Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dim spotlight, perfumed air, and muted catcalls and whistles.

Call Jimin shallow, but he loves them all. They fill him with an excited buzz, makes him preen and stand a little straighter, assuring that his posture is perfect.

He smiles as he steps beyond the velvety curtain, lips quirked up into a coy little smile as he takes his time to assess the crowd, regarding them each in turn as if to memorise their faces. He does actually recognise a few of them—regulars who visit the club at least once a week—but he doesn’t linger on anyone of them, giving everyone as much of his time before he saunters out towards the pole at the center of the stage.

The sheer red fabric of his tunic billows as he spins around the pole once, twice, dragging his movements in an almost lazy manner. The air is warm against his skin, adding to the pretty glow on his cheeks to make them look pink and flushed, as if he’s shy about performing his act in front of so many people.

It’s very cute, Jimin has to admit.

He spins one last time, quicker than the rest, and comes to a halt with his back lined up along the pole, and he parts his lips around a blissful sigh as he sinks down onto his knees, thighs spread wide. The tight little shorts he’s wearing stretch to grant the audience a brief glimpse of the outline of his modesty before he pulls himself upright, smirking at the whistles from the crowd.

He turns to the pole and moves his hips to the music, the slow pulse of a beat, taking care to have every movement be deliberate and heavy, the kind that draws eyes from all over the room. When the music shifts, he hooks a leg around the pole and leans back, his back arching, arching, and he can practically feel the arousal clouding the perfumed air.

Ah, Jimin thinks as he stands upright again, giggling inwardly,‘s no better feeling than this.

His routine lasts fifteen minutes, the length of four songs, at the end of which he’s topless, sweaty, and ready for a short break. He bows to the audience, a coy little dip of his head, before he saunters towards the velvet curtains at the back of the stage. There are whistles and catcalls coming from the crowd, and as soon as Jimin is safely out of their line of sight, he cracks his facade and giggles into his hand.

“I swear they’d eat bird seed right out of your tiny hands if you offered, Jiminie.”

The voice greets him as soon as he steps into the dressing room and pulls another string of bright laughter from his lips. “‘S why I don’t offer, Hobi-hyung,” he says cheekily and walks over to his friend where he’s sitting in front of a vanity mirror, getting ready for his own stage. “They’re cute, but I don’t want their drool on my hands.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes and scoffs. “At least someone wants to drool all over your hands,” he says, as if it’s a desirable thing. “When was the last time someone wanted to eat bird seed out of my hands?”

“I mean, to be fair, hyung, they do,” Jimin says slowly, grinning all the while, “but it’s more likely they want you to shove your whole fist down their throat and drop the bird seed right into their stomach.”

His words have Hoseok bursting into bright laughter, his body shaking so violently he accidentally paints a stripe of mascara on his cheek. “Oh my god, Jiminie,” he wheezes and sets the makeup down in favor of fanning his face, flushed with glee.

Jimin shrugs and pulls a face like it was the most natural thing in the world to say. “Tell me I’m lying,” he says, giggling when Hoseok reaches for the wet wipes to get the mascara off his cheek.

“You know, I really wish I could,” he says and angles his head to get the best view in the mirror. “Would make my life much easier.”

“Oh, please,” a new voice scoffs, slipping down into the seat next to Hoseok’s. “You know you love the kind of attention you’re getting, sunbae. Gets you all riled up, doesn’t it?”

Hoseok purses his lips and feigns a thoughtful hum. “You know, Kangsoo,” he says and flicks the wet wipe at him, “you’re absolutely right. Gotta live up to the big dick concept, you know?”

“You’re gross,” Kangsoo snorts, grinning.

Jimin follows their banter with a contented smile on his lips, completely at peace where he sits. It’s a bit weird, perhaps, to be so cheery in an establishment that many people tend to frown upon, but he can’t help it. SUGA is a very nice place to work. It’s not a very high-class strip club, but it’s miles above the standard exotic dance establishment, the shady ones with shitty security and an even shittier clientele.

No, SUGA stands at a perfect middle ground, where it’s not too snobby and pretentious, and there’s never a moment where Jimin feels unsafe.

That’s not to mention the fact that his boss is literally the nicest guy in the world, and hilariously sassy to boot. Seokjin, nicknamed Jin by just about everyone, is incredibly protective and caring over his dancers, so much so that he almost comes off as motherly at times. He makes sure they’re well-rested and that they drink enough water between stages, and he’s usually the first one to bring up a potential issue, even before the dancers themselves even begin to think about it.

“Oh, by the way.”

Jimin blinks out of his reverie and looks at Kangsoo. “I heard the boss talking about hiring a DJ,” he says. “Said the guy would start Thursday.”

“A DJ?” Jimin echoes, a hint of skepticism to his voice. “At a strip club?”

“Well, not a DJ DJ,” Kangsoo clarifies unhelpfully, “but like… someone to take care of the music.”

Jimin purses his lips at that, still not seeing the appeal. “Isn’t it just,” he gestures vaguely, “putting together a playlist and playing it? Do we need a DJ for that?”

Hoseok heaves a highly exaggerated sigh and shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he just heard. “My dear, sweet Jiminie,” he bemoans, “your lack of musical appreciation offends me. Having a DJ is worlds different from just some playlist. ”

Amused by his antics, Jimin giggles into the palm of his hand. “Enlighten me, then,” he says.

“Gladly.” Hoseok turns around in his chair and crosses his legs, assuming a pose like he’s a stuck-up university professor. “While a playlist just plays one song after the other,” he says, “a DJ can add an endless amount of layers to the songs. There are dozens of ways in which he can mix up a track to make it sounds better than the original.”

He raises a hand to count down his list. “You ever feel like you want a heavier beat to the song you’re dancing to? Ask the DJ. You wanna drag the song out, make it a bit slower, more sultry?” Consult your nearest DJ. You wanna tone down on the vocals and have the background music be the main focus? Please refer to your DJ for—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Jimin cuts him off, giggling while Kangsoo rolls his eyes at Hoseok’s dramatic act. “So the new guy’s starting Thursday?”

“Yup,” Kangsoo says. “He’ll probably come around sooner. With the way the boss was talking about him, it sounded like they’re friends, so it shouldn’t be awkward at all.”

“That’s good,” Hoseok says and nods at his own reflection. “Then he should at least know what he’s getting himself into.” With that, he rises to his feet, turning this way and that one last time before moving towards the backstage, swaying his hips as he goes. “Time to feed the birds, boys.”

“Have fun,” Jimin calls after him and giggles at the pose Hoseok strikes in front of the velvety curtains before pulling them aside and sauntering out onto stage. What follows is an instant buzz of excitement from the crowd, and Jimin grins at the difference in atmosphere from when he was doing his dance.

With a contented hum, Jimin stretches his arms above his head and steers his steps towards his changing room. He’s done for the night, and he still has a whole pile of work to take care of for his classes at uni, so he’s quick to change out of his tiny little shorts and pull a soft hoodie over his head, eager to go home and get a few hours of sleep before taking care of his homework in the morning.

He pops in by Jin’s office before heading off. “I’m going home now, Jinnie-hyung,” he says with a little salute. “See you tomorrow.”

Seokjin looks up from his laptop, blinking owlishly for a moment before glancing at the clock on the wall. “Oh shit, it’s already this late,” he says and sighs, leaning back in the chair. “I swear, no one warned me about all the paperwork that comes with running your own business.”

He rolls his eyes when Jimin emits a giggle at his misery, but grins all the same. “By the way,” he says, “there’s a new guy coming in here tomorrow to check out the premise. Could you come fifteen minutes earlier so you can greet him? I’d like him to meet all the other employees before he starts working.”

“The DJ, right?” Jimin muses, humming when Jin nods. “Yeah, sure, I’ll be here earlier. He’s a friend of yours, right? Kangsoo said so.”

“Yup, from my uni days,” Seokjin says with another forlorn sigh, as if it’s been far longer than two years since he graduated. “He majored in music production, but we shared a business class, and he was just about the only one who didn’t lose their shit when I told them I wanted to open my own exotic dance club.”

“Strip club,” Jimin corrects with a grin, unperturbed by Jin’s pointed glare. “Come on, hyung, you should call it what it is.”

“Excuse me, I do call it what it is,” he huffs and sticks his nose in the air. “If this was a strip club, you’d be doing lapdances left and right and fighting off the wandering hands of whatever nasties frequent actual strip clubs.”

“Okay, true,” Jimin says around a thoughtful hum. “But I still dance around a pole and take my clothes off in front of people.”

Jin tuts, looking every bit as unimpressed as one of Jimin’s teachers might whenever he shows up to class without having done his homework. “That’s what makes it exotic,” he says primly. “You’re a dancer and you do exotic things on stage. That makes this an exotic dance club.”

A giggle bubbles past Jimin’s lips at his boss’ unwillingness to bend. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, throwing his hands into the air. “I hope your friend will be okay with working around a bunch of exotic dancers.”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s the least judgemental person in the world,” Jin says. “He’s not gonna have a problem with working in this kind of establishment. Although,” he tacks on with a smirk, “I’m pretty sure he might have a different kind of hard time here.” There’s something akin to amusement in the way he looks at Jimin, as if he knows some secret no one else does, but he waves him off before he has the chance to ask. “Good night, Jimin-ah.”

Jimin purses his lips at his boss’ cryptic words, but shrugs it off quickly enough and waves at him in farewell. “See you tomorrow, hyung,” he chirps, and then he’s out the door.

With Hoseok’s words fresh in mind, he spends his bus ride home googling DJs and what they can do to edit tracks and songs, growing more and more curious the more he reads and listens to examples of DJ-altered tracks. He immediately starts listing down his favorite songs to dance to, grinning to himself in excitement for how it could make his performances more thrilling.

His roommate is already asleep when he gets home, so he tiptoes to his room and quietly shuts the door before flopping down onto the bed with a tired groan. There are roughly four hours before he has to wake up if he wants to deal with his homework, so he wiggles out of his jeans and crawls under the blankets, and falls asleep within a matter of minutes.

When Jimin walks into work the next morning, there’s a giddy spring in his step. He’s spent all day compiling his favorite songs for the new DJ to mix with and daydreaming about how they could improve his performances; he even spent a good twenty minutes in the morning relaying all he learned from a bit of googling to Taehyung over breakfast.

“Chim, there’s literally a DJ in every club in existence,” his roommate had said with an unimpressed huff, waving a forkful of fried egg around. “And you’d know that if you ever came out with me and Jeongguk.”

“I work nights, Taetae,” Jimin had huffed in reply.

“Not on Sundays!”

“Who the hell goes clubbing on Sundays?!”

Taehyung had merely shrugged, grinning, and gone back to eating his breakfast.

There’s forty-five minutes left before the club opens, so Jimin goes in through the back entrance and drops off his bag and jacket in his dressing room. He takes a quick look at himself in the big mirror propped up against the wall; if he’s going to meet a new employee, he’s gonna be damn sure to look presentable.

He’s a bit more dressed up than he’d be on a normal day, with a white, form-fitting t-shirt tucked into tight black pants, and a wide array of accessories decorating his hands, wrists, and ears. His blonde hair is fluffy and soft, and he’d even put on makeup earlier; usually, he applies his eyeshadow and lipgloss at work, not before, but now, he’s fully decked out in a slightly-above-casual-but-not-too-much kind of way.

Sue him. The guy is Jin’s friend and a DJ, so Jimin wants to make a good first impression.

With glossy lips pulled into a smile, he scurries out of his dressing room and goes to find Jin in the main hall. There are people moving left and right, wiping the small round tables until they shine under the dim light, and behind the bar, Namjoon is checking on his stocks, making sure he won’t run out of liquor in the middle of opening time.

Jimin spots Hoseok by the stage, chattering with Kangsoo. Upon noticing him, Hoseok grins broadly and jerks his head somewhere to the left, and Jimin turns to see Jin, gesturing this way and that to introduce the locale to who must be the new guy.

