabbed the notebook from Yoongi’s hands, and snapped it shut before tossing it onto his bedside table. “Also, no working in bed.”
Yoongi groaned, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. “How can I love you so much and hate you at the same time?”
“If you keep talking, I’ll steal one of these songs and make it the title track of our next album.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Yoongi groaned again, glancing at the clock. It was almost morning, thanks to their late-night performance, but at least they had no shows tomorrow. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion as he looked over at Jimin one more time. His husband was delicately running his fingers over the mask, as if ensuring his skin absorbed every last bit.
“No one would believe a rock star uses a chick-patterned face mask in the middle of the night.”
Jimin shrugged. “But everyone wants to see a pretty face on stage.”
Shaking his head, Yoongi closed his eyes, ready for sleep. He knew Jimin would peel the mask off and toss it away when the time came.
Before drifting off, he whispered, “Goodnight, baby. And stop flashing your ass so much on stage.”
He turned over, and the last thing he remembered was Jimin kicking him and snapping, “Jealousy is a disease, idiot!”
- - -
For their next performance, Jimin completely changed his usual stage outfit. It was nothing like his typical combinations. From the corner, Yoongi stood among his bandmates, waiting to take the stage, his dark eyes fixed on him. He looked at the plaid skirt, the hint of denim shorts peeking out underneath, and the cropped shirt Jimin wore.
He couldn’t deny that it suited the stage, and, deep down, he enjoyed the sight.
But Yoongi knew exactly what Jimin was doing.
He shouldn’t have made that comment about Jimin’s ass.
Because he knew how much his husband hated jealousy—but even more, how much he loved being the cause of it. This was, somehow, Jimin’s tackle two things in one go. Teaching Yoongi a lesson while getting exactly what he wanted.
So, when Jimin flirted with the drummer, kissed their vocalist’s cheek, or slipped a hand under their shirt, letting it wander across their body, he made sure to glance at Yoongi each time.
And each time, Yoongi clenched his teeth, earning teasing remarks from his bandmates. He hated himself for not being able to walk across the stage and kiss his husband when all these fans thought they were members of two rival bands.
When Jimin’s band wrapped up their performance, he stepped forward, slinging his guitar over his shoulder, and leaned into the mic.
"Alright, folks, I’ll go ahead and apologize on behalf of the next band. They’re still learning the ropes, but don’t worry—one day, they’ll figure out how to make actual music!”
Some of the crowd laughed and cheered him on, while others booed, hurling insults. Jimin didn’t seem to care. As he stepped offstage and passed by Yoongi at the stairs, he licked his lips and grinned.
“Good luck, baby. Don’t flash your ass too much.”
Yoongi closed his eyes tightly before stepping onto the stage.
He remembered the nonsense he used to pull to make Jimin jealous when they first met, what felt like centuries ago. The days he flipped Jimin off while kissing his bandmates flashed vividly in his memory. But if he tried pulling that today, he’d probably go home later only for Jimin to tear him to pieces and turn him into a gourmet meal for their cat.
So, he stayed quiet. He focused on his performance.
Yoongi thought he knew what real payback looked like, and that thought alone gave him a sliver of calm.
He passed by Jimin without a word, didn’t stop backstage to kiss him or tell him he’d done a great job, and didn’t even let him know when he left to go home.
And that was it.
The loud bang of the door slamming shut and heavy footsteps echoing through the house announced Jimin’s arrival. Yoongi stood on the balcony, leaning against the railing, cigarette in hand, trying to keep a straight face as he awaited the storm approaching him.
He watched Jimin enter the room and toss his guitar bag into a corner.
He was still wearing the same outfit. His hair was messier now, his makeup slightly smudged. Yoongi could tell he hadn’t been drinking—Jimin was drunk on anger alone.
“You didn’t wait for me.”
“Hmm.” Yoongi stubbed out his cigarette on the railing and raised his eyebrows as he looked at him. “You’re a big enough baby to make it home on your own, aren’t you?”
