Chapter Text
Weeks blur in a relentless cycle of practice, work, practice, work, more practice, a little less work, then, more practice until Jimin feels like he should just move into the studio at this point.
He's even cut back his tutoring shifts to squeeze in extra practice sessions. Sure, he might be late on a few bills, and yeah, he’s skipped more meals than he’d like to admit—but it’s worth it. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Sacrifices now for the future he wants.
It's not uncommon for Namjoon or Taehyung to swing by after a night out to see the lights still on at the studio where Jimin practices until the early hours of the morning. They often bring him food and scold him when they see the bags under his eyes.
Only Hoseok really gets it. He's taken to popping in every so often to check on him. Jimin forces him to watch whatever part of his routine he's currently working on, begging for a thorough critique. Hoseok never has much to say, assuring Jimin that it's almost flawless, but maybe if he shifts his weight here or starts this move a half of a second earlier, it would come together perfectly.
It's after one such practice that he finds himself unusually optimistic. Hoseok's insistence that the routine is 99% perfect has shaved a millimeter of stress off his tired and aching shoulders.
He's reading through the group chat, which now includes Jin, on his walk home, laughing at Jin's joke about naming his kitchen appliances after his exes—so when they break, he's already used to the disappointment. Normally, he'd just roll his eyes, but tonight he feels generous and finds himself reacting with a cry-laughing emoji. His regret is instant.
They haven't spoken or seen each other since that weird walk home. What if Jin reads into it? What if he thinks—
As if summoned, a new message notification glares up at him.
Jin-hyung: he's alive! and here i thought i was in some weird social experiment where the tiny dancer didn't actually exist and everyone has just been waiting for me to bring him up so they could gaslight me
Jin-hyung: so relieved to only be a normal amount of insane
Tae Tae: srsly, min-ah, you're worse than jeongguk-ie about answering texts
Tae Tae: what happened to us? are we just not enough for you anymore
Seok-hyung: leave him alone, he's working hard and doesn't have time to entertain you two
Tae Tae: so we aren't enough for him. i knew it.
Seok-hyung: do NOT guilt trip him taehyung-ah. istg i will switch out your hair dye with superglue
Jimin's smile grows wider until his eyes disappear as he continues to read the thread. It's stupidly nice to be teased—a reminder that his friends care about him, even when he can't be there like he wants to.
His mood lifts enough that he seriously considers splurging on fried chicken for dinner. What’s the worst that could happen?
Jimin really hates when the universe answers him.
His good mood comes to a decisive and screeching halt as his entire world narrows down to a slip of pink paper taped to the middle of his apartment door.
Standing in the hall with ice in his veins, he reads the two words that have sat in the back of his mind for several weeks.
Eviction Notice.
His keys fall out of his hands on the way to the lock. He quickly tries to catch them but fumbles and leans forward too much, stumbling into the door and landing knees-first on the rough, faded carpet beneath him.
Time passes, but Jimin is numb. His knees ache but it’s a distant feeling in the fog of his mind. His thoughts race but make no sense, and he is surprised when something wet lands on the hand that is clutched in his lap.
It’s too much. The stress, the worry, the constant feeling that the ground is going to fall out from under him at any moment has carved him hollow. Now, when faced with one of his nightmares come true, all he can think is that he deserves it. What did he think would happen when he couldn’t pay his full rent for the third month in a row? It shouldn’t surprise him, but it still smears a black streak of shame through him and opens a pit in his stomach that feels never-ending.
With shaking limbs he lifts himself from the floor, knees popping, and goes through the motions of unlocking his door, dropping his keys in the bowl, sliding off his shoes, and hanging up his coat. The door remains open until he reaches up to rip the notice from it. The schick of the lock clicking into place as the door shuts echoes in his head.
As he makes his way to the worn armchair next to his living room window, he worries the edge of the pink slip and tries to work up the courage to read it.
Eviction Notice
Park Jimin, Unit 613
Reason for eviction: failure to pay full rent after third consecutive month resulting in a breach of contract
Deadline to Vacate: 24 hours
There’s more about the details of his lease and reclaiming abandoned personal property, but he’s stuck on the deadline.
