Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"For someone as tightly-wound as you are all the time, I would expect timeliness to be included in your list of things to be anal about.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow at Jimin while holding the door open.

Jimin rolls his eyes. "Are you gonna let me in or not?”

"I dunno,” Taehyung muses. "Are you gonna apologize to Yoongi for delaying the dinner he spent three hours making? He’s been crying for the last fifteen minutes.”

Jimin stares Taehyung down, refusing to give in to his innocent but annoying attempt to shame him for his habit of running late to everything.

"Well, I guess I’ll just take this nice, expensive alcohol home with me because my best friend has clearly replaced me.” Jimin starts to turn away but is hauled through the open door in a bear hug from behind as Taehyung whines loudly.

"Nooooo Jimin-ah, get back here. You have to meet the new guy."

"What new guy?"

Taehyung continues as if he hasn't heard Jimin's question. "He’s so handsome. Beautiful even. Face like sculpted marble and, if the size of his hands is anything to go by, a huge-"

"Tae-yah, I love you, but if you finish that sentence I'm leaving." Jimin's head is starting to hurt at the thought of entertaining a stranger.

Taehyung is wiry and surprisingly strong as he half-drags Jimin towards the kitchen. He plops Jimin down on a bar stool and takes the alcohol from his arms.

“You look like you need a drink,“ Taehyung says as he twists open a soju bottle and pours two shots into glasses he seems to have conjured out of thin air. He hands one to Jimin, cheers, then taps the counter and downs it. Jimin mirrors him and sighs as the liquid slides down his throat and settles warm in his belly. He feels a little of the tension melt away but not enough to let Taehyung off the hook.

Jimin can hear the sounds of clanking silverware and muffled voices from the dining room. “You started without me.”

“Yeah, we did,” Taehyung replies flatly. “Why don’t you go tell Yoongi how upset you are about it. I wanna watch what happens.”

Taehyung doesn’t miss a beat as he grabs the bottles of alcohol, loops his arm through Jimin’s, and tugs him towards the sounds and smells of dinner. It’s been a long day. A long month, actually. Jimin’s been looking forward to letting go, even if he is dreading the look Yoongi will probably aim at him for being late. But now his anticipation sours alongside the alcohol in his stomach. He's usually the first one to welcome a new friend, but tonight that feels like a gargantuan task.

“His name is Jin, and I’m pretty sure you’re gonna marry him,” Taehyung whispers in Jimin’s ear as they step through the opening into the dining area.

Jimin scoffs but almost chokes as his eyes land on the only stranger at the table full of his friends. He blinks a few times to make sure his eyes are functioning properly because the man sitting across from Yoongi is perfect. And, not perfect in an artificial way, but, in a 'I won the genetic lottery and have taken full advantage of it' kind of way.

Taehyung smacks his back a couple of times as he ushers him to the seat next to Jin. Perfect.

“Jin-hyung, this is Jimin. Jimin-ah, meet Jin.” Taehyung carelessly pushes Jimin into his seat as he turns towards Jin. “He might look like a cupcake,” he adds, pointing at Jimin, “but this one will stab you if provoked. Otherwise, he’s fairly harmless, tiny but handsome, and currently single.”

Jimin almost chokes again and then smacks Taehyung’s arm.

“See.” Taehyung widens his eyes at Jin. “Vicious.”

Jin, gorgeous face and perfect smiling teeth, bows slightly as he reaches his hand towards Jimin. “Nice to meet you, Jimin-ssi. I’ve heard a lot about you in the twenty minutes you weren’t here.”

Jimin is equal parts enchanted, embarrassed, and annoyed at being called out by a complete stranger.

“Uh, yeah, good to meet you, Jin-ssi,” he stammers out, tripping over his tongue as he bows back and shakes the other man’s hand. It’s warm and smooth and absolutely swallows Jimin’s hand whole, but he notices bony knuckles and slightly crooked fingers. On anyone else it might lessen their attractiveness, but Jimin is pretty sure there’s nothing about Jin that could blemish this vision of perfection. Symmetry. Softness. Sharpness where it counts. A long, graceful neck that flows into broad shoulders and a lean waist. He’s sitting, but Jimin can tell he’s tall.

“Is there a reason you were so late getting here this time?” Yoongi asks in his low scratchy voice from across the table.

Jimin squirms a bit under the attention, but now is not the time to show weakness. They will all pounce at the chance to embarrass him in front of the perfect stranger.

He meets Yoongi’s stare with what he hopes is a similarly steady gaze. “Actually, I was late because my instructor grabbed me after class to talk about a competition coming up in a couple of months that she thinks I would be a good candidate for.”

Taehyung leans across Yoongi to stage-whisper at Jin, “Jimin-ie’s a dancer. Very good. Looks like sex on a stick.”

Jin giggles, and Jimin’s face flushes. Choosing to ignore his growing mortification, he continues.

“It’s for a professional troupe that has a tour lined up for the winter. If I win, I get a spot as a permanent member of the team. Like, a legit job dancing.” He can’t hide the excited quiver that shakes his voice at the end. It’s what he’s wanted since he can remember wanting something. Dancing for a living instead of scraping by.

“What! Jimin-ah! That’s such good news!” Hoseok shouts from the other end of the table. As a fellow dancer, he knows the grind. In the end, he chose to teach instead of perform. It's not that he lacks the talent—Jimin would argue that Hoseok is more gifted than him any day—but he got tired of the constant travel. It works, because Hoseok’s the best dance-mom those kids could ask for.