“Don’t say something you’ll regret.” Jimin hissed, taking another step toward him, but it didn’t seem to faze his husband.
“What? Are you mad? Come on, you were braver onstage.”
“Oh, yes, go ahead. Tell me. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? What’s wrong, hyung? Didn’t like my outfit?”
Yoongi’s gaze traveled over him, a smirk forming. “I loved it, baby.”
“And? You hated that I wore it onstage. Say it.”
“Are you trying to make me say what you want to hear?”
The two locked eyes in a heated stare-off for all of one second before Jimin scrunched up his face, like he couldn’t keep up the game any longer. Clenching his fists, he spun on his heels and groaned, “Damn it. I hate myself.”
Yoongi was just about to ask why when Jimin was suddenly back in front of him. Without a care for their height or the dangerous edge behind them, Jimin grabbed Yoongi tightly by the collar, shoving him against the railing before pulling him into a kiss so deep, it felt like tomorrow didn’t exist.
Yoongi’s hand instinctively found Jimin’s waist, his touch sliding upward, brushing the warm skin the younger man’s shirt didn’t cover. Feeling the smooth expanse beneath his fingers, Yoongi groaned softly, pressing himself closer as their tongues collided.
Seconds melted into each other, and as their kisses grew hungrier, lips trailing along necks, Yoongi pulled back just enough to catch his breath. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he mumbled, “Wear whatever you want on stage.” He sighed, his voice dropping lower. That’s not what I’m jealous of, Jimin. Damn it—” He shut his eyes as if it hurt to say, gaze fixed on Jimin’s retreating neck. “You’re perfect, and everyone loves you. That’s the problem. I can’t tell them you’re mine, or worse, that I’m yours.”
Jimin rolled his eyes, giving him a light shove before making sure he was securely leaning against the railing. “It’d be fun to dangle you off this edge for a bit,” he muttered. “This was our decision, Yoongi. And I told you—I like it when you mess with me on stage.”
“I do enjoy it!” Yoongi defended himself quickly. “You look hot when you’re pissed and picking fights with me.”
“I know…” Jimin sighed, shoulders slumping. “But make up your mind, you big baby. You can’t keep living like this. If you want, we can come clean. Nothing’s going to change.”
Yoongi mirrored his sigh, leaning in to press their hips together as he claimed Jimin’s lips again. “I hate talking about this. I just want to fuck tonight.”
Jimin gave him a brief, calculating glance before letting his shoulders sag in defeat, meeting the kiss halfway. By the time they made it to bed, every ounce of their earlier tension was left behind.
- - -
“Why’s he so stubborn? I don’t get it,” Jimin muttered, nursing his beer as he sat at the table reserved for their band. His gaze lingered on the stage, where Yoongi was fully immersed in playing his guitar. “He wants to tell everyone, but he doesn’t at the same time.”
Taehyung as he leaned in closer, ducking out from under Jungkook’s arm. “There are two possibilities. Either he’s scared of losing you, or he’s scared of losing his fans.”
“For God’s sake, our fans wouldn’t give a shit about this,” Jimin shot back. “And why the hell would he be afraid of losing me over something like this?”
“I don’t know, Jimin. Last week, Hobi hyung’s girlfriend got attacked online. The only ‘crime’ she committed was dating him. And you know we’re landing bigger and bigger stages, right? Sometimes producers leave us their cards.” Taehyung pulled a business card from his pocket and placed it on the table as if to prove his point. “Maybe he’s afraid you’ll leave him if you ever get the chance of a lifetime—or worse, that you won’t.”
Jimin tilted his head, skeptical. He turned his gaze, his thoughts briefly rewinding to that one impulsive night when they’d boarded a plane—half-drunk and fully in love—just to get married in a different city. They’d made countless promises to each other back then, and Jimin had always trusted Yoongi’s honesty.
But sometimes, words weren’t needed. Jimin knew Yoongi well enough to recognize when he got lost in his own head, buried under thoughts that led him to believe in things that weren’t true.