Twenty-four hours clangs through his head, matching the racing pulse he can feel throbbing at the back of his skull. He frantically scans the paper for a notice date and finds that it was posted this morning. Which means his twenty-four hours are up at 9 am tomorrow.
He is lost in a sea of worry when his phone vibrates in his pocket, causing him to jump and drop the paper. He scrambles to pull it out, turning it over to see Taehyung’s name and face on the screen. Relief and horror fill him in equal measure. The call is a bittersweet lifeline, because answering means he's not alone, but it also means he has to tell his best friend he can’t afford to pay rent in his shitty apartment building. The urge to ignore the call and save his pride is almost too strong, but he answers it anyway then bursts into tears after Taehyung says hello.
“Jimin-ah! What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen?” Taehyung sounds frantic and it only makes Jimin cry harder, clenching his muscles to hold himself together as the shame, guilt, and fear in his chest radiate outward.
“Just tell me if you’re in danger. Do I need to call the police?”
That snaps Jimin out of his haze long enough to respond with a weak, wet, “No.”
“Ok, I know that you’re home, so I’m coming over. Don’t leave.” Taehyung sounds so worried. The sounds of him putting a jacket on and grabbing his keys are muffled, but then his voice is back warm and clear.
“Jimin-ah, it’s going to be ok. Whatever it is, it’s going to be ok. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”
A ragged inhale is the only reply Taehyung receives before he hangs up.
What could be minutes or hours later, Taehyung finds Jimin folded up in the armchair, hugging his knees, head buried, phone discarded on the floor beside that fucking piece of pink paper.
Jimin looks up at Taehyung and recognizes the moment he understands what the tear tracks and pastel notice mean.
“Jimin-ahhhh,” Taehyung croons, sorrow softening the edges of his voice as he eases forward to squeeze sideways into the chair with Jimin, wrapping both of his arms around him and pulling Jimin’s shoulder into his chest. The warmth and safety he feels in Taehyung’s embrace breaks something he’d been holding together with weak hands, and he sobs deep from his gut, noise choked off by the vice around his chest. He’s shaking with the enormity of it, but Taehyung holds him together.
An eternity passes and leaves Jimin gasping, sucking down air as another wave builds and surges towards him.
“Tae,” he forces out. “Tae-yah, I can’t -” and then the wave hits, cutting off his ability to speak.
“Shhhhhh, shhh, shhh, shhhhhh,” Taehyung whispers next to Jimin’s ear. He begins to softly rock them back and forth, pressing Jimin close.
Time slips away and it takes a while for Jimin to settle down enough to regulate his breathing. Taehyung hasn’t said a word or stopped holding and soothing him. Jimin catches his breath and nudges his head up slightly, signaling Taehyung to lift his as well so they can look at each other.
“Min-ah,” Taehyung starts softly, “It’s gonna be ok.” His eyes are a clear sky behind the clouds and Jimin throws himself into them, clinging to any shred of hope he finds. “I know it feels overwhelming, but it's gonna be ok.”
“Taehyung-ah,” Jimin’s voice is hoarse and still clutched in his chest. “I have to be out by the morning.”
“I figured.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” Jimin’s voice rises and another slow wave rolls over him, leaving him on the surface but feeling raw.
Taehyung sits up a little and lifts Jimin’s chin with one hand. He holds him there, eyes firm and steady, as if Jimin already knows the answer. Which, he does, but he doesn’t want that to be the only option.
“No.” He breathes out. “No, I can’t. You and hyung just moved in together, I can’t crash your newlywed phase. That’s too much.”
Taehyung continues to hold his chin and stare. Jimin hiccups and scrambles to find another option.
“No,” he repeats, but it’s weaker this time. Taehyung doesn’t break.
Fuck.
He sucks in a breath, holds it for three seconds, then exhales slowly. Tears well up in his eyes as Taehyung’s kindness slips under the door of his shame and wraps him up. He turns towards his friend and buries his head in Taehyung’s chest as a fresh round of sobs work their way through. Taehyung just pulls him into his lap and lets Jimin wring himself out until the intermittent sobs are dry and he can’t breath through his nose anymore.
Head still pressed into Taehyung’s sternum he whispers, “Okay.”
Taehyung pushes him up to look at him and say, “You didn’t fail, Jimin-ah. This isn’t failure.”