“It’s kind of a long shot, but I think I’m gonna do it.” Jimin reveals a small smile as his friends cheer and raise their glasses.

“To Jimin-ie and his perfect ass!” Taehyung shouts. Yoongi claps a hand over Taehyung’s mouth and raises his glass, ignoring his boyfriend’s narrowed eyes.

“To Jimin-ie’s future!” Namjoon finally calls out from the head of the table. Everyone echoes the cheer and clinks their glasses. From his seat on the other side of Jimin, Jeongguk slaps him on the back with an enthusiastic way to go hyung!

As the noise settles, Jin turns to Jimin with what seems to be his signature smile, all pearly white teeth and plush pink lips. “It sounds like this is a big deal. I wish you luck.”

Jimin knocks his glass against Jin’s, dipping his head in thanks. He’s secretly pleased at being praised in front of the beautiful new addition to their game night.

Jimin clears his throat, finally feeling like he has his feet underneath himself. “How do you know everyone, Jin-ssi?”

“Hyung owns the cafe Namjoon-hyung’s been doing open mic nights at,” Jeongguk interjects before Jin can answer.

Jimin feels a stab of guilt at the reminder that he has yet to go see his hyung perform on one of those nights. He’s been putting in extra sessions at the dance studio and doesn't normally get home until midnight.

Yoongi notices Jimin’s hesitation, perceptive as always. ”Ah, Jimin-ah, don’t worry. You’ll make it, eventually.”

Jimin wills the blush away from his cheeks. His friends aren’t trying to point out the things he already berates himself for, but he feels strangely vulnerable in front of a new person, and each topic of conversation seems to be peeling another layer from his social armor.

So, he shifts the focus. “Wow, a café owner. That sounds like an exciting job. What inspired you to follow that dream?”

“Well, Jimin-ssi, I’m far too good at most things, so, I decided to pick a random path that would make my parents question everything they’ve tried to teach me, and also wonder if they should’ve put a higher age limit on my trust fund.”

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot upwards. That’s not the answer he was expecting. “O-oh, that’s… an interesting way to choose a profession.”

Jin cocks his head to the side, sounding entirely too confident as he replies, “Turns out I’m good at running a café, too. But, naturally, I’ll give half the credit to my dashing good looks and ineffable personality.”

Jeongguk giggles beside Jimin. “Hyung has no shame. He’s famous for it.”

Jimin is thrown off by Jin’s sureness. It’s not that he doesn’t agree, his face belongs in a museum and he’s obviously engaging enough to earn a spot amongst this tight-knit group, but confidence is an inconsistent friend to Jimin. He finds himself lost in the face of so much of it in one person.

It's an effort to stumble out, “I hope I can make it by, soon, Jin-ssi. It must be something special if you’ve got Jeongguk’s attention.”

“Oh, it’s not the café that has Jeongguk’s attention,” Hoseok snickers. Jeongguk shoots him a glare before looking back sheepishly at Jin.

Jin just grins at Jeongguk and winks. “It’s ok, Guk-ah, everyone ends up with a little crush on me at some point or another. You’ll get over it.”

Guk-ah? Just how long has everyone been hanging out with this guy? Jimin thinks.

Jeongguk blushes and goes back to his meal. Jin must notice the questioning look on Jimin’s face and mistake it for curiosity. “I’ll give you until the end of the night. Don’t worry, I don’t take anything seriously.”

Jimin is unsure how to respond. It’s rather presumptuous to assume Jimin will be throwing Bambi eyes at him in a matter of hours. Jin may be dangerously handsome and charming, but Jimin is nothing if not stubborn.

“I wouldn’t count on it, hyung. Jimin is far too busy for things like silly crushes or, heaven forbid, an actual relationship,” Hoseok fills in before Jimin has a chance to reply.

“Jimin-ie is a romantic, hyung, don’t let him fool you. He’s just waiting to be swept off his feet,” Taehyung supplies, unhelpfully.

Tired of everyone speaking for him, Jimin finally gathers himself together. “I’m really focused on my career. I know that’s a cliché thing to say, but this part feels important to get right, so, I don’t really have time or energy to date.” He immediately regrets that last part. “Not that I’m saying I want to date you, or… not date you. Um, I’m just saying that—”

“It’s ok Jimin-ssi,” Jin pats his hand. “It’ll be our secret.”

Jimin is knocked off-balance again and can tell that Jin knows it’s starting to get to him. So, instead of responding, he moves his hand out from under Jin’s and picks up his chopsticks.

“This looks amazing, Yoongi-hyung. Thank you for cooking. I’ll eat well.”

The look Yoongi gives him is indecipherable but may be part pity and part fondness. “Eat all you want, Jimin-ah. There’s dessert, too.”

The rest of the meal passes in amiable conversation. Jin seems to be distracted from tormenting Jimin, due to Jeongguk’s devout attention to every word that spills from his lips. Jimin rolls his eyes several times, looking at Taehyung for validation, only to find him enraptured as well.

Jimin can’t deny his physical attraction to Jin, but his confidence seems more like bravado as the night grows. There’s absolutely no part of Jimin that is jealous of his easy manners and quick wit. He, too, would be carefree and self-assured if he had a trust fund to fall back on. Things in life lose importance when you don’t have to work for them. Unfortunately, everything in Jimin’s life is important since he’s always one wrong decision away from financial and professional disaster.