Now, Jimin doesn’t have much experience in meeting DJs—none, in fact—and as he watches the man go about familiarising himself with his new workplace, he has to wonder if everyone in his field of work is so hot.

The guy’s hair is white-blonde and shaved short around the temples and neck in an undercut, neatly framing the many rings along the shell of his ears. Where his hair is longest, it’s just shy of falling into his eyes, which look sharp and attentive as he listens to Jin’s words as they approach the sound station, his gaze flickering over the DJ deck. It settles on the built-in electrical piano and his lips curl into a smile, amused and pleased and far too attractive.

He’s not very tall, but he’s broad around the shoulders and chest, his shirt straining a little what with the way he crosses his arms. Its collar is wide, and Jimin can see the markings of a tattoo peek from the hem, the ink stark in the dim light of the room.

Oh boy, Jimin thinks, already knowing he’ll likely be spending a lot of time around the DJ desk in the near future.

He’s fairly certain he hears both Hoseok and Kangsoo snicker somewhere behind him, but he ignores them both and clears his throat, as if it would do anything to combat the tingling warmth in his chest. “Okay, Park Jimin,” he mumbles to himself as he makes his way over, “you’re a whole sexy dancer who doesn’t get shy when taking off his clothes in front of dozens of people. You can talk to this hot guy without sounding like an idiot.”

It’s a nice little pep-talk, and it makes it a whole lot easier to walk up to the sound station with a coy little smile on his lips. “Haven’t seen your face here before,” he says by way of greeting, his insides singing when the DJ turns to face him.

There’s a fleeting moment during which the guy’s eyes grow just a fraction wider, flickering down Jimin’s front in a hardly subtle manner before snapping right back up again. “You wouldn’t have,” he says with a smile. “Never been.”

His voice is nice, Jimin decides, low with a bit of a drawl. “I thought so,” he says and leans a bit closer over the DJ desk. “I feel like I would’ve remembered you.”

Somewhere to his left, Jin fakes gagging and walks away with an exasperated shake of his head and a muttered, “I knew it,” but if the new guy heard him, he doesn’t show it.

“Is that right?” he muses, arching a brow in a far too attractive manner. He uncrosses his arms and pushes his hands—his large hands—into his pockets, moving in a way that has to be deliberately slow.

Exhilarated to have him play along with… whatever it is Jimin is doing, Jimin hums in reply, putting a bit more breath into the sound than necessary. “Looks like I’m gonna be seeing a lot of you in the future, though,” he says and looks away, purposely dragging out the task of observing the DJ desk and its many features.

“Not sure how well you’ll be able to see me from the stage,” the DJ drawls, grinning, “but sure.”

Jimin looks up at that, the smile on his lips spreading wider, into something more cheeky. “How’d you know I’m on the stage, new guy?” he asks and presses his lips together to swallow his laughter when the man’s smile drops and is overtaken by what’s definitely embarrassment.

“Oh, uh, shit, I didn’t mean to assume anything,” he says, stumbling over his words in his hurry to make amends. “I just—I don’t know, I—you look like you could—”

The urge to laugh grows stronger still, until Jimin can’t hold it in. He bursts into a string of bright giggles, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. “You’re cute,” is the first thing he says when he sobers up, and it might just be the club’s lighting, but he’s pretty sure the guy’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of red. “You’re also correct. I’m one of the dancers. And,” he adds and inclines his head a little, smile going back to coy, “I’m not on stage all the time. I can come and chat with you whenever I want.”

The DJ’s relief is obvious, but he hides it well behind a sharp grin. “Lucky me, then,” he says.

Jimin giggles again and reaches out his hand. “I’m Park Jimin,” he says. “Or, well, most people here know me as Calico, but, you know.”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t know,” the guy says as he takes his hand and shakes it. He doesn’t immediately let go, thumb brushing against the back of Jimin’s hand and sending a rush of a tingling sensation up his arm. “Does this mean I’m special?”

Oh, Jimin likes the game they’re playing, he likes it a lot. To keep his smile from growing too wide, he runs his teeth over his lower lip, preening at the way the DJ’s eyes briefly flicker down. “Depends,” he purrs. “Do you want to be special?”

The guy snorts, but he looks far from unaffected, running his tongue along his lips before giving Jimin’s hand a squeeze. “I’m Min Yoongi,” he says, deliberately avoiding the question.

Jimin doesn’t mind. They’ll have time to come back to the question later. “Nice to meet you, Yoongi-ssi,” he says smoothly before finally pulling his hand back.

“You too, Jimin-ssi.”

The formalities feel a bit weird—everyone working in the club are very familiar with each other—but even with the painfully obvious flirting, Jimin figures he should use them since they’re going to be colleagues and all. “So,” he says, loathe to let the conversation end there, “how’d you end up working here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Ah, Jin and I went to the same university,” Yoongi says and rubs at his neck before crossing his arms again, almost as if wanting to hide the nervous tick. “He offered me a job here when he heard I was looking.”

“Then you must be good at what you do,” Jimin says primly, hardly subtle in complimenting the DJ. “Jinnie-hyung doesn’t hire just anyone.”

Yoongi quirks a brow at that, looking terribly amused. “Is that a subtle way of saying you’re good at what you do?” he asks, sounding almost smug.

Smirking, Jimin simply shrugs his shoulders. “You’ll have to find that out on your own, Yoongi-ssi,” he says and flutters his eyelashes in a highly over-exaggerated manner.

It pulls a bark of laughter out of Yoongi, and when he sobers up, he’s smiling so wide his gums show. “I guess I will,” he says, not quite meeting Jimin’s gaze now. He seems a bit flustered, like he’s embarrassed by their flirtatious banter, and Jimin is wholly endeared, giddy with his schoolgirl crush.

“I better leave you to finish setting up, then,” he says and steps away from the DJ desk, clasping his hands behind his back in a way that accentuates his narrow waist. “I hope you’ll play some good tunes for me when the doors open.”

“If you tell me what you want, I’ll see what I can do,” Yoongi drawls and okay, Jimin is almost one hundred percent sure that’s an innuendo, but all he does is grin before turning on the heel.

“I already have a playlist waiting for you, new guy,” he sing-songs, throwing the DJ a wink over his shoulder, and then he steers his steps towards the dressing rooms, ignoring Hoseok’s highly amused look as he walks past.

Once safe inside his own room, he leans back against the door and hides his face in his hands, grinning so wide it hurts his cheeks. He feels like he’s high on adrenaline, his cheeks red and his heart thumping happily in his chest. God, it’s been such a long time since he wanted to flirt with anyone, or since he wanted someone to flirt with him, and now he’s got an unfairly attractive DJ to do both six days a week.

“How can someone be so handsome, seriously,” he says to himself and runs a hand through his hair before lightly smacking his own cheeks. “Dammit, he just had to stand there. It’s so not fair.” In a meek demonstration of his giddy exasperation, he nudges a chair with his foot so it tips over, only to immediately pick it up again, smiling his stupid smile all the while. “Damn you, Min Yoongi.”

In the far back of his mind, he’s eternally grateful no one can see him just then. He feels like a teenager with a crush on the most popular boy in school, and it’s painfully embarrassing, even though he managed to get through their first interaction without making a fool out of himself.

Plus, if he’s not wrong, Yoongi was more bashful than he was, maybe even a bit nervous.

“Cute,” Jimin mumbles and stands still for a moment or two before shaking himself out of his daze. “Alright.” He walks over to his dresser, throwing it open like a man on a mission to pick out an outfit for his first performance. “Time to seduce the hell out of this guy.”

Just like Yoongi had said, Jimin can’t see the DJ whenever he does step onto stage, but, like he had pointed out himself, that doesn’t stop Jimin from approaching Yoongi whenever he gets the chance. When he doesn’t have to be backstage or preparing for his next performance, he sneaks out into the audience’s floor, subtly sticking to the walls to avoid having to pass by any customers on his way to the sound station.

He doesn’t have the chance to do it for the rest of the first day, since he’s busy and Yoongi isn’t at the DJ desk all the time, still trailing after Jin to learn the ins and outs of his new job. Jimin does manage to catch him in passing before he leaves for the night, however, wishing him a good night and good luck on his first day tomorrow, to which the DJ replies with a wide grin and a mumble of thanks.

On Yoongi’s first official day as an employee at SUGA, Jimin has more luck. He has a forty minute break in between performances, with the other dancers lining up to give him time to relax. Or he should relax, but he has far more important things in mind.

“You like working here?” Yoongi asks after Jimin has made his way over and plopped down in the DJ’s chair. He doesn’t look up from his soundboard, flicking little levers and buttons seemingly at random, every press affecting the music in some way.

“I do,” Jimin says. He’s currently wearing a more modest outfit, with full-length leggings and a loose shirt, which is probably a good thing; he’s pretty sure he likes Yoongi, but maybe flirting while wearing next to nothing is a step too far so soon. “The clients keep their hands to themselves, and Jinnie-hyung lets me be the center of attention whenever I want.”

His words earn a quirk of the lips from Yoongi, who briefly glances his way. “You like being the center of attention?” he asks, again with that slow drawl of his.

“I love it,” Jimin admits without pause, smiling sweetly.” I like it when people look at me. Makes me feel pretty.”

“I should hope so,” Yoongi says, thumb running over a sound level adjuster of some sort. “You are very pretty.”

A burst of giddiness rises to Jimin’s chest at that, his cheeks warm around his smile. The DJ deliberately avoids his gaze, clearly abashed as he stares into the soundboard. “Does that mean you’ve been watching me perform, Yoongi-ssi?” Jimin asks, inching the chair a tad closer.

Yoongi rubs at his neck and chuckles, and oh, what a nice sound that is. “I don’t need to look at you when you’re up there to know you’re pretty,” he says, a bit faster than necessary.

“But—”

“But yes, yeah, I’ve been looking at you.”

Even though he’s still not looking at Jimin, there’s a smile on his lips, and Jimin feels like he’s floating.

“Thank you, Yoongi-ssi,” he says, his cheeks growing warmer still.

“You can call me hyung,” the DJ says, finally glancing his way. “If you want. I don’t mind.”

Jimin’s heart is practically dancing at this point and he resists the urge to bounce a little where he sits. “Okay,” he says and ducks his head a little. “Thank you, hyungie.”

Perhaps it’s a factor of seeing Jimin being a bit bashful as well, but Yoongi turns to look at him and smiles, more at ease than moments earlier. “You’re welcome, Jiminie,” he says, almost too quietly to be heard over the music.

They descend into a brief silence, during which Jimin tries to gain some semblance of control over his smile, but before he can actually manage it, Yoongi clears his throat and turns back to the DJ desk. “So what do you do when you’re not working here?” he asks.

Giddy to see the DJ showing interest in his life outside work, Jimin tucks his hands between his thighs and leans forward a bit. “I’m a junior at Yonsei,” he says. “Majoring in mathematics.”

Yoongi emits a low whistle, brows rising towards his hairline. “That’s impressive,” he says, adjusting the base levels of the track playing. “‘S gotta be pretty challenging.”

“Yeah,” Jimin agrees and nods, “but I like math, so it’s not too bad at all.”

“I don’t know shit about math,” the DJ huffs with a grin. “All I know is music.”

“Pretty well, too, by the sound of it,” Jimin says and tunes in on the song playing. He knows the song, but it sounds so different with Yoongi’s adjustments, more heavy and sensual.

Yoongi snorts and shrugs off the compliment, once again looking a bit bashful, like he’s modest. It’s really endearing, and makes Jimin want to praise his skills even more, if only to see how the DJ would handle such a stream of compliments.

Before he can, however, Yoongi moves the topic back to his studies. “How do you juggle studying at Yonsei out of all places and working here?” he asks and nods towards where the stage is. “This place is open pretty late.”

“Oh, I tend to nap in the afternoons, after my classes,” Jimin says. “I have five hours between uni and work, so I usually sleep for three or four of those, then grab something to eat, and then I come here.”