Jimin’s mouth twists. Only Taehyung can instantly pinpoint his exact and deepest fear. “It feels just like failing, Tae. Getting evicted is losing something. I’ve lost.”
Before Taehyung can respond, there’s a knock at the door and it swings open to reveal Yoongi holding something behind him. There's a kindness in his face that Jimin feels like he doesn't deserve.
“You texted him,” Jimin deadpans at Taehyung.
“I texted him,” Taehyung agrees with a small smile.
“He texted me,” Yoongi says playfully as he drags the moving dolly into the room behind him.
“Hyung,” Jimin says, at a loss for words as Yoongi draws closer. "Hyung, I fucked up."
“It’s ok, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi brushes the hair back from his face, then grips his chin so that Jimin has no choice but to look him in the eyes. “Hyung is here to help. But, we need to get started, ok?”
Jimin forces the tears away. He knows how much it means that Yoongi is ready and willing to let him stay in his one-bedroom apartment only weeks after Taehyung moved in. No hesitation. Jimin didn’t even have to ask.
“Okay, hyung,” Jimin responds, feeling wrung out but slightly better. The fog is clearing in the face of a task to do. He gently bumps his head against Taehyung’s before pushing himself up to his feet.
He swivels to face Yoongi. He is a rock to cling to in the raging sea. “Thank you, hyung.”
“Aish, Jimin-ah, we can’t let you live on the street. What kind of hyung would I be to let that happen?
“I will figure something out soon. I promise. I won’t overstay my welcome.”
“You can stay as long as you want,” Taehyung says from behind him, hand coming up to massage the back of his neck. “Now, where should we start?”
Jimin takes a deep breath and lets it out forcefully. “Great question.”
---
Jeongguk's mouth is stuffed with a chocolate croissant when he drops a bomb in Jin’s kitchen.
"Hyung, do you think Jimin-ie will be able to hang out with us more now?" His face is earnest and sprinkled with crumbs.
"Now? What changed? Has he become a reasonable human instead of a machine that only knows how to dance?" Jin replies.
Jeongguk's face scrunches. "Because he got evicted."
Jin nearly drops the espresso cup he's wiping. "What?"
Jeongguk's eyes widen as he realizes his mistake. "Oh. Shit. I thought you knew."
"Why would I know?" Jin sets the cup down carefully, trying to keep his voice casual. "And when did this happen?"
"Last week," Jeongguk says, looking genuinely distressed. "Taehyungie-hyung texted me after it happened. They moved all his stuff to Yoongi-hyung's place."
Jin's mind races. Evicted? The image of Jimin—proud, hardworking Jimin—being forced out of his home sends an uncomfortable pang through his chest.
"Is he okay?" The question slips out before Jin can stop it.
"Doesn't sound like it. Hyung said he was pretty torn up about it. I think he’s been missing rent payments due to spending all his time practicing for the competition."
Jin nods slowly, wiping the same spot on the counter for the third time. He tries to picture Jimin crammed into Yoongi and Taehyung's one-bedroom apartment, probably sleeping on their lumpy couch, trying to maintain his rigorous practice schedule while feeling like a burden.
"That's... unfortunate," he manages.
Jeongguk gives him a look. "That's all you have to say, hyung? I thought you two were friends now."
"We are," Jin says defensively. "I mean, we're friendly. Acquaintances. Whatever."
"Right." Jeongguk's tone is heavy with skepticism. "Well, Taehyungie-hyung says they're worried about him. He's not sleeping, barely eating. Just practicing and stressing about where he's going to live."
Jin's hands still on the counter. The spare bedroom upstairs flashes through his mind—the one he uses for storage and the occasional guest. It's been empty for months.
No. Absolutely not. That would be insane.
"That's too bad," Jin says, resuming his wiping. "I'm sure they'll figure something out."
Jeongguk hums around another bite of pastry. "Yoongi-hyung's place is tiny. And pretty far from the studio. Plus, he's too proud to stay there long."
Jin makes a noncommittal noise, but his brain is already racing ahead, picturing Jimin in his spare room, Jimin in his kitchen, Jimin padding around in socks and—
"I should get back to work," Jin says abruptly, turning away from Jeongguk's knowing gaze.