Still, he catches himself before he judges Jin too harshly. He actually doesn’t know anything about him. Maybe his confidence is a façade in the face of new social situations. Maybe his demeanor will even out as the night grows and he feels more comfortable.

Jimin chides himself and decides to do better at making Jin feel welcome.

---

But after the fifth round of Uno, where Jin and Jeongguk have wiped the floor with the rest of them, Jimin’s agreeability is hanging by a thread. Not only does Jin not need Jimin’s help to feel welcome, but there’s a particular point of the night where Jimin starts to feel like the outsider.

And, okay, Jimin can admit that he’s used to playing cute and adorable to gain attention. He knows he’s attractive and good at harmless flirtation, but he finds himself unable to conjure that dynamic with Jin in the mix. He feels the need to be on guard, over-analyzing everything Jin says. He tries to chalk it up to exhaustion. He’s 100% not jealous.

“Jimin-ssi, I can see your hand, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that today is just not your day,” Jin jokes from his left.

Jimin jerks his cards back towards his chest. “Maybe it could be my day if you’d stop cheating,” he spits back.

Jin gasps with his hand to his chest. “I do not cheat! How dare you question my integrity.” The drama seems to be mainly for the sake of Jeongguk, who laughs and scrunches his nose at Jin.

Jimin is tired, irritated, and a little drunk. He also ate too much, trying to keep his mouth full to reduce the chances of saying something stupid. But there's nothing stopping him now.

“I think you should show me your ID. There’s no way you’re the oldest and, supposedly, most mature person here. And you definitely don’t look 28.” Jimin’s mouth clicks shut.

Jin starts to look offended but immediately softens into a grin. He turns every ounce of his attention to Jimin, leaning into his space and pointing a pair of sparkling eyes at him. “Since I know one of your secrets, maybe it’s only fair that I share one of mine.” He doesn’t blink, doesn’t move. “I’m a very old, very attractive, very powerful vampire. You’ve been under my glamour since you got here. They all have, actually. It’s the only way I can stay like this. Drinking the blood of pretty young men.”

For a heartbeat Jimin does not question these confessions. If ever there was a real life vampire, they most certainly would look like Jin. Just paler. And definitely more mature. The thought of Jin's mouth anywhere close to his neck temporarily short-circuits his ability to form a comeback.

Fortunately, Jin can’t keep the charade going and breaks into a laugh the likes of which Jimin has never heard before. From any human. It comes from his broad chest but seems to stick in his throat, every drawn breath breaking on a high pitch and sounding like car wipers screeching across a dry windshield.

The spell is broken in an instant and relief floods through Jimin at finally having some proof that Jin is a regular, normal, imperfect human. No, not normal, still more beautiful than any human has the right to be, but a laugh like that definitely knocks him out of range of the untouchably perfect.

“I think you watch too many movies, Jin-ssi,” Jimin offers as he tries not to smile.

“And I think you like things like that,” Jin fires right back, laughter still skipping across his face. “Call me hyung. It’s only fair now that I’ve revealed my true identity to you.”

Jimin’s smile widens a crack further as he feels his flirtatious instincts finally kick in. He might suck at Uno, but he invented this game.

“Jin-hyung,” Jimin tests, voice dipping into a purr, “I’ll let you have a taste, if you let me win this round.”

“Yessss,” Taehyung hisses from Jimin’s periphery. “Somebody, please god, record this.”

Jin looks caught off guard, surprise coloring the tips of his ears.

A spark of triumph ignites in Jimin’s chest. He’s been waiting for this switch to flip all night and none of the reasonable thoughts in his head can stop him now.

“You can even choose where,” he says, leaning closer. Close enough to hear the barest hint of a gasp from Jin's mouth.

A muffled chortle sounds from Namjoon’s direction. He’s been on the receiving end of Jimin’s flirtations too many times to count, so he’s probably just relieved someone else is taking the shots tonight. Once Jimin has a target in his sights, they don't hold out for long.

So, he angles his face and lowers his eyelids, lips slightly parted. Just a little more and then things can go back to normal, where the stranger is the stranger and Jimin is Jimin; designated vixen when he so chooses.

Jin is still holding his ground, but Jimin sees his mask crack a fraction and is readying his most devilish smile when something shifts. Suddenly, instead of retreating, Jin leans further in, charging the space between them with a buzzing electricity.

“If I let you win,” he says low and sweet, “you’re going to have to give me more than a soft spot to sink my fangs into.”

Jimin is, once again, at a crossroad. Alarm bells peel through the haze of alcohol, but they aren’t loud enough to stop the next words out of his sinful mouth.

“Hyung, who said anything about your fangs?”

The collective silence around the room seems to stretch on infinitely, everyone holding their breath for Jin’s reply. Several heartbeats later, Jin still hasn't moved. His face looks caught between shock and the beginnings of arousal. Jimin knows that one well.

Satisfaction curls up in his chest and he tastes victory on the tip of his tongue as he holds his breath, ready for Jin to break. The tension is almost unbearable.

“I’ll let hyung win and he can bite me,” Jeongguk’s voice breaks through the stretched silence like a heat-seeking missile.

“Jeon Jeongguk!” Taehyung shrieks and lunges for Jeongguk as the others complain loudly at the interruption.

The moment is officially shattered when Jeongguk’s shoulder knocks into him, jostling Jimin towards Jin, who immediately puts out his hands to keep Jimin from falling out of his chair. One lands on his shoulder, while the other wraps around the underside of his thigh. Jimin’s breath hitches at the contact and he feels, more than hears, Jin’s sharp inhale. Acquaintances don’t normally get to put their hands this close to his ass unless they're dance partners or strangers at a club.