“Fine,” Jimin said suddenly, turning back to Taehyung. “Let him be scared. I don’t care. He can stay afraid of coming clean, and I’ll just start dropping hints for the fans.”
“Oh, this is about to get interesting,” Jungkook grinned, slapping some cash onto the table. “Let’s bet on it. You’re going to end up divorced by the end of this.”
“My husband, my cat, and I will remain married forever,” Jimin replied, deadly serious. “You can shove your money up your ass.”
Jungkook shrugged. “Don’t chicken out, hyung. You know Yoongi’s a coward. He’s going to run.”
Taehyung sighed and gestured toward the stage. “I hate them, but even I know Yoongi’s a clingy psychopath when it comes to Jimin. So…” He added his own cash to the pile. “By the end of this, those two will admit they’re married, and we’ll have to see their stupid band’s faces every damn day.”
“Oh my God, imagine co-headlining a show with them,” Hoseok muttered in horror, barely looking up from his drink. “I hope you two do get divorced.”
Jimin rolled his eyes, finishing the last sip of his beer before standing. “See you losers on stage tomorrow. Leave my husband alone.”
And with that, he left the bar.
- - -
Jimin refreshed the page over and over again, staring at Yoongi’s follower count as it climbed higher. He was well aware of how their band’s fame was growing by the day, and now felt like the perfect time to use it to his advantage.
“Hyung…” Jimin pocketed his phone and slipped his arms around Yoongi from behind. His husband was focused on making toast, completely engrossed as if even a simple snack deserved his utmost care. “I was stalking you. Why aren’t you more active on social media?”
Yoongi shrugged, trying to glance over his shoulder at Jimin, though it was difficult with the younger man’s face pressed firmly into his back.
“I only made those accounts because of you.”
“But you have so many followers! You should entertain your fans a little.”
Yoongi inspecting his work with a satisfied hum. As he plated the toast, he said simply, “I’m fine like this. I don’t even know how to use it properly.”
“I’ll teach you!” Jimin suddenly pulled back, stepping in front of him with exaggerated puppy-dog eyes. “It’ll be fun, trust me.”
“No, Jimin.”
“Come on, hyung… Just post a few tweets. Your fans will love it.”
Yoongi studied him suspiciously for a moment. He could see the mischievous glint in Jimin’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure how a few tweets could possibly fulfill whatever scheme his husband was plotting.
“What do you want?”
Jimin grabbed the plate, biting into a piece of toast as he led them to the table. Once seated beside Yoongi, he grinned and held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
“No.”
“You’re so boring!” Jimin whined, but his sudden outburst didn’t faze Yoongi at all. He just stared at him, unblinking. Jimin cleared his throat. “I mean… Please, honey? Could you give me your phone? It’s a very important matter to prevent our divorce.”
Yoongi already knew Jimin wouldn’t give up, so he pulled his phone from his pocket, placing it in front of him to enjoy his meal in peace.
Jimin spent the entire meal engrossed in Yoongi’s phone, the sly grin on his face never wavering for even a second.
Before Yoongi could get up from the table, Jimin announced, "I have a better idea. I’ll log into your account from my phone instead."
Yoongi rolled his eyes at his husband before leaving the kitchen. “Do whatever you want, Jimin-ah. I don’t care.”
- - -
- - -
Frowning as he tuned his guitar, Yoongi glanced at Namjoon. “Does something feel…off to you tonight?”
Namjoon, fiddling with his drumsticks, raised his brows suggestively. “Are you really asking me that?”
“Hm, yeah?” Yoongi turned his gaze toward the crowd, his confusion mounting. It felt as though every single set of eyes was on him tonight, an unsettling intensity that only added to his nerves.
Namjoon let out an amused hum and shrugged as he took his seat. “I don’t know, hyung. Maybe your social media posts have them curious?”
“Wait, what?” Yoongi asked, his voice a little louder than intended. But before Namjoon could reply, their vocalist stepped on stage, and Yoongi’s attention shifted instinctively to one place—toward Jimin.