Yoongi purses his lips at that, pressing one more button before turning to face Jimin, hands in his pockets. “That sounds rough,” he says, and if Jimin had to guess, he’d say the DJ looked worried.

“It’s okay, really,” he says and smiles brightly, eager to soothe. “I still get seven or eight hours of sleep every day, so it works out just fine.”

“Good,” Yoongi says, nodding to himself. Jimin probably shouldn’t be as endeared by it as he is, but he can’t help it, his crush ramping up from schoolgirl levels to just shy of raging.

God, he’s screwed.

As he makes his way back backstage to prepare for his next performance, he makes a mental note to ask Jin if dating between colleagues is actually allowed.

Over the following days, they continue their not-so-subtle flirting whenever they have the chance. Most of the time, it’s Jimin sneaking out to sit with Yoongi at the DJ desk, but the DJ has also picked up a habit of lingering after closing time and waiting for Jimin to get changed just so they can walk outside together and wish each other good night.

One day, Yoongi shows up in a dark blazer thrown over a sleeveless shirt, and Jimin kind of wants to die when he gets a glimpse of the DJ’s arms, muscular but not bulky. The collar of the shirt also dips lower than before, showing off more of his tattoo, which looks to be of a bird of some kind, its wings spread wide in flight.

It’s pretty, and Jimin has to really focus to not reach out and tug at the DJ’s shirt to get to see more of it.

He’s fairly certain Yoongi knows exactly what his ensemble is doing to Jimin, judging by the way he smirks whenever he catches him staring. Rather than be embarrassed, however, Jimin decides on getting revenge; since they’ve only just gotten to know one another, he’s hesitated to approach the DJ in his actual dancing gear, always taking care to slip on a pair of leggings before heading over to chat, but perhaps, he muses, it’s time to change that.

And so, the next time Jimin waltzes over to the DJ desk, he’s dressed in the exact same clothes he’s just worn to his performance. The shorts are more like underwear, barely reaching past the curve of his ass. They’re snug, too, more so due to the hem of the loose, sheer black shirt he’s wearing, the thin material just barely granting him some semblance of modesty.

Its collar is wide and open, and Jimin knows that if he leaned a bit forward, Yoongi would have a full view of his chest.

He clears his throat when he steps within earshot and smiles innocently when Yoongi looks up at him. The DJ does a quite magnificent double take, eyes growing wide and a distinct redness settling over his cheeks as he takes in Jimin’s appearance.

“Do you like my outfit, hyung?” Jimin asks coyly and does a slow, theatrical little spin where he stands, making sure Yoongi can see every part of him.

When he turns back again, it’s to see the DJ’s gaze flickering all over him. His eyes lingers on Jimin’s thighs and a rush of heat surges through him when Yoongi, seemingly without realising it, runs his tongue over his lip before meeting his gaze again. The DJ arches a brow in a way that would be completely nonchalant, if not for his obvious ogling only seconds prior. “The shorts are a bit much,” he says with a voice dripping in amusement.

Jimin purses his lips into a pout, feigning discontent at the comment. “You think so?” he asks and hums, running a hand along the hem of the garment. He does it only to draw Yoongi’s attention down to the movement, and as soon as the DJ looks, Jimin adds, “I could always go without.”

It’s the most satisfying thing in the world, to see Yoongi choke on nothing but his own breath, a hand flying up to cover his mouth as he struggles to regain his breath, wide eyes staring at Jimin with both alarm and obvious desire. “Fucking hell,” he wheezes, red all the way to the tips of his ears by the time he lowers his hand again. “That was low, Jiminie.”

Jimin only smiles primly, mighty proud of himself, and decides to leave Yoongi with that thought for the rest of the night. “See you later, hyungie,” he purrs and turns on the heel, making sure to add a bit of a sway to his hips as he walks away.

They keep up their game of trying to one-up the other for a full week before it finally culminates and Jimin can’t take it any longer. They still haven’t moved on from flirting to dating, and he’s determined to change that, so he asks Yoongi if he could stay after hours for a bit one night, saying he wants to try out a new dance and get the music just right.

The DJ agrees easily, and Jimin sets his plan in motion.

Usually, when trying out a new routine, he would wear clothes that are easy to move in to get a feel for it, unrestrained and freer. However, after wishing Hoseok goodnight and waiting for him to take off, Jimin changes into the outfit he’d set aside especially for tonight; dangerously tight black leather pants and a shirt that is bound to slip off one shoulder no matter how it sits on him. He tucks the hem into his pants and eyes himself critically in the mirror, arching slightly to get show off just how thin his waist is.

Perfect.

“Jimin,” comes Yoongi’s voice from somewhere down the hall, “everything’s set up to go. I moved part of the soundboard in front of the stage so it’s easier for me to follow your dance and figure out how to tune the track in the best way.”

“Okay, thank you, hyung,” Jimin calls back, spreading gloss over his bottom lip. “I’ll be out in a second!”

With a final look in the mirror to assure he looks good, Jimin flicks off the light and saunters off towards the backstage area. His heart is hammering in his chest and he has a hard time suppressing his smile, practically bouncing where he stands behind the curtains. He pauses for long enough to draw a calming breath, and pushes past the drapes and onto the stage.

Yoongi is fiddling with one of the soundboards on the floor in front of the extended platform, eyes trained on the different buttons and switches. He doesn’t immediately look up, busy flicking through the list of tracks Jimin had given him earlier to find the right one. “The track was Lie, right?” he asks when he hears Jimin padding closer. “I listened to it a little bit, and I was thinking I could—”

He finally looks up at Jimin halfway through his sentence, and his lips promptly snap shut, eyes growing comically wide as they flicker all over his front. Buzzing with a satisfied kind of glee, Jimin merely draws his shiny lip between his teeth and smiles innocent, tilting his head to the side in a curious manner while he waits for Yoongi to recover.

It takes a good thirty seconds of pleasantly heavy silence before the DJ finally manages to break himself out of his daze, blinking rapidly without actually looking away from Jimin’s face. He parts his lips and closes them again, clears his throat, and tries again. “As I was saying,” he manages, his voice hoarser than before, and far lower, “I, uh, I could ramp up the beat of the track and make it a bit slower, so… so you can, uh, drag out your movements a bit. If you want. Or something.”

The urge to giggle simmers in Jimin’s chest, but he stamps it down in favor of emitting a thoughtful hum, leaning against the pole at the end of the stage extension. “That sounds nice, hyung,” he says, and it’s either the cold metal of the pole or the dark intensity of Yoongi’s gaze that makes him shudder, his spine tingling. “Can you play a bit for me?”

“Yeah,” the DJ says, a tad too quickly. “Yeah, uh, I’ll just…” He leaves the sentence unfinished and turns back to his soundboard with some level of reluctance, his eyes lingering on Jimin’s exposed collarbones.

The intro of the track remains the same, with Yoongi leaving it untouched, but as soon as the first beat drops, he flicks a switch and pushes an adjuster some ways up its trail. The change is immediate; the beat, while still not overpowering, hits Jimin like a heartbeat of his own, reverberating in his chest. His lips pop open in a surprised little gasp and he closes his eyes, momentarily shifting his focus to the song rather than the man fiddling with its levels.

It’s like his body decides to move on its own, lulled into compliance by the music. It starts slow, only his bare feet mimicking the beat against the floor, followed by a sway of his hip and then his shoulders, until he can’t help but submit to the choreography he has put together over the past week.

It takes a conscious effort to open his eyes and look at Yoongi once he starts his dance, the urge to lose himself to the music a strong contender to his original mission. He’s glad he does it; the DJ is looking at him like he’s the only other living being in the world, eyes wide and dark and wanting, and Jimin revels in the feeling.

It’s almost like Yoongi is the one to guide every movement he makes. It’s like his presence is the music itself, like every heavy beat is a touch of his hands coaxing Jimin into arching his back just a little bit more, to lean into every move a little bit more, to drag his steps out just so. Jimin can feel his gaze on him like a palpable touch, and even though he’s the one who’s supposed to be seducing Yoongi, it doesn’t take long before arousal begins to simmer in the pit of his stomach, his tight pants growing tighter still.

He’s never felt a thrill like this.

Jimin can’t stave off the wide smile that tugs at the corners of his lips when he sinks down onto his knees on the stage, legs spread wide, and is rewarded with a sharp intake of air from the DJ. He runs a hand down his front and Yoongi follows it, the DJ’s own hands gripping the soundboard hard enough to have his knuckles whiten.

When Jimin presses his hand just against the side of the outline of his half-hard cock and rolls his body into the movement, he dimly wonders how close the soundboard is to snapping right in two under the DJ’s touch.

With a heady sigh, he runs his tongue over his lip before lolling his head to the side and then back, stretching, arching. He pulls himself upright by the pole and presses against it, repeating the wave-like motion and emitting a pretty hum, as if its presence against his body would do anything to further on the arousal simmering within him.

As the song comes towards its end, Jimin abandones the pole in favor of walking closer to Yoongi, dragging his steps as he goes. He rolls his head from one side to the other, his hands running down the sides of his neck, and he doesn’t say anything, but Yoongi leaves the soundboard and draws closer to the stage, as if pulled towards Jimin by a magnetic force.

Jimin isn’t sure how it happens, but he ends up seated at the very edge of the stage with the DJ standing between his legs, spread wide to accommodate him. They’re close, they’re so close Jimin can count Yoongi’s lashes, and he shudders under the weight of his gaze, pupils blown wide and dark.

The music stops and leaves around a buzzing silence, but neither of them care.

“Jimin,” Yoongi says hoarsely.

Jimin emits a quivering exhale, all but preening under the attention and its weight. “Did you like it, hyung?” he asks quietly, barely resisting the urge to curl his fingers into Yoongi’s shirt and pull him closer still.

The DJ seems to be struggling with the same problem; his hands twitch at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to reach up and grab hold of Jimin’s thighs where they frame his waist. “Did I—of course I did,” he drawls and runs his tongue over his lips. “Fuck, it was really fucking sexy.”

Jimin closes his eyes and sighs in content, lips curling up into a coy smile. “Good,” he says and peers up at Yoongi through his eyelashes. “‘S what I wanted you to think.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, Jimin out of breath from his dance and fighting the urge to arch his back even further from the sheer pressure of Yoongi’s gaze, as if it’s seeping into his skin and tugging.

It’s the DJ who cracks first, shifting closer by a fraction. “Jimin,” he rasps.

“Yeah.” Jimin isn’t sure what it is he’s agreeing with, but he knows he wants everything Yoongi has to offer in that very moment.

“Shit, Jimin, can I—”

“Yeah, hyung,” he reiterates, the words leaving him as a whine, “you can. Please.”

Yoongi doesn’t waste even a second. He surges forward and kisses Jimin, hard, prying his lips open with his own and pushing his tongue into his mouth. A wave of heat surges through Jimin and forces a high-pitched whine from him, and he slips his hands around Yoongi’s neck to draw him in, wanting him against him, around him, everywhere.

He hooks a leg around Yoongi’s hip to pull him closer, until they’re flush against one another, and whines at the feeling of the DJ’s arousal against his own. It has him preening, to know Yoongi got hard just by watching him dance. “Hyung,” he sighs against Yoongi’s lips, breath hitching when the DJ nips at his lip.

Yoongi groans and dips his head to latch onto Jimin’s neck, mouthing at the skin there without putting too much pressure into it—for all his enthusiasm, Jimin is impressed he has the clarity of mind to not leave marks, considering Jimin’s job. He runs his hands up Jimin’s thighs, giving them a rough squeeze before moving to grab at his ass and pull him more firmly against himself, both of them groaning at the friction it creates.

“Jimin,” Yoongi hisses and comes back up to kiss him, wet and messy and eager, so eager. “Jimin, fuck, I wanna—can we—”

“Take me to your place,” Jimin interrupts, threading his fingers into Yoongi’s hair and tugging. This wasn’t quite the result he’d imagined with his little plan, but he’s hardly complaining, the whole of him buzzing with arousal. “I want you to fuck me, hyung.”