For the rest of the day, Jin tries to focus on his customers, on inventory, on literally anything except the image of Jimin with nowhere to go. But it's no use. By closing time, he's made up his mind.
Gripped by what he can only describe as temporary insanity, he locks up the café, takes a deep breath, and texts Taehyung.
is jimin with you? i need to talk to him
The response comes quickly: probably at the studio. will be until late. why?
Jin ignores the question, grabs his jacket, and heads out, questioning his intelligence with every step.
—
The dance studio is tucked away on a side street not far from the café, its windows glowing in the evening darkness. Jin peers through the glass and spots Jimin immediately—a solitary figure in the center of the room, moving with such intensity that Jin feels like he's intruding just by watching. Jimin stops mid-move, head hanging, and the sight squeezes something that might be his heart.
He takes a deep breath, then knocks lightly on the window.
Jimin's head snaps toward the sound. His expression shifts from annoyance to surprise when he sees Jin. Jimin meets him at the door and cracks it open.
"Jin-hyung?" Sweat glistens on his forehead, his blonde hair darkened at the temples. "What are you doing here?"
Jin suddenly realizes he hasn't thought this through at all. "I, uh... was in the neighborhood."
Jimin raises an eyebrow. "Near the dance studio? At 9 PM?"
"Fine. I heard about what happened." Jin shifts uncomfortably. Might as well cut to the chase. "With your apartment."
Jimin's face closes off immediately. He steps back, crossing his arms. "Who told you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Jeongguk-ie," Jin admits. "But he thought I already knew."
Jimin sighs, running a hand through his damp hair. "Great. So now everyone knows I can't pay my rent."
"That's not—" Jin starts, then stops. "Can I come in? Just for a minute?"
Jimin hesitates, then steps aside. Jin enters the studio, immediately struck by how much smaller it feels than it looked from outside. The mirrors make the space seem infinite, but, in reality, it's just a modest room with a worn wooden floor.
"I was just about to take a break," Jimin says, moving to grab a towel from his bag. "So if you came to watch me practice—"
"I have a spare room," Jin blurts out.
Jimin freezes, towel halfway to his face. "What?"
"Above the café. I live in an apartment, and there's a spare bedroom. It's just sitting there empty." Jin shoves his hands in his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting. "You could stay there. Until you find a new place."
Jimin stares at him. "You want me to move in with you?"
"Not with me," Jin clarifies quickly. "Just... in the same apartment. Temporarily."
"Why would you offer that?" Jimin's voice is guarded, suspicious.
Jin shrugs, aiming for casual. "Because you need a place to stay, and I have space. It's not complicated."
"It feels complicated." Jimin finally wipes his face with the towel. "We barely know each other."
"We have the same friends. You're not a serial killer, as far as I know. And the rent would be reasonable."
Jimin's face falls, and his already flushed cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink. "I can't afford—"
"Whatever you can manage," Jin interrupts. "Or you could help out in the café sometimes. I don't care."
Jimin's pride is practically radiating off him in waves. "I don't need charity."
"It's not charity," Jin replies. "It's a mutually beneficial arrangement. I need someone short around to reach the bottom shelves anyway."
The joke lands exactly as intended—Jimin's mouth twitches despite his obvious effort to maintain his scowl. "Very funny."
"I'm serious about the offer," Jin says, softening his tone. "The room's just sitting there empty. And it's close to here." He gestures around the studio. "You could practice late without worrying about the commute."
Jimin's resistance visibly wavers. "I don't know..."
"Look, you can say no. But Jeongguk-ie mentioned you're staying with the newly-minted domestic lovebirds, and I know their place isn’t built for a throuple. This would give everyone some breathing room."
Jimin's shoulders slump slightly. "Guk-ie talks too much."
"He really does," Jin agrees. "But he told me all of that because he cares about you. They all do." So do I, he almost adds before he catches himself. He really needs to chill. But he really needs Jimin to say yes and the tug-o-war inside his brain is only adding fuel to his insanity.
"I'm fine," Jimin insists, but the dark circles under his eyes tell a different story.
"Of course you are." Jin takes a chance and steps closer. "But maybe you'd be even more fine with your own space. Somewhere you could focus on your competition without feeling like you're in the way."