Spotting him across the room, cocktail in hand, Yoongi narrowed his eyes as Jimin pulled the straw from his lips and waved at him with that devilish grin plastered across his face.
Somehow, Yoongi's scowl deepened. He didn’t know what was going on, but focusing was becoming nearly impossible. There were more fans calling his name than ever before.
When the performance finally ended, Yoongi exhaled deeply, retreating to the backstage area where he carefully placed his guitar in its usual spot. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he adjusted his outfit and took a moment to breathe before pulling his phone out of his pocket.
With all his notifications silenced, Yoongi opened the first app he saw and checked his latest posts.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Not entirely familiar with the platform. He browsed his profile for a moment before clicking on one of the posts Jimin was tagged in. Scrolling through the replies, he stumbled upon a thread comparing his tweets to Jimin’s.
He froze.
Jimin’s intentions were blatantly clear—he was outing their relationship. And he was doing it without Yoongi’s knowledge. There was no other way to interpret those tweets; it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.
Still, Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to blame their fans. Many of them were utterly confused, caught between “playful” animosity and their deep connection. Some dismissed it as fan service, a ploy to promote their bands.
Closing his eyes tightly in an attempt to calm down, Yoongi failed miserably.
Moments later, he was packing up his guitar and leaving the venue without telling anyone.
- - -
“Baby?” Jimin’s voice rang out as the front door shut, Yoongi hearing the sound of his keys from the bedroom. “Hyung? Are you home?”
Jimin moved quietly through the hallway, checking each room until he found Yoongi by the balcony door, whiskey bottle in hand and notebook in his lap.
Jimin frowned, carefully placing his guitar in its spot, and walked over with slow, deliberate steps. Standing behind him, he placed his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders and peeked at the notes scribbled across the page. What he saw made him frown deeper, his grip tightening.
“Hey,” Jimin murmured, taking the notebook from Yoongi’s lap and straddling him. Holding his chin firmly, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Yoongi ignored him, took a swig of whiskey, and set the bottle down. Placing a hand on Jimin’s thigh, he asked, “How long have we been married, Jimin?”
Thrown off by the question, Jimin blinked. “Uh, three years? Why?”
“And?” Yoongi raised a brow. “How long have you known me?”
“Seven.”
“Seven.” a faint smile curling his lips. “In seven years, name one time I’ve gone behind your back. Just one moment where I wasn’t honest with you.”
He understood what Yoongi was referring to instantly, his body stiffening. But he didn’t back down. Instead, he tilted his chin defiantly and placed a hand over Yoongi’s heart with a small smile.
“You told me I could do whatever I wanted with your accounts, and I did exactly that. How is that going behind your back when you gave me permission?”
“You’re old enough to know better than that, aren’t you?”
Jimin nodded, then added, “And you’re not being honest with me.” Leaning closer, he said, “I was trying to help you.”
“Helping me doesn’t involve exposing our relationship without my knowledge, Jimin.”
Standing up, Jimin moved to face him directly, fearlessly. “You, Min Yoongi, want to make our relationship public, but your cowardly ass won’t let you. So yes, I’m helping you.”
Yoongi frowned, rising to meet him, their faces mere inches apart. He poked Jimin’s chest with a firm finger as he took a deep breath. “I’m not afraid of making our relationship public.”
“You are!” Jimin hissed. “Admit it. You keep hiding this relationship because you’re scared of losing your fans. Screw your other excuses.”
Yoongi let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he glanced around the room, as though trying to grasp how ridiculous Jimin sounded.
“What?” Jimin pressed. “Am I wrong? That’s why you won’t use your social media. You’re scared something might slip. Your fans—”
“I’m scared because I know one day, you’ll leave me.”
The words exploded from Yoongi, silencing Jimin on the spot. He froze, unsure how to respond, his lips parting slightly as he stared at his husband. Yoongi turned away, raking a hand through his hair.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jimin finally whispered.
"You know what happened to Namjoon, don’t you?" Yoongi turned to Jimin, his voice steady but laced with an edge. "He was married, happy, and look at where he is now."