A string of colorful curses roll past the DJ’s gritted teeth and he pulls Jimin into another bruising kiss. “Yeah,” he rasps, “let’s get out of here.”

The following fifteen minutes is a blur to Jimin. Somehow, they manage to get his stuff from his dressing room, flag down a taxi and ride to Yoongi’s apartment complex without the heat dimming down for even a second. It’s coursing through Jimin like electricity, makes it hard to think straight. He can’t remember the last time he’s been this turned on, and Yoongi’s firm grip on his thigh throughout the taxi ride only feeds the flames with vigor.

As soon as they’re inside the DJ’s apartment, Jimin is shoved against the door and kissed with enough passion to steal the air right out of his lungs. The fire in the pit of his stomach flares and his hands quiver where they’re holding onto Yoongi’s back, holding him in place as if the DJ was going anywhere.

“Fuck, you’re so hot, Jimin,” Yoongi groans against his lips and slots his thigh between Jimin’s legs, pressing up against his cock. “Been driving me crazy ever since I first saw you.”

A breathless giggle spills from Jimin’s lips and he tilts his head back against the door, grinding down against the DJ’s leg and gasping. “Good,” he says, borderline whining. “‘S what I was aiming for.”

“Brat,” Yoongi snorts and kisses him again before pushing away from the door and tugging Jimin along with him. He shrugs out of his jacket as he goes, and Jimin follows his lead; they’re both impatient and strung out on the sexual tension that’s been brimming between them since the first day. By the time they reach the bedroom, Jimin has discarded his shirt somewhere in the hall, nothing but the leather pants remaining.

“How the fuck am I supposed to get these off you?” Yoongi grumbles and pushes Jimin down against the mattress of his bed to work at the buttons of his pants. He grins when Jimin emits a bark of laughter at his words, but his impatience is clear as day as he struggles to rid him of the garb, even in the way he chuckles at Jimin’s squirming.

As soon as he does get them off, the DJ wastes no time in getting his hands on Jimin’s thighs, thumbs pressing into the taut muscle and making him gasp and arch, his erection straining against the little shorts he’s wearing. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous, Jiminie,” Yoongi huffs and settles between his legs. “Would wanna tease you, make you beg for it, fuck, but I can’t. Wanna get inside you so bad.”

A whine slips past Jimin’s lips and he turns away, pressing his face against the pillows of Yoongi’s bed. “Please,” he manages, gripping hard onto the sheets. “Want you to fuck me, hyung.”

Yoongi’s impatience is clear as day in the way he fingers Jimin open. It’s obvious he’s trying to go slow, to take his time, but for every breathless plea for more from Jimin, no matter how little time has passed, he adds another finger, until he’s stretching him open with three, lips closed around the tip of Jimin’s cock while Jimin writhes and squirms underneath him.

“‘M ready, Yoongi-hyung, just—ah!” Jimin’s breath hitches halfway through, the DJ’s long fingers pressing up against his prostate. “Hyung, I’m ready, come on.”

“So fucking greedy,” Yoongi groans and pulls his fingers back to grab for a condom. “How do you want this, Jimin, you wanna be on your back or—”

Although his limbs already feel like jelly, Jimin sits up and pushes at the DJ’s chest until he gives in, leaning back against the headboard. “Wanna ride you,” Jimin purrs and crawls into his lap, smiling when Yoongi’s eyes grow wide. “Wanna show you what a dancer can do.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses, his hands settling on Jimin’s waist in a vice grip.

The giggle rising from Jimin’s chest turns into a choked off moan when he reaches behind himself to line Yoongi’s cock up with his entrance and sinks down, his lips falling open at the pleasurable stretch. The DJ is big, he’d been able to tell as much, and every inch he takes stings, but god, he fills Jimin up so well.

“Don’t rush, Jimin,” Yoongi grits out, his hands clenching and unclenching around Jimin’s waist, as if in attempt to reign himself in. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Y-you’re the one who’s big, hyung,” Jimin retorts breathlessly, as if it’s some kind of competition. He doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated in Yoongi’s lap, hands braced against the DJ’s chest as he tilts his head back, the entirety of his body burning with arousal. He’s struggling to catch his breath, gasping as he gyrates his hips in tiny little circles to get himself used to the sensation of being stretched so wide faster.

In the end, he doesn’t have the patience to wait for much longer, especially not when Yoongi sits up to run his tongue over Jimin’s nipples and close his lips around one, sucking and teasing with his teeth. It’s torturous, the fire in his gut pulsing to the rest of him. His cock is dripping beads of precome onto Yoongi’s stomach, and it probably shouldn’t turn Jimin on as much as it does, but he can’t help it.

With his lip caught between his teeth, he pushes the DJ back against the headboard and starts moving properly, his thighs straining as he rolls his hips. The angle has him moaning, the whole of his body tightening when Yoongi’s length brushes over his prostate. “Hyung,” he whines, smiling, his fingers trembling slightly against the DJ’s chest. “Hyung, you feel s-so good.”

Yoongi’s hands slide down to his thighs, fingers digging into the strong flesh. “Fuck,” he rasps and tips his head back against the headboard, his breath passing his lips in sharp bursts. “Fucking hell, Jimin, you’re so hot.”

“I know,” Jimin purrs, his words trailing off into a high-pitched groan. “You weren’t really—mmh—subtle in your o-ogling.”

The DJ scoffs at that and reassumes his grip on Jimin’s waist, and on the next downfall of his hips, Yoongi bucks up against it to meet him halfway. His cock pushes deeper and Jimin’s breath hitches on a cry, white-hot pleasure bursting up his spine. He slumps a little, leaning more of his weight onto Yoongi’s chest.

There’s a smug look to the DJ’s eyes, smirking up at him through his own obvious arousal. “You say that as if you were the king of subtlety,” he says and presses up again, rocking Jimin slightly where he sits on his cock. “ Fuck, like you weren’t eye-fucking me every chance you got.”

“Yeah, but—ah—I was sneakier about it,” Jimin manages around a poorly suppressed moan. “Mmh, hyung, c-can you—want you deeper, please.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says and tightens his grip on his waist. “Yeah, fuck, let me—I’ll just—” He doesn’t finish either sentence in favor of scooting down a bit on the bed and bracing his feet against the mattress to thrust up with more power. His hips snap hard against Jimin’s on his next downfall, and his cock presses right up against Jimin’s prostate.

A high-pitched cry spills from Jimin’s lips and he throws his head back, his spine arching under the surge of pleasure. He digs his fingers into the DJ’s chest and practically feels the sound he emits rumbling under his touch. He tries to catch his breath, but Yoongi doesn’t let him, bucking up against him again and again, shoving all the air out of his lungs along with a breathy moan for every thrust, every press against his prostate.

“Hyu-hyunggg,” Jimin whines, his voice coming out broken yet far too loud for so late at night. There are tears pooling in his eyes under the intensity of the neverending rush of searing pleasure, all but unbearable in his groin. “Yoongi-hyung, I-I’m close.”

With a sound like a growl, the DJ sits up and wraps an arm around Jimin’s waist, pulling him against his chest before turning them over. Jimin emits a startled cry at the shift in balance, a sound that turns into a moan far louder than intended when Yoongi thrusts into him again, hitting deep at a completely different angle.

“You feel so fucking good around me, fuck,” the DJ groans. His eyes are closed and his brow furrowed in his pleasure, one hand gripping hard at Jimin’s hip to hold him in place while the other goes to his cock, thumb pressing against the slit. “Wanna make you come, Jimin, god, come for me, yeah?”

Jimin nods as best he can against the pillows, too overwhelmed to trust himself to speak. The hand around his cock sends him barreling towards his orgasm, and with the way Yoongi hits his prostate on every single thrust, it’s only a matter of seconds before Jimin reaches his peak. With a cry muffled against the back of his hand, he spills between them, his body stringing itself tight, so damn tight his spine arches off the mattress.

Above him, Yoongi hisses a harsh curse and fucks into the clech of his hole twice, three times before pushing himself as deep as physically possible and stilling, coming hard into the condom. Jimin whines; he can feel Yoongi’s cock twitching inside him, and it has his body in tremors, racked by sensitivity in the aftershock of his orgasm.

Neither of them say a word for a long moment, both too busy struggling to catch their breath. It’s Yoongi who recovers first, huffing an outdrawn “Fuuuucking hell,” before pushing himself upright on the bed. He looks up at Jimin and emits a sound like a soft snort, bringing a hand to his face to brush his thumb over his cheek. “That good, huh?” he muses, teasing, and Jimin realises the tears in his eyes has spilled at some point. He doesn’t quite know when.

“Mmn,” is the best retort he manages, rendered utterly boneless by his orgasm. He does roll his eyes when Yoongi chuckles again and attempts to pin him under a glare, but ends up wincing instead when the DJ pulls out of him. “Hyung, ‘s sensitive,” he whines, the words coming out slurred past the thickness in his throat.

“I know, sorry,” Yoongi murmurs and pats his thigh in an apologetic manner before disposing of the condom, tossing it into the bin near his desk. “I’ll go get a towel to clean you up, okay? I’ll be right back.”

A lazy smile tugs at the corners of Jimin’s lips and he nods before burying himself against the pillows, already drifting off by the time the DJ comes back. He hums in content at the feeling of a warm towel pressing against his stomach to wipe away the mess he’d made, and while he does give a jerk when Yoongi dabs at the sensitive skin of his rim to wipe away the mess of lube. “Hyung,” he protests, cheeks flushing red.

“Almost done, princess,” the DJ says softly and presses his lips against Jimin’s hip as an apology. “You wanna borrow one of my t-shirts or are you okay sleeping in the nude?”

The thought of wearing one of Yoongi’s shirts is certainly a nice one, but Jimin shakes his head. “‘M too tired to move,” he mumbles and hugs one of the pillows against his chest, burying his face in it and grinning dopily at the chuckle the DJ emits.

“Go to sleep, then,” Yoongi says and pats him lightly on the ass. “I’ll join you in a second, I’m just gonna clean up first, okay?”

“Mkay.”

Jimin is asleep before Yoongi comes to bed, surrounded by the scent of him and the warmth of his bed. He hasn’t felt so content in a long time.

To say Jimin is nervous the following day is the understatement of the century.

He’d left Yoongi’s place early in the morning, having to rush home and grab the books for his uni before heading to school, barely making it to his class on time. He hadn’t wanted to wake the DJ, so he’d left a note on his nightstand with a scribbled message of had to go to class, see you at work xxx before taking off.

Jimin had been giddy for the first half of the day, barely managing to contain his excitement for seeing the DJ again, but now, as he’s preparing to go to work, that giddiness has morphed into something more akin to fretting.

What if this was just a one-night thing for Yoongi? After all, they hadn’t actually talked about going on a date or anything of the sort, so Jimin has no idea what the DJ would want to do. Maybe he’d only wanted a one-night stand. It’s not very uncommon; previous encounters with men had taught Jimin that not that many are cool with being in a relationship with a stripper.

Or an exotic dancer, as Jin would say.

“Don’t overthink it,” he tells himself sternly as he steps off the bus, trying his best to not drag his steps to stave off the eventual confrontation. “Just be your usual self when you see him.” Or is that a bad idea? He doesn’t want to come off as clingy, especially if Yoongi had just been looking for a hookup. “Okay, be casual,” he says into the scarf around his neck. “Casual. I can be casual.”

He ends up holding his breath as he steps through the doors to SUGA, his heart beating a mile a minute in his throat. He has to pass the sound station to get to the dressing rooms, which means if Yoongi is already there, he’ll have to face him. He greets Namjoon at the bar and Kangsoo, who’s peering into a box of freshly-ordered liquor, and then he turns to face what his brain is trying to convince him is his doom.

Yoongi is crouched in front of the DJ desk, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he fiddles with some of the wires. If possible, he looks even better than he had before; his hair is just the right amount of messy and the turtleneck shirt he’s wearing works wonders to accentuate the width of his shoulders, and Jimin feels like he’s punched in the gut with a lump of burning coal, memories of the previous night rushing back.