That hits home—Jin can see it in the way Jimin's eyes flicker.
"I can't pay much right now," Jimin admits quietly. "Not until after the competition."
"Like I said, we'll figure something out." Jin shrugs. "Maybe you can teach me some dance moves. I'm pretty hopeless."
Jimin snorts. "That bad, huh?"
"It's my one flaw."
That earns him an actual laugh, small but genuine. Jimin studies him for a long moment, and Jin tries not to fidget under the scrutiny.
"Why are you really doing this?" Jimin asks finally.
Jin could bust out another height-related joke, but something in Jimin's expression stops him. "Because I know what it's like to feel like you're drowning," he says honestly. "And sometimes you need someone to throw you a line, even if you're too proud to grab it."
Jimin's eyes widen slightly, and Jin immediately feels exposed. He clears his throat. "Plus, the apartment gets drafty at night. I could use the body heat."
"I thought you said I could stay in the spare room."
"Oh, did I not mention that I sleepwalk? It's a very specific affliction where I have to find the warmest thing in the house to hold while I sleep. Usually it's the proofing drawer downstairs in the kitchen, but a human is much better. Less sharp corners."
The tension breaks, and Jimin shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "You're ridiculous."
"So I've been told." Jin raises an eyebrow. "Is that a yes?"
Jimin hesitates, then nods once, sharply. "Just until I find my own place. And I'm paying rent—actual money, not dance lessons."
"Fine, fine." Jin waves a hand dismissively. "We can work out the details later. When do you want to move in?"
"I don't have much stuff," Jimin admits. "Most of it's in boxes at Yoongi-hyung's."
"Tomorrow, then?" Jin suggests, trying to sound casual despite the sudden flutter of panic in his chest. What is happening?
"Tomorrow," Jimin agrees, looking like he also can't quite believe what's happening.
At least they're on the same page.
---
Jimin stands outside Jin's café, the Seokré Blue (he snorts a little at the name), two boxes stacked in his arms and a duffel slung over his shoulder. He's been standing here for five minutes talking himself into knocking on the door.
This is ridiculous. No, actually this is bizarre. He met Jin a handful of weeks ago, has never even been to his café, much less his apartment, and now he's moving in.
Also, it's Jin, and even though he feels excitement bloom in the pit of his stomach, it's a thin tightrope he's walking towards what he feels is sure to be a disaster. There are so many ways for this to go wrong. He can only withstand so much torturous attraction he's not allowed to act on, and it's about to get a whole lot worse.
Nope. He's not doing this. He can just go right back to Yoongi's and beg to sleep on their couch for a little longer. He'll make it up to them, somehow.
He has already turned to march back to his car when he hears, "That was a really great impression of a statue. I think people make money doing stuff like that. Modern art or street art or something."
Jimin nearly drops his boxes as Jin's voice cuts through his panic. He turns around to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking unfairly put-together in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, a blue pinstriped apron around his waist.
"I was just...," Jimin trails off, unable to come up with a reasonable explanation for lurking then trying to leave with his boxes still in-hand.
"Practicing your boy-with-boxes pose? I get it, I get it. Very impressive." Jin steps forward and takes the top box. "Come on, the side entrance leads upstairs."
Jimin follows Jin around the corner to a narrow staircase. He tries not to stare at the way Jin's shoulders move under his shirt as he climbs the stairs ahead of him. Stupid white t-shirt.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Jin announces, pushing open the door at the top. "Don't get too excited, it's not much."
That's a lie. The apartment is gorgeous—high-ceilinged, open and airy with large windows, warm wood floors, and practical but expensive-looking furniture. Nothing like the peeling, dingy place Jimin just got kicked out of. He knew Jin's place would be nice. Most people who grow up rich don't suddenly develop the urge to live like the commoners.
"This is... really nice," Jimin manages, eyes wide to take in the details. The reality that he'll be living here for the foreseeable future is starting to register.
"The bedroom's through there," Jin points left down the hall. "Bathroom's across the hall. Kitchen's obviously here." He points directly in front of them, then sweeps his arms wide. "Mi casa es su casa and all that."
Jimin nods, trying not to be overwhelmed by the actuality of living with Jin. In his apartment. Sharing a bathroom. Seeing him first thing in the morning.