"Don’t compare our relationship to theirs." Jimin took a step closer, more resolute now. "Yeah, his spouse walked out on him, but I’m still here. Do you really think I’ll leave you?"
"I was there when they argued before Jiwon left, Jimin." Yoongi closed his eyes, as though the memory itself caused him pain. "Jiwon wanted to turn down the offer because of their marriage. She tried not to leave him behind. Namjoon couldn’t be selfish, so he told her to go!" He was shouting now. "And one morning, he woke up, and she was gone. Everyone around us mocked him. They pitied him."
"So what?" Jimin shouted back. "Do you think I’m like that? Do you think I’ll pack up and leave without telling you? Is that who I am to you?"
"If the perfect opportunity comes your way, I won’t be able to tell you to leave-don’t you get that? I’m selfish. I can’t let you go." Yoongi grabbed him by the collar, his voice breaking. "Even knowing how talented you are and how much you deserve it—I can’t do it. But if we keep this marriage a secret, you won’t be tied to me. It’ll be easier for you to leave. I’m trying to make it easier for you! So you don’t have to be scared when the time comes to leave me behind."
"Then you’d come with me, you idiot!" Jimin pushed him away, practically spitting the words. "Either I stay, or I take you with me."
"No."
"Yes." Jimin turned, his frustration bubbling over as he scanned the room. His eyes landed on a notebook, and he grabbed it, hurling it straight at Yoongi. "Is that what you’re afraid of? That one day I’ll get discovered and leave? Huh?" He pointed at the notebook Yoongi caught mid-air. "I should be the one afraid, Min Yoongi. You’re the one who’s a brilliant songwriter, whose talent could leave me behind. I should be the one scared of being left behind!"
"Now you’re being ridiculous—"
"Shut up." Jimin stomped toward him, his anger sharp and cutting. "Even your excuse about losing fans made more sense than this. You’re an idiot."
"Namjoon went through years of therapy for depression, Jimin. He was abandoned."
"And you’re insulting how much I love you right now."
Yoongi froze, his gaze falling to the single tear rolling down Jimin’s cheek.
"Jimin, you don’t understand—" He reached out, but his hand fell short as Jimin stepped back.
"Don’t touch me."
Yoongi blinked, the weight of the moment crashing down on him. He stood there, unmoving, as Jimin turned and walked away. Only seconds later, the sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the house.
- - -
Namjoon leaned back on his barstool, turning to Yoongi with a sigh. "You’re an idiot."
"I know." Yoongi muttered, signaling for another whiskey. "He hates me."
"Jimin would never hate you, hyung."
Yoongi glanced sideways at Namjoon, searching for honesty in his words. Namjoon looked exasperated, as though he’d rather be doing anything else, but he still scooted closer to his friend.
"Listen, hyung, I get it." Namjoon rubbed his temple. "We were doing so well. I know. It was the best time for the band. We were getting those stupid interviews, talking about a tour." He let out a humorless laugh. "Then our vocalist left us and went on to live the dream alone. It sucked, I know."
Yoongi didn’t want to revisit those memories. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it had left a mark. Back then, their small band was just starting to get recognized. They’d been on TV, doing interviews. Then, out of nowhere, their vocalist landed the opportunity of a lifetime and left the band. News of how Jiwon had abandoned them spread quickly, painting her as someone who’d barely cared despite years with the group.
Yoongi swallowed hard. "You… went through a lot."
"I loved Jiwon," Namjoon murmured, his voice distant. "We imagined everything we’re doing now together." He turned to Yoongi. "I know you’re scared. I know you two probably have dreams too."
"I’m scared of a lot of things," Yoongi admitted softly. “I love his so much. But I’m scared Jimin will feel obligated to stay with me. I’m scared the band will collapse again if he leaves..." He shrugged helplessly. "I can’t blame him if he walks away. I can’t hold it against him if he goes after what he deserves."