Damn.

Perhaps he makes some kind of noise or then the DJ must feel his eyes on him, for he looks up and meets Jimin’s gaze across the room. He stands upright quickly and smiles, and it does two things to Jimin; one, his heart does a ridiculous flop in his chest and causes a startling amount of warmth to rush to his cheeks, and two, his nervousness escalates tenfold because Yoongi looks so relaxed and calm, the complete opposite of what Jimin is going through.

Don’t overthink things, he reminds himself again and clutches to it like a vice. Even so, the best thing he manages is a smile, nowhere near as coy as he’d like, and waves at the DJ before turning on the heel and heading for his dressing room without another glance back over his shoulder.

“What the hell,” he mumbles silently once he’s inside his room, tossing his bag onto the chair and running a hand through his hair. “That was so not casual, Park Jimin, what the hell, he’s gonna think you’re being really weird now.”

He peers into the vanity mirror and frowns at his own reflection in an attempt to make some sense of his feelings, as if he could read the answers on his face. He knows he’s being paranoid and weird about the whole thing, but he doesn’t know why. Sure, they hadn’t talked about going on a date or anything, but it’s not like Yoongi had told him to get lost, either.

Jimin knows he’s crushing on the DJ, rather spectacularly for that matter, and last night had been absolutely amazing. The problem, he figures, is that he doesn’t know what Yoongi thinks about the whole thing. People usually do the dating thing before sleeping together, after all, so maybe… maybe he thinks Jimin isn’t looking for anything more.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” he tells his own reflection sternly. “Just be normal and don’t get all clingy and needy, or he’s definitely not gonna wanna go for anything more.” He nods at himself and stands upright, and goes to get changed.

For all his pep-talks, Jimin ends up unintentionally avoiding the DJ for the first few hours of his shift. It’s half on accident—he’s up for more performances than usually tonight—but whenever he would have time to go see Yoongi, he convinces himself he wouldn’t have enough time, only ten minutes or fifteen minutes before he’d have to leave again.

Thus he doesn’t leave the backstage area until his first thirty minute break comes sometime around midnight.

He’s more nervous than he’s ever been while on stage when he approaches the sound station, his heart hammering a frantic pace against his ribs. Casual, be casual, he chants inwardly and clasps his hands behind his back in an attempt to stop himself from wringing them. Just be casual, just greet him, everything will be fine after that, just—

“Jimin.”

He barely manages to keep himself from startling, jumping slightly upon the realisation that he’d already walked up to the sound station and caught the DJ’s attention. He blinks at Yoongi, lips parting and closing again in the face of his smile, and only manages to find his words when said smile falters a bit.

“Hi, Yoongi-hyung,” he says, far too quietly, and looks away for a second or two to indulge in wallowing in self-pity before putting on his best smile and turning back. “How are you?”

Smooth.

The DJ chuckles, wholly without the nervousness that is plaguing Jimin. “Shouldn’t I be the one to ask you that?” he muses and tilts his head. “You okay dancing today?”

Warmth floods to Jimin’s cheeks and he emits an incoherent sound that he hopes Yoongi mistakes for a giggle. “I’m fine,” he says and pats at his hip before clasping his hands again. “It takes a lot to throw a dancer’s hip out of order, so…”

The rest of the sentence trails off into a momentary silence during which Jimin wants to smack himself in the face, because he sort of just insinuated the DJ didn’t do a good enough job of fucking him last night.

Great job, Park Jimin, you absolute dumbass, he wails internally.

The hum Yoongi makes is both amused and questioning, but he doesn’t push it any further than that. “You left really early in the morning,” he says instead, looking away for a moment to push a few of the buttons on the soundboard. “I think I woke up at eight or something, but you were already gone.”

“Oh yeah, I had class at eight,” Jimin says and nods, forcing himself to meet the DJ’s gaze when he looks at him again. “Had to stop by my place to pick up the books I needed for my first class, so I had to get going really early.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Yoongi says with a smile. “You could’ve woken me up, though. I would’ve walked you out, at least.”

“Oh,” Jimin says and brings his hands up to shake them as if to deflect the DJ’s offer, even though it’s several hours too late now. “No no, I didn’t wanna bother you, hyung. You looked like you were really deep asleep, a-and you’re new to working so late at night, I think, so…”

Again, he leaves his sentence unfinished, this time because he has no idea whatsoever what to say. God, why is he being so awkward? He has no idea how he’d managed to be so casual and flirty around Yoongi up until last night; right now, he can barely remember how to string along coherent sentences.

“Well,” the DJ drawls, still smiling, “that’s sweet of you, Jiminie.”

The warmth in Jimin’s cheeks grows hotter still and his heart pauses its frantic pace for long enough to give a lurch before launching right back into breaking down his ribs. He parts his lips to say something, maybe something teasing, but when nothing ends up coming to mind, he closes them again and just rolls his shoulders in a shrug, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze in what he hopes is a nonchalant manner.

A brief silence settles between them, one Jimin can’t help but label as awkward as fuck. He clasps his hands again before he can start picking at his nails or something equally as embarrassing, his gaze flickering all over the soundboard in a desperate attempt at thinking of something to say, anything at all.

What’s wrong with you, he cries internally, every passing second feeling like an hour. He knows Yoongi is looking at him, he can feel his gaze against the skin of his temple, but he can’t meet it, not without something to talk about.

When the DJ clears his throat, Jimin is immediately relieved, sending a silent thanks to whatever deity is listening that he’s raising his voice first, only to have that relief shatter upon the first few words he speaks. “Listen, Jimin,” Yoongi begins, “I was thinking—”

“Jimin!”

Jimin startles and turns around to see Hoseok waving him down from the door to the backstage as subtly as he can to not alert any of the clients in the audience. With a glance at the clock on the wall, Jimin realises his break is almost over and he should be preparing for the next performance.

“Oh, shit,” Jimin squeaks and takes a step back, belatedly remembering Yoongi’s quite ominous words. He turns back to him and hesitates; based on the opening, he’s not entirely sure he wants to hear what the DJ has to say. “Y-you were saying, hyung?” he asks either way, gaze rising no higher than Yoongi’s jaw.

There’s a brief silence before the DJ heaves a light sigh and shakes his head. “It was nothing,” he says and jerks his head in the direction where Hoseok is still waiting. “I can tell you later, don’t worry about it. You go get ready.”

“Okay,” Jimin says quietly, relieved and dejected all at once. “I’ll just… I’ll just get going.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says and crosses his arms, nodding. “See you around, Jimine.”

With nothing to say to that, Jimin just nods before turning on the heel and hurrying to the safety of the backstage area, murmuring a quiet apology to Hoseok for having to come get him. He runs a hand through his hair again and sighs, closing his eyes for a moment to silently curse himself before straightening up and clapping his own cheeks in an attempt to make himself snap out of his daze.

“You okay, Jiminie?” Hoseok asks, having followed his little display. “Did something happen with Yoongi?”

“No,” Jimin says, probably too quickly for it to sound believable. “I’m fine, I just—I had a stressful day, ‘s all. Don’t worry about me, hyung.”

Hoseok looks far from convinced, but nods all the same and pats him on the shoulder. “Alright, well, you’re up in seven minutes,” he says and gently nudges Jimin towards his dressing room. “Get changed quickly and I’ll help you with your makeup.”

Jimin nods and does as told, pausing in front of his closet for long enough to shake his head to get rid of his thoughts. “You’re at work,” he tells himself as he pulls out his outfit for the next performance. “Don’t think about it for now. You can deal with this shit later.” Jimin is, after all, a professional, and no matter how nervous he is about Yoongi, he refuses to let it get in the way of him doing his job.

True to his word, he doesn’t think about the DJ for the rest of the night, not even when he would have time to go talk to him. He keeps himself busy backstage, taking extra care to prepare for each and every performance, and by the time he finishes his last dance and the club reaches closing time, he’s absolutely exhausted.

He’s dreading having to continue his conversation with Yoongi now, when he barely has the energy to stay on his feet, thus he’s eternally grateful when Hoseok catches up to him halfway out the door to the main hall and throws an arm around his shoulder. “Let me drive you home, Jiminie,” he says and jostles him so hard he probably would’ve fallen if not for his grip. “You look like you’d fall asleep on the bus and ride it to the other end of Seoul.”

Jimin shoots a quick glance across the room at where Yoongi is tidying up his station. He’s looking over at the two of them, and upon catching Jimin’s gaze, he just smiles and nods in a quiet goodbye.

Again, Jimin is both relieved and dejected; the former because he won’t have to have the conversation he’s been dreading all night, and the latter because the DJ really does seem too casual for someone who’d be interested in anything more than a one-night thing.

Don’t overthink it, he tells himself for the umpteenth time that day and sends a small smile Yoongi’s way, along with a tiny wave before leaning against Hoseok. “Thanks, Hobi-hyung,” he says and lets himself be dragged towards the door.

He does almost fall asleep in the car, nodding off while Hoseok hums along to the tunes playing from the radio. He’s so ready to just go to sleep and forget the entire day, and perhaps wake up with a clearer mind the following day. Or at least rant about his situation to Taehyung and have him tell him how to fix his problem in the most efficient way possible.

After thanking Hoseok and dragging his feet up to his apartment, he doesn’t even spend enough time to wipe away his makeup before collapsing into bed and falling asleep within a matter of minutes.

When Jimin does drag himself out of bed the next morning, he’s seriously contemplating skipping his classes for the first time since he first started university. He’s tired, having only gotten four hours of sleep, and he doesn’t feel any better at all about the situation with Yoongi.

He lumbers into the kitchen, where Taehyung is busy preparing fried rice with eggs and kimchi at the stove. “Morning, my sweet Chimchim,” he sing-songs by way of greeting without taking his eyes off the pan. “How are you doing?”

“Bad,” Jimin says and plops down into his seat, only to immediately flop down over the table surface, a whine spilling from his lips. “Taetae, I need help. ”

It’s immediate, the way his friend turns off the stove and abandons all thoughts of breakfast in favor of all but launching himself at Jimin to make sure he’s okay. “Tell me everything,” he says and rubs his cheek against Jimin’s, arms pulling him into a crushing embrace. “I’ll make it all better, I promise!”

The hug alone makes Jimin feel better, and so he manages to get through the whole recount of what’s been going on between him and Yoongi ever since he first started working there. He tells Taehyung about how they’d been flirting like crazy up until sleeping together and that Jimin would really like to actually date the DJ, but that he’s worried because he doesn’t want to seem too clingy, especially since Yoongi hasn’t shown any signs of wanting the same thing.

“I mean, it’s not like we said anything about it being more than just that one night,” Jimin mumbles, pouting. “So I can’t even be upset about it, not really, but still. ” He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “I think I really like him,” he says quietly. “He’s funny and nice and,” he sighs, “really damn attractive.”

“A lethal combo,” Taehyung says sagely and pats Jimin’s thigh. “Well, I mean, it’s only been one day, Chim, so I don’t think you should rule anything out yet. I dunno, maybe he just wants some space for a few days? To think about things?”

“Maybe,” Jimin says, albeit a bit reluctantly.

“And if he really does only want it to be a one-night thing, well,” Taehyung continues, hands coming up to smush Jimin’s cheeks to stop him from pouting, “then it’s his loss. He’ll miss out on the chance of dating the sweetest, prettiest, most amazing person in the whole world.”

Jimin can’t help but giggle at that, beyond endeared by his friend’s words and antics. “Thank you, Taetae,” he says and pulls him into a hug, burying his face against his shoulder. “You’re the best.”

“Anything for my precious soulmate,” Taehyung hums and runs his fingers through Jimin’s hair a few times before untangling himself from his embrace. “Now, go wash your face, hun, you look like a whole mess. I’ve told you never to sleep in your makeup.”

Belatedly, Jimin remembers that he did indeed go to bed without wiping off his makeup. “Oh shit, my skin’s gonna look so bad tonight,” he bemoans and scurries to the bathroom to grab some wet wipes and dab at his skin. “Can I borrow your face wash, Taetae? Yours is better for sensitive skin.”