“Sorry.” Jin jerks his hands back.

“Um,” Jimin gulps as he grabs the table to stay upright. “It’s fine. Um, I’m fine. Thanks.”

Taehyung is still berating Jeongguk in the background when Yoongi suddenly shoots his arms upward and fakes a yawn. “Aish, look at the time. We should probably call it a night?”

Jimin shoots him a grateful look before awkwardly pushing his chair back. “I’ll help you clean up, hyung.” He gives a small, unnecessary bow to Jin, then scurries off into the kitchen.

---

Jin’s hands tingle from where they touched Jimin seconds before. He didn’t even get to squeak out a goodbye before Jimin rushed away into the kitchen, but he can still feel the hard, lean muscles of his thigh burning into his right hand.

You’re never washing that hand again, his brain unhelpfully supplies.

“Don’t worry, hyung.” Namjoon clamps his large hand onto Jin’s shoulder. “I think Jimin likes you. He just seems to be having an off night.”

“I beg to differ,” Taehyung interjects. “Jimin-ie was very much on tonight and you should thank your lucky stars that you were here to witness it.”

Jin, still recovering, draws upon his well-practiced charm. “Not to worry, Namjoon-ah, no harm done. He seems delightful. Plus, no one can truly resist this handsome face for long.”

Taehyung scoffs but he ignores it. He still legitimately does not know how to feel about any of it, and that sets an itch under his skin. Nights like tonight usually end with someone hypnotized by either his beauty or charm or both. Not… whatever that was. He's not even sure he's upset about just how thrown off he'd been by Jimin's sudden switch.

Something about the exchange had creeped beneath his shield and left him nervous, thrilled, and entirely unsure of himself. Now, Jin feels an unfamiliar wanting stir under his ribs.

“You ok, hyung?” Jeongguk says, walking up to him on his way to the kitchen. “I’m sorry if I ruined that…,” he trails off and gestures vaguely, “...thing you and Jimin-hyung had going.”

Jin snaps out of his thoughts. “Jeongguk-ah, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Your comedic timing is impeccable.” The effort it takes to force levity into his words as he claps Jeongguk on the shoulder leaves him a little dizzy.

With his familiar confident act shaken, he thanks his new friends for a wonderful evening, plastering on his best award-winning smile that’s managing to smooth over the cracks before anyone notices.

Anyone except for Jimin, it seems.

Not willing to leave with his tail tucked between his legs, Jin strides into the kitchen and hovers over Jimin’s left shoulder as he washes dishes in Yoongi’s sink.

“It was nice meeting you, Jimin-ah. Please come by my café anytime. Lunch on the house.” The sentiment is genuine but the delivery comes off a little forced, if Jimin’s reaction is anything to go by.

“Oh, yes, thank you, Jin-ssi. I'm sure I will see you around.” He barely turns away from his task but does manage to bow deeper than the moment calls for. It occurs to him that no one has ever refused the opportunity to call him hyung before. It’s overly polite and dismissive and rubs Jin entirely the wrong way.

He leaves with haste and a slightly stiffened posture, desperately trying to at least make it to the ride-share he ordered before everything slips out of place.

To his surprise he makes it all the way to the café, through the side door, and up the stairs to his apartment before collapsing on the couch in a rumpled heap. He's never drinking again. At least, not until the next time he drinks.

He can admit that he may have had one too many tonight in a vain attempt to keep up with Jimin. The little fish seems to be able to handle more alcohol than his slight frame would imply, which was the first of several contradictions Jin noticed about him.

Soft but tough. Small but strong. Sharp but gentle. Shy but completely enrapturing.

Jin thanks whichever parent gave him the ability to multitask because wrestling his attention away from Jimin in order to not arouse suspicion had taken all of his willpower. Half of his brain had worked to laugh and engage with the group, while the other half had been cataloguing every move, word, and sound Jimin made.

The obsessive route his mind starts taking has him unnerved and slightly annoyed. And that pesky pull in his chest hasn't gone away. Ok, so, sure, maybe Jimin is marginally more attractive than the average person, and obviously he knows it. He had started the night in the way Jin is used to from others—shy, stumbling, and trying hard not to stare at him. At no point had he expected Jimin to turn it around and give him a taste of his own medicine. It was disarming and had almost throttled him, but he’s had years of practice acting in opposition to his feelings.

His mind tips back to the words that had slipped from Jimin's stupidly plump mouth and slid straight to his traitorous dick.

Nope. Not helping.

He drags himself off the couch to get ready for bed. This was a fluke. Lots of things could explain the way he feels. It’s not worth thinking about anymore, he tells himself. Jimin will most likely not take him up on his offer at the café, and they'll see each other here and there when their friend group is together. He has his own life to live and business to run and people to charm. He doesn't have time for a cute, enticing world of trouble like Jimin.

Everything is ok. He’s still hilarious, still handsome, still intentionally uninvolved. And he absolutely does not think about Jimin’s bedroom eyes and berry-ripe lips in the shower later.

Chapter Text

Life goes on as usual for Jin after that night. It isn’t hard to pack Jimin neatly away in a box labeled ‘Nice Try, Satan’ when he’s actually busy running a bustling café. A bustling café that also serves as an unofficial neighborhood hub.

It had started with the occasional book club, a couple of cute old men who played chess every Thursday morning, and that one group that masqueraded as a “craft” club, but really only served as a front for catching up on the latest small town gossip. Jin loved every one of them.