"I get it, hyung. It was rough when Jiwon left. It wasn’t just me—the whole band went through hell. We had to start over because of her." Namjoon seemed to wrestle with guilt as he spoke. "But not everyone’s like that, you know? If Jiwon had asked me to go with her, I would’ve."
"Namjoon—"
"I loved her that much," he interrupted, his voice firm. "But I always knew she didn’t love me the same way. So it’s okay."
"I’m sorry."
"Don’t be." Namjoon waved him off with a dry laugh. "But I see Jimin, hyung. I know we didn’t always get along, and we’ve been rivals from the start, but Jimin looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky."
Yoongi ducked his head, inexplicably flustered, though a small smile tugged at his lips.
"He kidnapped you and married you in another country, hyung. Your relationship wasn’t easy. You’re both men, and you didn’t even consider not getting married. He chose to leave the country instead."
"Yeah, it sort of happened that way."
"That’s why I think you’re being unfair to him." Namjoon gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Even if your fears aren’t impossible, I think you should give him more credit."
"But if—"
"If Jimin leaves and the band goes back to square one, I’ll be there. Okay? I’m not letting go of you until we get back to where we are now."
"You don’t have to."
"Neither did you, but here you are. You didn’t give up on me, even when everyone else did."
Yoongi stared at him, gratitude filling his chest. He’d never been more thankful for anything than meeting Namjoon all those years ago.
So when Namjoon pulled him in for a tight hug, Yoongi didn’t hesitate to return it.
Then Namjoon grinned mischievously. "Now, let’s make a plan. How about beating Jimin at his own game?"
- - -
Jimin was frantically looking around.
The guitar was gone. Damn it, the guitar was gone. Even though Seokjin was making the final calls for the stage, Jimin couldn’t find his guitar anywhere and was on the verge of losing it.
“I’m sure I left it here, damn it.”
Running his fingers through his newly dyed blond hair, he gave the area one last desperate glance. Just then, Taehyung approached and adjusted the slim tie around Jimin’s neck.
“Can’t you just use Yoongi’s guitar? He left it here.”
“Are you insane?” Jimin looked at him, incredulous. “He’ll kill me.”
“I know, but we’re running out of time, Mimi. This is eating into our stage time.” Taehyung glanced back nervously. “If we take any longer, Jin-hyung’s going to lose it.”
Biting his lower lip, Jimin glanced between the door leading to the stage and the guitar leaning against the wall. Yoongi rarely left his guitar out of sight before a performance, so why it was even here was a mystery in itself.
As fan cheers echoed through the room, Taehyung grabbed the guitar and shoved it into Jimin’s hands. “Come on. No one’s going to notice.”
Jimin didn’t feel good about it. Especially after the argument he’d had with Yoongi just two days ago, this was the last thing he wanted to do. But when Seokjin poked his head in, frowning at them and motioning for them to hurry up, Jimin realized he had no other choice.
Adjusting his half-shirt and black pants, he loosened the slim tie around his neck slightly and stepped onto the stage with the guitar in hand.
As he took his position, the first place he looked was where Yoongi and his band were standing. Yoongi was sipping his beer, laughing at something Namjoon had said. Then, as if sensing the movement on stage, Yoongi turned his head—and locked eyes with Jimin.
Then his gaze shifted to the guitar.
Jimin braced himself, expecting Yoongi to furrow his brows or give any sign of being pissed. Instead, Yoongi didn’t seem to care. He glanced at the guitar for a second before looking back at Jimin—and smiling.
Frowning in confusion, Jimin shook it off and focused on tuning the guitar to adjust Yoongi’s chords to his own style. As Seokjin started the song, Jimin tried to push his scattered thoughts aside and concentrate on the melodies.
When Seokjin paused between songs to engage with the fans and transition into the next piece, Jimin noticed movement near the small gap at the front of the stage.
His confusion spiked when he saw Yoongi approaching with another guitar in hand.
“Baby, your guitar’s here.”
The crowd fell into a stunned silence as all eyes turned to them. Jimin, overwhelmed, could only gape at him in shock. The weight of the guitar in his hands suddenly felt like a ton.