“Of course, Chimchim.”

Jimin feels marginally better after that. He does end up skipping the first class of the day, since Taehyung refuses to let him go without eating breakfast first, but he feels far more energetic afterwards and can’t bring himself to regret it. Plus, with his stellar record, it won’t affect his grades at all, and when he does show up, he stops by his professor’s office with a quick apology and an excuse of staying up too late studying, and the man just shrugs away his absence with a smile and a mild warning to be more careful in the future.

Of course, when the time comes for him to head to work, his nerves come creeping right back, although not with the same force. He manages to be calmer than the day before, his smile coming easier when he greets Yoongi with a wave from across the room. The DJ smiles back, and Jimin is content, reminding himself of Taehyung’s advice.

He does his best to keep himself busy during the day, stopping himself short every time he starts thinking about the fact that the DJ doesn’t seem to be in any rush to talk to him, even to return to whatever it was he’d wanted to say. They do bump into each other halfway through their shift, the two of them stopping by the bar at the same time to ask for something to drink.

“Hey, Jimin,” Yoongi greets, calm as ever. “You okay? You seemed really tired yesterday.”

“Oh,” Jimin says and wills away the warmth rising to his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just, uh, I had a really hectic day at uni and didn’t get enough sleep before work, so… yeah.” It’s all an excuse, but it’s not like he’s going to up and confess the fact that he stressed himself out because of his own uncertainty in regards to the DJ.

Yoongi hums at that and purses his lips slightly. “Try to not skip out on sleeping when you have the chance, okay?” he says, and Jimin curses himself for the spark of hope in his chest, born out of the DJ’s worry for his well-being.

“Okay,” he mumbles into the glass of water Namjoon hands him. “I, um, I gotta head backstage again, but I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says and nods, a small smile on his lips. “Talk to you later, Jiminie.”

Only they don’t. Not really.

Jimin doesn’t avoid the DJ on purpose, but what with the decision to not keep sulking, especially while at work, he takes care to not spend his time seeking Yoongi out for whatever reason. He tells himself to just give Yoongi the space he needs and see where it goes, and that if the DJ really doesn’t want anything more than the one night they had, then he’d better be prepared to get over his crush.

Which isn’t an easy task, to be fair; even with their limited encounters, Yoongi is still nice and funny, and talks to Jimin as if they’re long-time friends. He doesn’t say give any kind of hint towards the night they spent together, and while at first, it puts a damper on Jimin’s mood, with a few days’ time, it makes the whole process of getting over him that much easier.

He greets Yoongi every day when arriving to work and wishes him good night every day after finishing up, and makes idle chit chat if they happen to cross paths during their shift. It’s the same as before, Jimin notes, only with the absence of all the flirting. It’s good; it’s not like his crush was that deep to begin with, and since the DJ continues to show no interest in dating, every day passes has Jimin less anxious to see him.

Until him being fine caves in on itself a week after them sleeping together.

It’s nearing the end of the night and Jimin has just finished his last performance, with only Hoseok and one of the girls remaining before closing time. Having spent a whole week dancing around Yoongi and trying to come to terms with the fact that a romantic relationship likely won’t happen with him, he has decided to try and properly make friends with the guy. He’s been feeling pretty well about their conversations for the past few days, so he figures it’s time to try and actually establish a proper friendship.

There’s an offer of going to an arcade to play games on the weekend resting on the tip of his tongue as he pushes his way out of the dressing rooms and heads over to the sound station, only to promptly have all thoughts of niceties shoved right out of his head at the sight that greets him there.

Kangsoo is leaning over the DJ desk, all coy smiles as he reaches over the soundboard to pat Yoongi’s arm and says something Jimin can’t hear. His words end in a breathless little laughter and he presses a bit more of his weight against the DJ’s arm, and even without having seen the dancer’s act plenty of times, Jimin would be able to recognise his mannerisms as flirting even from a mile away.

Yoongi doesn’t shrug him off or do anything to reclaim his personal space. Instead, he grins, wide and gummy, and Jimin feels like he’s been doused in cold water.

He turns away sharply, an uncomfortable burn settling in his throat. He takes a clumsy step backwards and finds the wall for support, the sound of Kangsoo’s laughter loud in his ears as he makes his way back to his dressing room, feeling hollow throughout.

Once inside his room, Jimin pushes the door shut and locks it before leaning back against it, his lips pressed tightly together. He blinks rapidly in an attempt to clear his rapidly blurring vision, until it becomes too much and he presses a hand against his eyes to rub away the tears pooling there before they can spill.

“Why are you crying, stupid?” he asks unsteadily of the room, his voice breaking off into an involuntary sob. “You’ve been spending the past week getting over him even though you weren’t even together to begin with.” The tears won’t stop flowing and he hates it, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing the heels of his hands against them to block their path. “Stop being so dramatic, stupid.”

He slides down against the door and ends up sitting on the floor, trying his damndest to stop crying. He’s supposed to be fine, he’s been seeing Yoongi every day for the past week and it’s been fine, even though it didn’t turn out into the kind of relationship he would’ve wanted. It has still been fine and the DJ is allowed to flirt with whoever he wants, so he shouldn’t be crying. There’s no reason for him to.

But fuck, to see Yoongi move on to the next guy in a matter of days makes him feel like shit.

It takes him a good ten minutes to stop crying, and as soon as he does, he changes into his regular clothes and tosses everything haphazardly into the closet, slamming it shut. Hoseok’s performance is still going, and instead of letting anyone know he’s leaving, Jimin heads for the back exit and steps out into the cold, wiping away whatever stray tears still remain as he runs to the bus stop.

“Stop it,” he mumbles to himself when he takes his seat in the far back. His reflection is dim, but he can still see the redness of his eyes and the tracks his tears have left. “You’re being so dumb, Park Jimin.”

Whether that’s true or not, it doesn’t make him feel any better.

His apartment is dark when he gets home, Taehyung having gone to bed several hours ago. Jimin walks past his room and into his own, only to pause at the threshold. It’s his room, his own space, but it looks so cold and uninviting in that moment, like a stranger’s home. With his lips pressed tightly together, he changes out of his clothes and pulls on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, and pads quietly over to Taehyung’s room.

He knocks softly on the door and pushes it open without expecting a reply, his friend deep asleep. Carefully, he pads over to his bed, hesitating for a moment before sitting down on the edge, the mattress dipping under his weight. The movement is enough to make Taehyung stir, a muffled groan rising from his throat as he turns around and cracks an eye open. “Chim..?” he murmurs groggily, his voice thick with sleep.

“Hey,” Jimin starts, wringing his hands. “Sorry, I just… can I sleep with you tonight?”

It takes Taehyung a moment to focus his gaze, peering up at Jimin through the darkness of the room, and he raises the edge of his blanket without a moment’s doubt. “Get in here,” he says, closing his eyes again.

Fresh tears rise to Jimin’s eyes and he blinks them away. “Thank you,” he says in a small voice and crawls under the warm duvet, curling up close to his best friend.

Taehyung throws an arm over his shoulders and pulls him in close, humming tiredly. “Wanna talk ‘bout it?” he asks, slurring his words a little.

Jimin doesn’t, not really, but he figures he’ll be able to sleep better—or at all—if he gets it off his chest. “Yoongi isn’t interested in me,” he mumbles and buries his face against Taehyung’s chest to hide the fact that the words make him cry. “He’s already got his eyes on someone else.”

The arm around him tightens and Taehyung heaves a light sigh, nuzzling his nose into Jimin’s hair. “What an asshole,” he huffs, a bite to his voice even when he’s just woken up. “‘S a real dick move, to just go for the next without making anything clear.” He pulls Jimin flat against himself, all but crushing him in his embrace. “Forget about him, Chimmy,” he says. “If this is how he behaves, he doesn’t deserve to have you like him. He doesn't deserve to have you liking him.”

Jimin nods against his chest, wishing it was so easy to get over your feelings. He sniffles and squeezes his eyes shut, and thanks whatever deity is listening that he at least has a friend like Taehyung, who murmurs softly against his hair and hugs him close until he stops crying, holding him until he finally manages to fall asleep.

After that, Jimin starts purposely avoiding Yoongi.

Perhaps avoiding isn’t the right word for it. It’s more like he starts seeking distance from the DJ; he doesn’t go near the sound station anymore. He doesn’t try to talk to Yoongi and he barely returns his greetings, sparing him a half-hearted nod or wave whenever the DJ tries.

On some level, Jimin knows he’s being petty. He doesn’t really have any grounds to be behaving the way he is, since it’s not like Yoongi broke any promises or anything of the sort. It’s not really justified, but Jimin is hurt and that’s it. If the DJ wants to move on without another word, then Jimin is not gonna go out of his way to be nice about it and make Yoongi feel like what he did was without consequences.

That is, if the DJ even cares. He probably doesn’t, but still.

A few days pass with Jimin actively taking the long way ‘round to avoid every possible interaction with Yoongi. He stays in his dressing room whenever he’s not on stage and he asks Hoseok to pass the DJ his tracklist when Hoseok goes to hand in his own, giving his hyung the excuse of wanting to hone on some moves backstage. He tells Jin that he has to take off as soon as he finishes his shift every night and that he can’t stay until closing time, and his boss just waves him off with a smile, telling him to get all the sleep he can.

It continues like that until Saturday night, when Yoongi seems to finally have noticed there’s something off about what he’s doing. He seeks Jimin out, catching him on his way out of his dressing room, and he still looks so damn casual, like has no idea the effect his actions have had.

“I haven’t seen you a lot lately,” he says and rubs at his neck, the ghost of a frown tugging at his brow. “Did something happen? It kinda seems like you’re avoiding me.”

Half of Jimin wants to turn around and bolt right then and there while the other half wants to smack some sense into the DJ’s dense head. “I’m not avoiding you,” he says in a voice so stiff it doesn’t even fool himself. “I’m just busy. Like right now, I have a performance to get to, so if you’ll excuse me…” He leaves the sentence open and moves past Yoongi, and he knows he shouldn’t, but he turns around before going backstage and adds, “You can talk to Kangsoo instead, since you two get along so well.”

He leaves before the DJ can do as much as part his lips, stomping backstage and greeting one of the other dancers on their way back from their performance. He closes his eyes and takes a calming breath, reminding himself that he’s a goddamn professional and that he’s not gonna let his job be affected by the whole mess. He huffs and nods to himself, and steps past the curtains with a smile on his lips.

Jimin doesn’t see Yoongi again that night, once again sneaking out as soon as he’s done for the night. It’s his last night of the week, his one night of freedom between Sunday and Monday waiting, and he’s never been so relieved to have a day off, wanting nothing more than to spend the whole day doing nothing. Well, sulking, probably, but nothing more strenuous than that.

He sleeps late, waking only when Taehyung comes to drag him out of bed with a promise of takeout chicken and movies waiting in the living room. Still swallowed by his blanket, Jimin drags his feet to the couch and flops down on it, groaning against the cushions when Taehyung plops down right on top of his ass, crushing him under his weight and poking at his sides until he can’t suppress his laughter any longer.

They watch three Marvel movies and spend a good fifteen minutes arguing over who the hottest superhero is, a discussion that ends with Taehyung calling Jeongguk over to come settle it—which is completely unfair, since everyone and their mother knows Jeongguk will agree with his boyfriend about Tony Stark being the best one—and Jimin sticking his nose in the air and declaring his roommate tasteless for not recognising the fact that Captain America is obviously the greatest catch.

While they wait for Jeongguk to arrive, Jimin goes to check his phone in case someone’s sent him any messages during the day. There’s only one notification waiting for him, and he pauses when he opens the messages, sent an hour or so after he’d gotten home in the night.

From: Unknown Number

[04:48AM]:

Hey Jimin, it’s Yoongi

I got your number from Jin

Can we talk?