And he loved them even more when it grew to hold regular well-attended events, such as the Open Mic Night that had brought Namjoon and his motley crew of unusually beautiful friends into his life (Jimin notwithstanding).

On this particular early morning, Jin can’t help but giggle to himself, elbows deep in a gigantic bin of flour, as he imagines the look on his mother’s face if she could only see him now. Not exactly what they had in mind for their precious only-child, who had grown up to be quite the disappointment. He could think of no scenario where his parents ever would see him in this particular state, being that they lived hours away, led extremely busy social lives, and, oh yeah, had disinherited him.

Good breeding could only get you certain things in life, he had learned. Further education had taught him that being the son of wealthy, popular socialites had only increased his chances of living the rest of his life in comfortable misery.

As he kneads the dough he’s made on his work surface, his eyes stray to a picture hanging to the left of his desktop in the back corner of the massive kitchen. His grandmother’s kind eyes and mischievous smile hide a secret only the two of them know. Sometimes he can look at the picture, smile fondly, and return to his task. But today is not one of those days, and he feels a familiar sorrow pushing its way into his thoughts.

He gives her a lopsided smile before he drags his attention back to the biscuits he’s preparing for the day.

Jin is lost in his work, so he doesn’t hear the door open and is startled by a shy but enthusiastic Hi, hyung from the front counter.

With a yelp, he turns sharply, sweeping the still sticky dough right onto the floor.

“Jeon Jeongguk! Did your mother teach you any manners?! Give a girl some warning before you sneak up and give her a premature heart attack, depriving the world of her beauty and grace forever!”

“Sorry, hyung,” Jeongguk says bashfully, cheeks flushing. “I thought you would hear the door open.”

“It's okay. I hadn't chosen a flavor for the biscuits yet, so crumbs de lé floor sounds as good as any.” Jin bends down to peel the dough off of the tile with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, hyung.” Jeongguk looks thoroughly chastised as he shifts nervously, seeming unsure if he should approach the flustered baker, who is wearing more flour than normal. “I just came in to see if you needed help. I heard you say that your second baker was sick this week. I don’t know a lot about baking, but I’m a pretty quick learner.”

“Guk-ah, please—spare my kitchen. I’m already covered in flour, and the last thing I knead is you adding chaos to my dough-main.” He laughs at his stupid puns, then pauses. “Grab an apron.” Jin attempts to dust the flour off of his own apron but gives up when the resulting cloud threatens to choke him.

“Okay, hyung! Put me to work!” Jeongguk smiles with his whole face as he takes an apron from the hook behind the door. He struggles for a few minutes trying to figure out how to put it on before Jin has to intervene to prevent him from strangling himself.

The next few hours pass in a blur and Jeongguk, true to his word, is not only an exceptionally fast study but seems to take almost as much joy as Jin in the work. His favorite part turns out to be making all the little fiddly bits that turn a simple pastry into something more akin to a flaky, edible sculpture.

“Jeongguk-ah, are you sure you want to be an engineer? Everyone tells me I'll never get rich as a baker, but I'm swimming in dough.”

Jeongguk’s front teeth flash as he chuckles at another one of Jin's ridiculous puns and resulting laughter. “Thanks, hyung. I like working with my hands, but my parents would never forgive me if I gave up a future ai engineering career for baking bread.” He pauses to mumble under his breath, “No matter how much I hate it.”

His face drops, and he quickly adds, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a pastry chef. And, um, anyway, you know, you’re so much more than a pastry chef. I could never run my own café like you.”

His big shiny eyes are so sincere and open Jin can’t find it in himself to chastise him any further.

“Trust me, kid, this is not at all what my family had in mind for me. I get it.”

“What did your parents want you to be, hyung?” Jeongguk asks quietly.

“A lawyer,” he scoffs. “Can you imagine? This gorgeous face locked away in a courtroom? I’d have to prosecute my own parents for the crime!”

Jeongguk giggles but doesn’t press for further details. Jin tries not to show his relief at the opportunity to change the subject. Anything but his parents.

"So, Jimin, huh? He seemed interesting, in a, you know, tiny, slightly angry kitten kinda way." Well. Ok…What the fuck was that? Jin cringes.

He is immediately uncomfortable with the knowing little gleam shining out of Jeongguk's big round eyes.

"I mean, uh, how long have you been friends?" He mentally pats himself on the back for an excellent recovery.

"Jimin-ie has known me since I was born, basically," Jeongguk shrugs. "So, forever? He and Taehyung grew up in my neighborhood, so we've just always been friends."

"Has he always been tiny and angry?"

Jeongguk snorts. "Yes." He looks up with wide eyes. "Do not tell him I said that, hyung, please."

Jin grins in triumph. He leans a hip against the corner, turning to point at Jeongguk with a jam-tipped spoon. "What will you give me for my silence?"

Jeongguk's worried face shifts into a sly one. "What will you give me for my silence?"

"Ungrateful! And in my own kitchen!" Jin waves the spoon threateningly.

Jeongguk doesn't break in the face of flying strawberry preserves, just continues smirking while maintaining direct eye contact. This kid thinks he can strong-arm him?

Apparently, he can.

Jin sticks out his hand. "Truce?"

Jeongguk considers Jin's hand. "Come with me to Jimin-ie's soccer match tonight, and I'll take this whole conversation to the grave with me."

Jin sputters, eyes bugging from his head. "You think I care if Jimin knows I called him a tiny, angry kitten after knowing him for less than 15 hours?"