“Hyung—”
Smiling, Yoongi effortlessly jumped onto the stage, guitar still in hand, and strode over to Seokjin to grab the mic. “Sorry for interrupting,” he began, grinning. “I keep telling Jimin not to leave his guitar in the middle of our living room, but he never listens. He totally deserved this.” Raising his eyebrows, he turned to Jimin. “Baby, will you promise all our fans right here, right now, that you’ll be a more responsible husband?”
Jimin glanced at the stunned crowd, then back at Yoongi. He whispered, “Hyung, what are you doing?”
Yoongi rolled his eyes before facing the fans again with a laugh. “Okay, so Jimin and I had a fight. That’s why I decided to pull this little stunt and ‘steal’ his guitar.” He held up the guitar for the crowd to see. “But I wasn’t lying. That spot in the living room is mine, and he always puts his guitar there just to piss me off.”
“Oh, screw you, Yoongi,” Seokjin muttered, rolling his eyes and reaching for the mic. Before he could grab it, Namjoon shouted from the corner, “Can you leave their love alone for once? Yoongi-hyung’s talking!”
Jimin laughed, shaking his head. He didn’t entirely understand what was happening, but he just wanted Yoongi to keep going.
And Yoongi did.
“See, we’re two bands that absolutely hate each other. Seokjin wants me dead, and Taehyung’s been leaving fruit I’m allergic to in my fridge since the day I married his best friend. Marrying your enemy’s best friend is literally a life-threatening decision.”
“I hope you eat that fruit by mistake and die, Min Yoongi,” Taehyung quipped from the back.
Ignoring him, Yoongi turned back to the mic. “But after our fight yesterday, I realized that no matter how much trouble Jimin brings into my life, I’m in love with him, and even living under constant threat doesn’t matter to me.”
He shrugged, turning his head to look at Jimin. “Even if he forces me to wear cat-shaped face masks at night, bans me from doing my job properly within the confines of our bed, makes me eat vegetables against my will, and insists we watch The Notebook every time something good happens in his life… marrying Park Jimin was still the best decision of my life.”
“Oh my God, shut up. You’re not making me cry here,” Jimin mumbled, pushing Yoongi lightly on the shoulder.
Yoongi stumbled a bit but didn’t care. He also didn’t care about the hundreds of people watching them.
“I’m sorry for hurting you, love,” Yoongi murmured. “Will you forgive me?”
Jimin sighed, chuckling as he looked at the fans who immediately started chanting for him to forgive Yoongi. Without caring that his eyes were misty, Jimin said, “You’re an idiot. I hate you.”
“Oh, you’re head over heels for him,” Hoseok muttered, rolling his eyes as the rest of the band laughed.
Yoongi shrugged. “I love you, Jimin-ah.”
Whistles and cheers erupted as Jimin reached out, grabbed Yoongi by his leather jacket, and pulled him into a kiss. Right there in the middle of the stage, in front of all their fans, they shared a deep, passionate kiss, completely ignoring their bandmates’ mockery.
The fans were loud enough to make up for all of it.
Yoongi’s hand gripped Jimin’s exposed waist tightly, while Jimin clung to Yoongi’s leather jacket like his life depended on it. His other hand slid into Yoongi’s long hair, pulling slightly just as Seokjin grabbed the mic and coughed loudly right next to them.
“Get off my stage.”
Yoongi chuckled, pulling back from Jimin. He slung the guitar strap over Jimin’s neck, leaving it there before grabbing his own guitar. Winking at Jimin, he leaned in and whispered, “Good luck.”
As he turned around and headed for the stairs to leave the stage, weaving through the crowd to rejoin his band, Jimin leaned into the mic and shouted, “Min Yoongi! I love you too!”
Yoongi smiled.
The sound of fans screaming and whistling filled his ears as he glanced back at his husband on stage.
He felt lucky. Happier than ever.
And maybe a little in love...
Okay, a lot in love. Soon to be even more in love.
Who was he kidding? He could die from how much he loved his husband, and no one would be surprised.
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