There’s another one after that, with just his name, sent about a bit under two hours ago. Jimin stares at it for a long moment, unblinking, until he chucks his phone back into his bed with more force than necessary and a muttered, “Idiot,” which he doesn’t know if it’s meant for himself or the DJ.

Don’t think about him, he tells himself sternly and returns to the living room. Don’t waste your time thinking about him.

When Jeongguk arrives, he brings two large pizzas and his Playstation with a wide array of games. They land at Overwatch and play for hours, even though both Jeongguk and Taehyung knows Jimin sucks at shooting games and is probably dragging down the entire team. They have fun either way, with Jimin laughing so hard he almost falls off the couch when Jeongguk runs across the entire map while trying to keep a football from the spawn point elevated, shooting at it every time it drops too low.

Even the enemy team leaves him alone to complete his impossible mission, the in-game chat going crazy with cheers from both teams.

They don’t stop playing until far into the night, and when Jimin goes to bed, he feels much better than he has all week. He glances at his phone, his smile fading for a moment, before he shoves the thing under his pillow and goes to sleep.

The next day is blessedly hectic, with his classes at uni keeping his mind preoccupied and staving off any and all thoughts of the DJ. He manages to get all the way to the late afternoon without worrying, although he does skip out on his nap when he gets home from class, knowing there’s no way he’d be able to fall asleep then. Instead, he takes care of all his homework for the day, lightly hitting himself in the temple with his pencil every time his thoughts stray to the fact that he’ll have to see Yoongi again later that night.

By the time he has to head off to work, he’s jumpy with nerves, but at the same time, there’s a determination to him, one caused by the irritation that has started to build in him in regards to the DJ. With Taehyung and Jeongguk’s help, he’s gotten past the sad stage well enough and is currently in the one where the word he relates most with Yoongi is “stupid dickhead.”

He doesn’t spot the DJ when he pushes through the doors of SUGA, although his hoodie is thrown over the seat at the sound station, which means he’s already arrived. Jimin does his best to ignore the jolt of nerves in his stomach and greets Namjoon with a smile before heading to the dressing rooms to get ready.

Throughout the shift, he only catches glimpses of Yoongi here and there, the DJ never straying from his station whenever Jimin leaves the backstage area to get something to drink or talk to Jin. Only once does Jimin get the feeling someone is looking at him, but when he glances Yoongi’s way, the DJ is busy with his soundboard, making adjustments with one hand holding a pair of headphones to his ear.

Good, Jimin thinks as he sits down in front of his mirror to touch up his makeup. It’s good like this.

He ends up staying later that night, being roped into a conversation with Hoseok, whose plans of opening his own dance studio has taken a giant leap now that he’s gathered enough money to rent a space where he could hold classes. His enthusiasm is contagious, and Jimin finds himself feeling almost giddy when he steps outside into the cold night air.

That giddiness is promptly ripped away from him when he comes face to face with Yoongi.

Very belatedly, Jimin realises he completely forgot to take the back exit. His eyes grow wide at the sight of the DJ leaning against the wall next to the front doors, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. He must’ve been waiting for a while, judging by the redness of his ears and nose, and Jimin curses himself and the twinge of guilt that flares up inside him at the sight.

No, he tells himself and grabs onto the straps of his bag for some semblance of stability. You’re not gonna cave, Park Jimin.

Yoongi pushes away from the wall and takes a small step towards him, stopping shy of what Jimin would consider too close for what they are. “Hey,” he says, no smile in sight.

There’s something about his tone that puts Jimin on the defensive in the blink of an eye. It’s not accusing, but he sounds conflicted, which is just as bad in a situation like this. “What are you doing here?” Jimin asks, foregoing any greetings.

“We need to talk,” the DJ says with a certain air of finality.

Jimin presses his lips together for a moment, fighting the urge to look away. “Do we?” he asks stiffly. “About what?”

Yoongi heaves a sigh, brows pulling into a frown. “You know what,” he says, the patience in his voice terribly forced. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. You ignored my messages, and you snapped at me for, what, talking to one of the other dancers?”

A dry scoff passes Jimin’s lips before he can stop it. “Talking,” he repeats in a mutter. “Right.”

“See, that’s what I mean,” Yoongi says, his frown deepening. “Why are you so upset that I get along with the other people here?”

“That’s not what I—” Jimin begins, only to cut himself off before he can say something stupid. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, tugging briefly before straightening his back. “There’s nothing going on, okay?” he says. “Nothing’s weird between us. Nothing at all between us, in fact. Just like you wanted.”

If anything, the DJ looks more confused than before. “What does that mean?” he asks, the ironic bite of Jimin’s voice hardly lost on him.

Jimin shakes his head and tightens his grip on his bag. He doesn’t want to talk to Yoongi anymore. He just wants to go home and be angry. And sad. But mostly angry. “Nothing,” he says. “Just forget it.”

“No, I don’t want to,” Yoongi says, a slight flare to his voice. “Look, I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but—”

“I’m not pissed off,” Jimin grits out, bristling with impatience.

His tone pulls a scoff from Yoongi’s lips, the DJ crossing his arms. “Right,” he says dryly, “because this is how people who aren’t pissed off behave.”

The sarcasm in his voice works as the last straw for Jimin, whose emotions were barely under control as they were. “Well, excuse me for my poor behavior,” he snaps and pins Yoongi under a scathing glare. “I didn’t realise there was a strict standard on how politely you should behave after someone leaves you on the roadside after a good fuck to go look for the next hot piece of ass. Stupid me, I guess I should’ve known better.”

The DJ’s eyes have grown wider and wider throughout his outburst, and by the time he’s done, Yoongi is gaping at him, looking like he’s been struck by lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asks, and the genuine confusion in his voice only feeds Jimin’s irritation.

“Oh wow, you don’t even realise it, do you?” he spits, lips curling into a hard smile. “Right, I guess I really was the only one who—” He interrupts himself for the second time and shakes his head, drawing a lungful of air in attempt to calm himself. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” he says when he deems himself coherent enough to speak. “I’m going home.”

He doesn’t even make it two steps before a hand closes around his wrist and pulls him back. “No, we’re still talking about this,” Yoongi says, exasperated. “I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about, Jimin.”

“And I’m not gonna stand here and explain it to you,” Jimin bites back and tries to squirm out of his grip. “Let me go.”

“Not before you explain what’s going on inside your head.” The DJ’s voice echoes in the empty street, filled with the same kind of frustration brimming in Jimin’s chest. “The hell do you mean, I left you on the roadside?” he demands. “When did I do that?”

Jimin turns on him, his anger fuelled by incredulity. “When?” he repeats loudly. “You pretended it never happened! One day we were flirting like no tomorrow, pretty much every chance we got, and then, after we slept together, you just stopped, like you’d gotten yours and you were done!”

With a sound torn between a growl and something terribly akin to a sob, Jimin wrenches his arm out of Yoongi’s grip and blinks hard against the tears rising to his eyes. “‘S my fault for liking you, I suppose,” he bites out, “even though I should’ve seen it coming. People don’t wanna date strippers.”

Yoongi doesn’t move, looking absolutely shellshocked where he stands, eyes wide and lips parted. “Jimin—”

“No, I’m done,” Jimin says, having had more than enough at this point. “This is so stupid. I’m just… I’m just gonna go home.” He rubs at his eyes and tries to pass it off as an act of tiredness rather than sorrow. “I’ll see you around, Yoongi-ssi.” He turns away and starts down the street, only to be yanked back barely three steps down. “What are you—”

“You listen here, Park Jimin.” Yoongi’s face is far closer than it should be in a situation like this, and he looks angry and frustrated and exasperated all at once. “ You were the one who acted like nothing happened,” he says, raising his voice when Jimin parts his lips to protest. “First you took off the next morning without anything more than a note where you didn’t even leave your number. Then you didn’t mention anything about what had happened when we saw each other at work, and when I was gonna ask you if you wanted to grab a coffee or something the next day, you got called away and then spent the rest of the day pretending I didn’t exist!”

Now it’s Jimin’s turn to stare, eyes wide in shock as he listens to the DJ’s rant. His brain struggles to catch up, and as soon as it does, it brings with it a sense of defensiveness. “Th-then why didn’t you bring it up again?” he demands. “We talked several times over the following days, but you never said anything!”

“Because you were being so casual about the whole thing!” Yoongi retorts hotly. “Not once did  you say anything about our flirting or us sleeping together, or that you would’ve wanted something more out of it! So I figured I better give you some space, since you didn’t seem like you wanted to talk about it!”

Oh.

Oh god.

The realisation that they both have done the exact same thing hits Jimin like a sack of bricks to the gut. While he’s been fretting over Yoongi’s apparent lack of interest in anything related to dating or the night they’d spent together, the DJ has done the same, interpreting Jimin’s attempts at not being clingy as him not being interested.

Jimin kind of wants to die.

“And while we’re on that topic,” Yoongi carries on, having not noticed the shift in Jimin’s demeanor just yet, “I can’t believe you’d assume I wouldn’t want to date you because you’re a stripper. Like, where the hell did you even get that idea? Have I ever given you a reason to think I’m disgusted by what you do? That I think it’s, what, dirty or whatever the hell?”

His words bring back a flare of defensiveness to Jimin, although it’s tiny compared to only moments prior. “No one wants to date a stripper,” he says, wholly unable of meeting the DJ’s eyes now, cheeks burning with embarrassment and guilt. “No one wants a boyfriend who gets up on stage half naked every night in front of other people.”

“That’s not up to you to decide,” Yoongi says, finally calming down. He’s frowning, his brow knitted tightly together. “I don’t know if you think like that because of past experiences, but it’s not fair of you to decide how I feel without asking me first.”

He’s right, Jimin knows he’s right, and it only makes it so much worse. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and looks down, absolutely mortified.

Yoongi seems to sense his shift in mood then, heaving a sigh and shaking his head. “I’m not trying to lecture you or anything, Jimin,” he says. “I’m just saying that maybe you could’ve asked me instead of assuming what was going on in my head.”

Jimin nods his head, shame creeping up on him alongside the realisation that the week and a half he’s spent being sad and angry and frustrated has all been due to a misunderstanding.

“As for Kangsoo,” the DJ continues, “he wasn’t flirting with me. Or at least I don’t think so. Wouldn’t have been interested even if that was the case.” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “Remember how I told you I’ve made my own music? He was asking about that. He said his brother is the biggest fanboy in the world and asked if I had a physical mixtape or something that I could sign for him.”

The wave of shame grows stronger still and Jimin closes his eyes, raising his free hand to press against his face. “Shit,” he mumbles, his voice coming out thin.

Yoongi snorts at the curse, the sound only a little bit strained. “You a bit more clear-headed now?” he asks, and there’s a hint of his usual amusement in his tone, not unkind.

“Yeah,” Jimin says, even though he’s way too embarrassed to look at the DJ. “Yeah, okay.” He emits an outdrawn groan, the sound more akin to a whine. “Oh god, I messed up so bad, shit, I got all in my head about this and thought…” He trails off and shakes his head. “I’m really sorry, hyung. For being mean and for not talking to you about what was going on. I’m sorry.”

“‘M sorry, too,” Yoongi says, and when Jimin dares look at him, there’s a small smile on his lips. “I should’ve tried to make things clear instead of just leaving them be the way they were.” He heaves another sigh, probably the eighth of that night. “I guess we’re both kinda dumb, huh?” he muses and lamely sticks out his leg to poke at Jimin’s shin with his toes. “You okay, Jiminie?”

Jimin emits a sound that’s not quite a giggle, far too nervous to do anything of the sort. “Yeah,” he says quietly. He fidgets a bit where he stands, suddenly very aware of the fact that Yoongi is still holding on to his wrist. God, he can’t wrap his head around the whole thing, the fact that he twisted things so far out of reason that he almost pushed away someone he really liked. “Um, this is probably not… I mean, I dunno, but do you think…” The question won’t come, likely due to how ridiculous the suggestion is after what happened. “Could we maybe—”

“Start over?” Yoongi supplies helpfully, the small smile on his lips growing a bit wider when Jimin gives a timid nod. “Yeah, I’d like that. My offer for grabbing that coffee still stands, if you’re up for it. We could talk things through properly then.”