Silence answers him.

"What time should I be there?"

Jeongguk beams and takes his hand, giving it several firm shakes. "6:30, hyung. Wear something nice."

Jin dies a little inside as Jeongguk winks at him before going back to decorating his third cake of the day.

Fuck.

---

Jin arrives at the pitch fifteen minutes early, fidgeting with the collar of his button-up shirt. He'd spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding what "something nice" meant for a recreational soccer match. Of course, he looks good in anything, so the anxiety of getting dressed for a casual, small-town sports event is a definite cause for concern. A concern he will most certainly ignore.

He spots Taehyung's reflective silver hair from across the field. Seriously, he looks like a metallic Sharpie with legs. Jin mutters something about youths and their "personal freedoms" under his breath as he climbs the bleachers.

"Hyung! You came!" Taehyung's boxy smile lights up his entire face.

Yoongi, wearing a black bucket hat pulled low, merely nods in greeting. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Well, Min Yoongi, I can barely see you at all underneath that hat. Allergic to the sun are we?" he quips back.

Jin can imagine the way Yoongi's eyebrows are climbing toward his hairline, even if he can't see them. He doesn't respond, just stares.

"Uh, yeah, Jeongguk asked me to come," Jin explains, settling beside them. "Something about friend group cultural immersion therapy, blah blah blah. Apparently, he thinks I work too much. Fortunately for him, I agree."

Taehyung snorts. "That's not why he invited you."

Jin is in the middle of smacking Taehyung when Jeongguk bounds up the bleachers with snacks and drinks cradled in his arms. "Hyung! You actually came! I had a bet going with Taehyung-ie-hyung. Cough it up, loser." Tae simply rests his chin in Jeongguk's outstretched hand.

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" Jin says, eyeing Jeongguk pointedly.

A wry smile hides at the corner of Jeongguk's mouth as he squishes Taehyung's cheeks, then hands Jin a canned beer. "You're probably going to want to start early."

Before Jin can ask what he means, a commotion draws their attention to the field. The teams are emerging, and Jin immediately spots Jimin among them. He's the smallest member of the team, but there's something confident and authoritative to his walk, giving Jin the impression that his lack of height means nothing. His blonde hair is pushed back from his forehead with a headband, revealing sharp brows and determined eyes.

"He's pretty good," Yoongi comments, following Jin's gaze. "Been playing since middle school."

"Our Jimin-ie takes it very seriously," Taehyung adds. "Gets super competitive."

Hoseok arrives in an outfit that seems way too fashionable for a soccer game but relaxed enough not to stick out. Jin's going to need to get some pointers from him later.

Hoseok squeezes in beside Jin, then leans across him to ask Taehyung, "Did I miss anything? Has Jin-hyung seen angry soccer Jimin yet?"

"Not yet," Taehyung grins. "But the referee just arrived, so we won't have to wait long."

As if on cue, Jimin turns toward the bleachers, scanning the crowd. His eyes widen slightly when they land on Jin. He raises his beer in a mock toast, and Jimin's eyes narrow before he deliberately turns away, speaking to a teammate.

"He's going to murder the other team now," Taehyung says cheerfully. "Thanks for that."

Jin's not sure how to interpret that, so he just winks, hoping that's enough to placate the enigma that is Taehyung.

The referee's whistle cuts through the chatter, and the players take their positions. Jin leans forward, genuinely curious to see if Jimin's friends are exaggerating his skill.

It becomes clear within minutes that they are not. Jimin transforms on the field— the uncertain, somewhat shy man he met last night disappears completely and is replaced with a strategic force of nature. He's fast, aggressive, and reads the game with startling precision. When he steals the ball from an absolute unit of an opponent with a graceful slide tackle, Jin barely holds in a gasp.

"Told you," Yoongi murmurs, not looking up from his phone. Guess he wasn't as quiet as he thought.

He continues to watch, transfixed, as Jimin weaves through the defenders. There's something mesmerizing about his movements—the same fluid grace he'd noticed before, but now weaponized with purpose and intensity. When Jimin scores the first goal with a textbook bend shot, Jin finds himself on his feet, fists in the air before he realizes what he's doing.

Taehyung jabs him with a sly elbow. "How's the friend group immersion therapy going?"

Jin sinks back into his seat, cheeks warm. "I'm just here for team morale. Somebody needs to make up for Yoongi's ghost over there." He gestures to where Yoongi hunches, taking up as little space as possible, eyes still flicking across his phone. Yoongi flips him the bird.

"Sure, hyung."

Halftime arrives with Jimin's team up by two goals. As the players break, Jimin glances toward the bleachers again, and Jin swears there's a challenge in his eyes. Or the sun, one of the two.

"I'm getting more beer," Jin announces, needing to escape Taehyung's knowing looks and Jimin's intense stare.

He makes his way down the bleachers, grateful for the momentary reprieve. The concession stand line gives him time to collect himself. What is wrong with him? He's acting like some horny teenager instead of a grown man who runs his own business. So what if Jimin looks unfairly good in those short shorts? It's just physical attraction—nothing he hasn't dealt with before.

"Enjoying the game so far?"

Jin jumps at Hoseok's voice behind him. "Jesus, Seok-ah. Wear a bell."

Hoseok grins, unrepentant. "You know, if you keep looking at Jimin like that, even he's going to notice eventually."

"Looking at him like what?" Jin scoffs, stepping forward as the line moves. His eyes dart away from the field, heat crawling up his neck. "With my eyes? That's generally how seeing works."