"So," Jin claps his hands together. "Ground rules!"
"Right," Jimin nods eagerly. "Rules are good. Definitely need those."
"Rule number one," Jin declares, holding up a crooked finger with theatrical importance, "no walking around naked unless it's an actual emergency. Like, the building's on fire or there's a spider the size of your face in the shower."
Jimin's eyes widen and he chokes on air, heat rushing to his cheeks. "I wasn't—I would never—that wasn't even on my radar!"
"Hey, I don't know your life," Jin shrugs, looking far too pleased with Jimin's flustered reaction. "Just covering the basics."
"Rule number two," Jin continues smoothly, holding up a second crooked finger. Cute. "If you finish something, replace it. Coffee, toilet paper, milk—whatever. I'm not running a hotel here."
"Of course," Jimin agrees quickly, grateful for a normal, reasonable rule. He mentally catalogs his budget, hoping Jin doesn't have expensive taste in household essentials.
"Rule number three...." Jin pauses with three fingers in the air. "Actually, that's all I've got. We'll figure out the rest as we go."
"Those are the easiest rules I've ever heard."
"I'm a very laid-back landlord." Jin shrugs as he sets Jimin's box on the floor. "Well, I've got to head back down. My new sous chef keeps trying to re-organize the whole kitchen when I'm not looking. If you hear me chasing her through the café with murderous intent, no you didn't."
Jimin is still too overwhelmed to laugh. Jin must sense it because he picks the box back up and starts towards the guest room, softly jerking his head at him to follow.
"Make yourself at home. I mean it, Jimin-ah." He sets the box down on the neatly made bed.
"This doesn't have to be weird." Jin takes the second box from Jimin's hands and sets it with the first. Jimin blinks a few times with his arms still frozen in the air. It's the nicest bedroom he's ever been in. A plush peach and cream colored rug stretches over the hardwood floor, there are curtains and pillows and blankets in various shades of green, and the early evening light coming in through the tall, single-paned windows casts everything in a warm golden glow.
He turns to look at Jin and stops breathing for a heartbeat. The light lays across him from the side, highlighting the rich warm brown hues of his hair and the amber flecks in his eyes. His skin is smooth and glowing, the angles of his face cast in sharp relief all the way down to his slightly parted lips.
He's in so much fucking trouble.
After several seconds where Jimin is physically unable to look away, Jin's eyes widen a fraction before he suddenly turns towards the door. "Uh, yeah, so let me know if you need anything. I'll just be downstairs. You should come down and try my honey buns—the honey buns."
Jimin widen's his own eyes as he hears Jin whisper, "Dear god," under his breath as he hustles back towards the living room.
"Ok, bye!" Jin calls behind him, and then he's gone, leaving Jimin standing there like a goddamned mannequin.
He shakes his head to unfreeze his brain. What the fuck, Park Jimin? He just said it doesn't have to be weird!
He mentally chastises himself and flings the duffel bag onto the bed. He's been here a grand total of five minutes, and he's already made an idiot out of himself because of some glowy fantasy-movie lighting.
As a distraction, Jimin explores the apartment, trying to tame the heat in his face. This is just temporary, he reminds himself. Just until he finds his own place. He only needs to keep this erratic, purely carnal attraction to Jin under lock for a couple of months at most. He can do that.
He'll start with unpacking and going to bed early, which hopefully means he won't have to see Jin again until the morning, giving him time to get a grip on himself.
Everything's going to be fine.
---
Jimin wakes with a start, disoriented by the unfamiliar pillow and soft mattress beneath him. Right. Jin's apartment. Jin's guest room. Jin's... everything.
Yesterday's awkwardness comes rushing back—the way he'd frozen like an idiot, gaping at Jin like he'd never seen an attractive man before.
He groans into the pillow.
The digital clock on the nightstand reads 5:47 AM. Too early to be awake, but that's what he gets for going to bed before the sun was fully set. He honestly can't remember the last time he went to sleep before midnight.
Jimin lies there for a few minutes, listening to the unfamiliar creaks and hums of Jin's apartment, before giving up on more sleep. He sits up, scrubbing a hand over his face. He can't start this arrangement off on the wrong foot. He needs to make up for last night.