Jimin finally raises his head to look at him properly and returns his smile with a small one of his own, relief crashing hard against his chest. “Yeah,” he says and nods, dropping his gaze back to the ground between them. “That sounds nice.”

“Cool,” Yoongi says softly, far more softly than Jimin feels like he deserves.

A brief silence settles between them, a bit awkward, lasting until Jimin nervously scrubs the heel of his shoe against the pavement. “I, um, I should probably get going,” he says and nods in the direction of his dorm. “I’m gonna miss the last bus soon, so…”

“Oh,” the DJ says and blinks a few times before letting him go, as if he hadn’t realised he’d still been holding onto Jimin’s arm. “Will you be okay getting home? Want me to take you?”

“Oh no, that’s okay, hyung,” Jimin says and manages a smile, still nervous. “It only takes like fifteen minutes, so I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Yoongi relents and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Let me know when you get home, okay? And I’ll text you about when we could go get that coffee, yeah?”

Jimin nods, and he kinda wants to hug the DJ, but he feels far too awkward for it. “Yeah,” he says instead. “And I’ll see you tomorrow at work, too.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees. “Good night, Jiminie.”

“Good night, hyung.”

With that, he turns and walks away, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. He kinda wants to bury his hands in his hair and tug and whine about how dumb he’d been and how embarrassing. He settles for heaving a deep, self-deprecating sigh and kicking at the ground as if it’s all its fault, and he realises he really wants to cry again, if only for the sake of getting rid of all the pent up emotions brimming in his chest.

“Jimin.”

Yoongi’s voice has him looking back, but he barely has the chance to turn around before the DJ’s arms close around him and pull him into an embrace, enveloping him in warmth. “We’re okay, Jiminie,” Yoongi murmurs next to his ear, thumb stroking his back. “It’s okay now.”

Jimin all but melts into his arms and buries his face into the crook of the DJ’s neck, clutching at the back of his jacket and hugging him back. “Yeah,” he manages, tears burning hot behind his eyes. “I-I’m sorry, hyung.”

“Hey, no,” Yoongi says, soft but firm, leaning his head against Jimin’s. “‘S no need to apologise anymore. We both screwed up, but we sorted it out, so it’s okay now, yeah? I’m not upset with you, or angry or anything else. You don’t have to beat yourself up over this.”

His words work like an antidote against the dark thoughts in the far back of Jimin’s head, driving them off to leave nothing but warmth behind. “Okay,” he murmurs and nods his head against Yoongi’s shoulder.

Very carefully, the DJ presses his lips against Jimin’s temple, burying his nose into his hair. “Good,” he sighs, sounding so utterly content, Jimin can’t help but smile, the last of his guilt dissolving.

They end up standing there for so long, Jimin does end up missing his last bus. He can’t bring himself to care, however, content with holding onto Yoongi as long as he’ll let him, reveling in his warmth and the gentle stroke of the DJ’s hand against his back. He feels more relieved than he could’ve imagined, with a small, careful sense of glee sparking in his chest.

It’s okay, he thinks, breathing slow and deep. We’re okay.

When they finally part and Yoongi realises Jimin has missed his bus, he insists on walking him home. Loathe to separate from him so soon after making up, Jimin lets him do it, shyly reaching out for his hand to hold it as they walk. The DJ is more than happy to comply, wrapping his fingers around Jimin’s small hand and pulling him close by it, until they’re walking shoulder to shoulder.

When they make it to Jimin’s apartment building, Jimin pulls him into another hug, humming against the DJ’s shoulder. “Wanna get that coffee tomorrow? Or, well, later today,” he asks, smiling when Yoongi emits a soft chuckle.

“Don’t you have class?” he asks and leans back just far enough to be able to face Jimin.

“Yeah,” Jimin says and nods, “but I’m the teacher’s pet, hyung. Missing one class won’t bring down the cops on me.”

Yoongi laughs at that, bright and cheerful. “Never seen someone look so proud of the fact that they’re the teacher’s pet,” he says and slides a hand up to Jimin’s hair to give it a playful tousle. “Alright then, let’s get coffee in the morning. Or breakfast. Or whatever you want.”

A giggle spills from Jimin’s lips at the DJ’s enthusiasm, pleased he’s not the only one wanting to spend as much time as possible together. He takes his time choosing, fiddling with the collar of Yoongi’s jacket and humming as if in deep thought about what they could do. In reality, he’s contemplating whether or not it would be cool if he kissed the DJ right about now.

On one hand, he really wants to do it, but at the same time, it’s like it’s too soon. Which is sort of ridiculous, since they’ve already slept together, but still. Even with the way Yoongi’s hand moves down from his hair to stroke his jaw, it feels like too intimate of a thing to do after the past week’s events.

What he finally ends up doing is leaning forward and pressing his lips against the DJ’s cheek, reveling in the way Yoongi’s thumb keeps brushing against the skin of his jaw. “Let’s do breakfast first,” he murmurs when he leans back, cheeks warm, “and then coffee. And maybe lunch after that?”

The DJ smiles, wide and gummy, and Jimin’s heart is singing in his chest. “Sounds good,” Yoongi says and gives Jimin’s cheek a little pinch before carefully detaching himself from his embrace. “I’ll drag my ass outta bed at eight and come pick you up, okay? There’s an american place downtown that makes pancakes with whatever toppings you can imagine. Seems like a good place for a first date.”

Jimin sinks his teeth into his lip to try to hide the fact that his chest might’ve just exploded with joy. “Okay,” he says and promptly fails his task, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt as he nods. It’s fine; the DJ seems to share his predicament, emitting an airy chuckle as he nudges Jimin back towards the entrance of his building. “I’ll see you later, hyung.”

“Sleep well, Jiminie,” Yoongi says and raises a hand to wave as he starts down the street, his other shoved deep in his jacket pocket. “See you in the morning.”

Jimin returns his wave, standing outside until the DJ disappears around the corner, and as soon as he does, Jimin tucks his arms around his body and bounces a bit where he stands, his chest brimming with warmth even in the cold night of November. With a grin, he heaves a deep sigh and turns on the heel, giggling to himself as he heads inside.

He kinda wants to wake up Taehyung to tell him the good news, but he figures he might as well leave it for tomorrow, to give as a passing message on his way out for his date. His date.

Before falling asleep, Jimin registers Yoongi’s number in his phone under the name hyungie <3 and sends him a message of goodnight, topping it off with a small heart before showing his phone under his pillow and closing his eyes.

True to his word, Yoongi does pick him up at 8AM sharp the next morning. With a cheery farewell to Taehyung in the form of, “I’m going on a date,” Jimin all but skips down the stairs and straight into the DJ’s arms.

“Good morning, hyungie,” he says brightly, beaming at the way Yoongi smiles at him in spite of his obvious tiredness.

“Hey, gorgeous,” the DJ drawls and takes him by the arm as if he’s about to lead Jimin to a grand ball. “Come on, my car’s parked down the street and it’ll die if it stays cold for too long.”

They spend the vast majority of the day together. After breakfast and a crapton of pancakes—”Hyung, you can’t go for just syrup, that’s way too plain! Here, have some of my gummy bears.”—they walk past a movie theatre and decide to watch the newest Marvel movie. When it’s over, they settle in a cozy little coffee shop and spend a good few hours just talking, getting to know each other, both uncaring about the flaw in the order they’ve gone about their relationship.

They grab lunch at a cute restaurant where the owner tuts at Yoongi’s blonde hair and says he has to straighten out his life if he wants to keep Jimin on his arm. The DJ looks thoroughly flustered while Jimin muffles his giggles into his hands, graciously coming to Yoongi’s aid and explaining to the old man that Yoongi is a whole gentleman and that he doesn’t have to worry about Jimin.

“He thought you were a gangster or something, hyung!” Jimin guffaws once they’re outside, clutching at his sides.

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Yoongi huffs, grinning. “If Jin really was a druglord, we’d have a whole romantic tragedy on our hands. The gangster, desperate to save his beloved Jimin from the clutches of the evil mafia boss who makes him dance in one of his clubs.”

“We’d sell a million copies,” Jimin says through another fit of giggles, trying his best to pretend he didn’t hear Yoongi refer to him as his beloved.

Yoongi snorts and sneaks an arm around Jimin's waist, pulling him against his side. “What a shame you actually enjoy what you do,” he says with an over-exaggerated sigh. “Our tragic story would be built on a lie.”

Jimin pinches him in the side for the joke and quickly slips out of his hold, laughing as the DJ chases after him down the street. When he catches him, he pouts and scolds him for making an old man like himself run a whole block, and Jimin only keeps giggling, cheeks flushed from the cold and the run and the proximity.

He shuts up real quick when Yoongi presses a quick kiss against the corner of his lips.

They go to the DJ's place after that, when Yoongi notices Jimin yawning into the palm of his hand. They still have several hours before they have to be at work, so the curl up in Yoongi's bed and watch a few episodes of a popular drama before Jimin falls asleep with his head tucked against the DJ's chest.

Yoongi makes them dinner when he wakes up—noodles, real classy and sweet—and they walk to work together, hands clasped and swinging between them as they go. On the way, the DJ lists a number of things they could do on future dates, challenged by Jimin to find the cheesiest activity they could do, and Jimin gives every single one of them the green light, stopping dead in his tracks to laugh when Yoongi suggests a manicure; upon Jimin's immediate acceptance of the date, the DJ's face falls and he looks so much like a kicked puppy that it takes Jimin a good minute to sober up again.

When they arrive outside of SUGA, Yoongi pulls jimin to a halt and steps up close, something akin to reverence in his gaze as he lifts a hand to Jimin's face. “Jimin,” he murmurs softly, his breath fanning over Jimin's chin.

Jimin swallows thickly, every nerve under his skin standing alert at the DJ’s sudden closeness. “Yeah,” he says, equally quiet.

“Jimin, can I—”

“Oh my god, Yoongi-hyung.” A giggle bubbles past Jimin’s lips at the familiarity of the situation and he wraps his arms around the DJ’s neck. “Just kiss me already,” he says and pulls him in the rest of the way.

Yoongi’s lips are soft against his own, plush and warm and lovely in the cold winter air. A sound of surprise escapes the DJ, muffled against Jimin’s mouth, before Yoongi smiles into the kiss and pulls him closer by the waist, angling his head to better slot their lips together. It’s so much more innocent than anything they’d shared prior to the night they spent together, and Jimin feels like he’s floating, his heels rising off the ground by a fraction to push more firmly into Yoongi’s embrace.

“Shit, I’ve wanted to do that since last night,” the DJ sighs when they pull apart, retreating only a few inches, still breathing the same air. “Didn’t wanna push it too fast, but fuck, I really like kissing you, Jiminie.”

“Well,” Jimin purrs and pecks his lips again, “the feeling’s mutual, so you can stop worrying and just go for it whenever you want.”

“Yeah? Whenever I want? So,” Yoongi dips his head to give him a quick kiss, “let’s say,” another peck, “I wanna,” a third, soft and sweet, “kiss you when,” another, Jimin’s cheeks burning, “you’re up on stage,” again, “looking all pretty—” The DJ kisses him one more time, firmer and longer than before, until Jimin feels winded, on the verge of melting. “That’d be okay?” Yoongi asks when they part again, grinning.

“If you’re willing to fight off Jin and the whole clientele, sure,” Jimin says with a shrug and ducks his head when the DJ bursts out laughing, nuzzling against his shoulder. “Hyung.”

Yoongi hums against his temple, and Jimin revels in the sound, the whole of him singing in reply. “I really like you, hyung,” he says quietly, like it’s a secret.

The DJ hugs him tighter, chuckling against his ear. “I really like you too, Jiminie,” he says, and in that moment, everything is right in the world. No matter the misunderstandings, Jimin truly wouldn’t want it any other way, feeling at the top of the world in Yoongi’s arms.

It’s perfect.