Hoseok bumps his shoulder playfully. "It's okay to admit you find him attractive. Most people do."

Jin snorts. "I find lots of people attractive. It's a curse, really—being surrounded by beauty and having such refined taste."

"Uh-huh."

Once again, Jin feels off-balance. But, he hasn't gotten this far in life without following his golden rule of 'When in doubt, deflect, deflect, deflect'.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and when you're as beautiful as me, the bar is set pretty high. It feels like there's only room for one diva in this group. I hope he wasn't attached to the title."

Hoseok giggles and gives him a look that says he's not buying any of it, but mercifully drops the subject as they reach the front of the line. Jin orders another round for everyone, grateful for the distraction.

By the time they return to their seats, the second half is about to begin. Jin settles in, determined to watch the game with appropriate, platonic interest. He's just appreciating athletic skill. That's all.

However, the cosmos must really have it out for him, because, without a single thought for Jin's sanity, Jimin strips his jersey for a victory run after an unlikely shot makes it in. So naturally, Jin chokes on his beer.

"You okay there, hyung?" Jeongguk asks innocently.

"Fine," Jin wheezes. "Just remembered I left the oven on. At the café. Which is closed. So it's fine." He stares down miserably at his beer-stained shirt. "I'll turn it off later."

The rest of the game is torture. Jimin plays even more aggressively (with his shirt back on, thank god), at one point getting into a heated argument with an opponent that shoulder-checked his teammate. It has Jin feeling something close to heartburn, but… not heartburn. He tries not to think about what it could be. When Jimin scores the winning goal in the final minutes, the entire bleacher section erupts, and Jin finds himself swept up in the celebration, equal parts happy for the win and glad the threat of more shirtless Jimin has been reduced.

As the teams line up to shake hands on the pitch, Taehyung nudges him. "We usually go out for drinks after. You should come."

Jin hesitates. He should get back to the café. He has early prep tomorrow. He has inventory to check. He has very, very cold showers to take.

So, of course, he says, "I suppose I could join for one drink. Friend group cultural immersion therapy and all that."

Taehyung's knowing grin is insufferable.

The players begin dispersing, and Jin watches as Jimin approaches the bleachers, towel around his neck, hair damp with sweat. He's laughing at something a teammate said, his entire face transformed, eyes scrunched with joy. The heart-burn-that's-not-heartburn comes back with a vengeance.

This is bad. This is exactly the kind of complication he doesn't need. Attraction is one thing, but anything more is off the table. He has a café to run, a life he's built from scratch, and no room for distractions—especially not in the form of a tiny, angry, unfairly beautiful dancer-slash-semi-pro-soccer-star who probably thinks he's an arrogant ass.

"Hyung!" Jimin calls out, and for a heart-stopping moment Jin thinks he's addressing him. But Jimin bounds past, launching himself at Hoseok, who catches him with practiced ease.

"Nice game, Jimin-ah!" Hoseok ruffles his hair. "You were showing off today."

Jimin's eyes flick briefly to Jin before he shrugs. "Just trying to play my best."

"Well, your best was pretty impressive," Jin says before he can stop himself. "For someone so small, you're surprisingly... effective."

Jimin's expression freezes somewhere between pleased and confused. "Thanks... I think?"

"It was definitely a compliment," Jin clarifies, mentally kicking himself. "I mean, you're clearly very good. At soccer. The running and kicking part, especially."

Someone needs to save him from his own mouth.

Taehyung swoops in, throwing an arm around Jimin's shoulders. "We're heading to Yoongi's favorite place for drinks. Jin-hyung's coming too."

Jimin's eyebrows rise slightly. "Oh? I'm surprised you have so much free time, what with owning your own business and all." His recent victory seems to have unlocked a sarcasm power-up. Noted.

"The café runs itself on Thursdays. It's in the employee handbook," Jin replies. "Besides, I've been told my cultural immersion therapy isn't complete without experiencing the post-game celebration ritual."

A hint of a smile tugs at Jimin's lips. "Well, we wouldn't want to leave your therapy incomplete."

"Exactly. I'm very committed to my treatment plan."

Jimin shakes his head, but the smile grows a fraction. "I need to shower and change first."

"We'll meet you there," Taehyung says, already typing on his phone. "I'm texting you the address, hyung."

As Jimin jogs off toward the locker rooms, Jin exhales slowly. He can do this. He can spend one evening in Jimin's company without making a fool of himself or, worse, developing actual feelings. It's just drinks with new friends. Nice new friends that he wants to keep, thank you very much. Nothing more.

He slams the door on the voice in his head that calls him a liar.

---

Jimin stands under the shower spray longer than necessary, letting the hot water sluice away sweat and grass stains. There's a delicious, satisfying ache in his muscles—the kind of pleasant sharpness that comes from pushing himself to his limits and winning. He rolls his shoulders, replaying the match in his mind.

He catalogues every missed pass, files away Minsik's growing tendency to fall too far back mid-field during corner kicks. He surprises himself when he comes up with fewer mistakes to criticize himself for than normal. He'd played well. Better than well, actually. He doesn't even know where that first slide-steal came from. It probably had something to do with a certain café owner watching from the bleachers.

The instant he'd found Jin in the stands, a fierce desire to prove himself had possessed his body and he'd pushed himself harder than ever. Which was actually very stupid, considering one wrong move and a resulting injury could cost him his future as a professional dancer. His instructor has been begging him for years to give up the sport, but he just can't let go of something he's been good at for so long.