One of those brilliant early morning thoughts enters his mind. Breakfast! He'll make Jin breakfast as a thank you. Simple, thoughtful, and it might help erase the memory of him gawking like a starstruck teenager.
He slips out of bed, wiggling his toes in the plush carpet. He pulls on a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt, then pads quietly to the bathroom. He catches his reflection in the mirror—his hair is sticking up in every direction, and there's a pillow crease across his cheek. Great.
After splashing water on his face and attempting to tame his hair, Jimin creeps down the hall, careful not to make noise. The last thing he wants is to wake Jin at this ungodly hour of the morning.
The kitchen is pristine in the early morning light, stainless steel gleaming next to white marble countertops. Jimin opens cabinets quietly, searching for pans and ingredients. He's never been much of a cook—takeout and protein shakes have sustained him through years of dance training and odd jobs—but he's watched and even helped out with a little cooking before. How hard can it be to make breakfast by himself?
Twenty minutes is all it takes to find out.
"Shit, shit, shit," Jimin hisses, frantically waving a dish towel at the smoking pan. The eggs he'd attempted to scramble have transformed into a clump of brown stuck to the bottom of what he now realizes is probably an expensive pan. Toast is burning in the toaster, and somehow he's managed to spill coffee grounds across the entire counter.
He's frozen, trying to decide which disaster to save first when the smoke alarm starts its piercing wail.
"No, no, no, no, no!" Jimin jumps onto a chair, stretching to reach the alarm, dish towel still in hand. His foot slips, and he barely catches himself on the counter, knocking over a bowl of what was supposed to become pancakes.
"What the—" Jin appears in the doorway, hair rumpled and eyes wide.
Jimin freezes mid-disaster, one foot on the chair, batter dripping down the cabinet, smoke curling in between them.
"Good morning?" he offers weakly.
Jin blinks, then springs into action. He grabs the smoking pan and dumps it in the sink, turns on the exhaust fan, and yanks the blackened toast from the toaster. With efficient movements, he removes Jimin from the chair under the smoke alarm and climbs up, pressing the silence button.
The sudden quiet feels deafening.
"I was trying to make breakfast," Jimin explains, staring at the mess surrounding them. "To say thank you."
Jin surveys the kitchen carnage, then looks at Jimin—flour on his cheek, batter on his shirt, one slipper off. Then, despite the destruction of his kitchen and violent wake up call, he laughs.
Not a polite chuckle but a full-bodied, head-thrown-back laugh that transforms his entire face. It culminates in Jin bent-double, hands on his knees trying to hold himself up from the force of it.
Jimin has no idea what to do with himself.
"You failed to mention this particular set of domestic charms, Park Jimin," Jin says, wiping tears from his eyes.
Jimin wants to dissolve into the floor. "I'm so sorry about your kitchen."
"Don't be." Jin grins, picking up a piece of toast that's more black than golden brown. "It was a nice thought. Really. No one's made me breakfast in… well, as an adult, never!"
To Jimin's astonishment, Jin takes a bite of the burnt toast, making an exaggerated 'mmm' sound. "Delicious. Smoky. A hint of carbon. Very avant-garde."
"Hyung, stop," Jimin groans, but he can feel the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "It's inedible!"
"I've eaten worse." Jin shrugs, continuing to munch. "Once, in culinary school, my roommate tried to make soufflé at 3 AM while drunk. That was a true disaster. I've never seen a soufflé bubble like a volcano before."
Jin moves around the kitchen, cleaning as he talks, a random chuckle escaping at each new discovery of Jimin's spectacular gesture. "What if I teach you some basics? For next time?"
"Next time?" Jimin echoes, dabbing at some spilled batter with a paper towel.
"Well, unless you're planning to survive on takeout the entire time you're here." Jin pauses, tilting his head. "Though maybe that would be safer for my cookware."
Jimin throws the paper towel at him, which Jin dodges before looking back at him with faked horror. "Batter goes on after the moisturizer."
Jimin actually laughs this time.
"Come on," Jin says, opening the refrigerator. "Let's make breakfast together. I'll show you how to do it without burning down your new landlord's apartment."
And despite the embarrassment still warming his cheeks, Jimin finds himself smiling back.