"For someone so small, you're surprisingly... effective."

Jimin snorts, reaching for his shampoo. The backhanded compliment shouldn't have pleased him at all, but something in Jin's expression—that mix of reluctant but genuine admiration—had sent a warm flutter through his chest.

"Ridiculous," he mutters to himself, working the shampoo into a lather. He's not some insecure teenager desperate for validation from the pretty new kid. He's a grown man with priorities and goals and absolutely no time for... whatever this is.

Still, he can't help but remember the way Jin had jumped to his feet when Jimin had scored that first goal, how his eyes had followed Jimin across the field. It was different from the way Jeongguk looked at Jin—less starry-eyed admiration and more... something else. Something that made Jimin's skin prickle with awareness.

A loud sigh escapes him and he slaps the tap shut, grabbing blindly outside of the curtain for his towel. There's a pressure behind his ribs that tells him he should go home and skip the drinks in his honor. He could use more sleep and less time fumbling around the newcomer. He has dance practice and a shift at the tutoring center tomorrow, and he can already feel the ache of stretching himself too thin settle into his bones.

I don't have time. I don't have time. I don't have time.

The mantra echoes around his brain and tries to distract him from the flutter in his stomach associated with seeing Jin again. But it doesn't, and he slips his shoes on, grabs his keys, and gives in to whatever the night will bring.

The bar is already crowded when Jimin arrives, but he spots the group at a corner table. Jin is sandwiched between Taehyung and Jeongguk, looking slightly overwhelmed as Taehyung gestures wildly, telling some story that has Jeongguk doubled over with laughter. Yoongi watches with his usual quiet amusement, while Hoseok's whole-body cackle encourages Taehyung on.

"Jimin-ah!" Hoseok spots him and waves him over. "Our MVP has arrived!"

All eyes turn to him, including Jin's, and Jimin feels his cheeks warm. He makes his way to the table, accepting the congratulatory slaps on the back and sliding into the only available seat—directly across from Jin. Of course.

"Here." Taehyung pushes a shot of soju toward him. "For the star player."

"It wasn't that good," Jimin demurs, though he absorbs the praise like a dry sponge. He takes the shot, welcoming the burn. He can feel Jin's eyes on him, and he takes a deep breath, determined not to be an idiot tonight.

"False modesty doesn't suit you," Jin says, raising his own glass. "Take it from someone who knows."

The compliment, delivered without any qualifying remarks about his size, catches Jimin off guard. He meets Jin's eyes over the rim of his glass and finds them warm, sincere.

"Thanks," he manages, looking away quickly. "It was a good game."

"Good game?" Jeongguk exclaims. "Hyung, you destroyed them! That slide tackle in the first half? And then when you got in that guy's face after he knocked down Minwoo—"

"I thought Jin-hyung was going to have a heart attack," Taehyung interjects with a sly grin. "He nearly fell off the bleachers trying to get a better look."

Jin chokes on his drink. "I did not! I was just... invested in the outcome."

"Uh-huh," Taehyung says, unconvinced.

Jimin feels a strange satisfaction at the thought of Jin being worried for him, and he can't help but take the bait. "That guy was twice my size," he says. "Were you concerned, hyung?"

Jin's ears are flushed, but that could be from the alcohol. "Size isn't everything, Jimin-ssi. As you so thoroughly demonstrated today." Hm, maybe not from the alcohol.

He holds Jin's gaze, a slow smile spreading across his face. "No, but it helps."

The table falls silent for a beat, and they are right back where they ended last night. Conjuring this coy dynamic between them feels effortless and also like a bad habit Jimin shouldn't get used to.

Hoseok clears his throat loudly. "So! Another round?"

The moment breaks, and Jimin leans back in his chair, oddly disappointed. He watches as Jin turns to answer something Jeongguk asked, his profile sharp against the dim bar lighting. The man is unfairly handsome, even in this unflattering fluorescent glow, with his hair slightly mussed from celebrating.

Jimin accepts another drink from Taehyung, trying to focus on the conversation around him rather than the way Jin's mouth curves when he laughs at one of his own jokes. It shouldn't matter to him whether Jin was impressed by the game or not. He doesn't play soccer to impress random café owners with perfect faces and hands that span half his thigh.

But as the night progresses and the alcohol loosens his limbs, Jimin finds himself helplessly drawn in. He notices the way Jin listens intently when others speak, how he seems to genuinely care about their responses. The surprising wit beneath his sometimes pompous exterior. The fact that he's chosen to spend his evening with them instead of at his café.

"Earth to Jimin," Taehyung waves a hand in front of his face. "You in there?"

Jimin blinks, realizing he's been staring at Jin for who knows how long. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you wanted another drink," Taehyung says, eyebrows arched like he's holding back a secret.

"Oh. No, I'm good." Jimin pushes his empty glass away. "Actually, I should probably head out soon. Early practice tomorrow."

It's not entirely a lie. He does have practice, just not early. But the combination of post-game exhaustion and his inability to ignore Jin is making his head spin in a way that has nothing to do with the drinks he's consumed.

"I'll walk with you," Jin says suddenly, standing. "I need to check on the café before it gets too late."

Oh, no, that's a bad idea. "You don't have to—"

"I know I don't, but we can't have the town's golden boy walking home by himself. That one guy in particular looked like a sore loser, there's no telling what he might try," Jin insists with a wink.

"And you would be the one to protect him, hyung?" Jeongguk needles at him. "You screamed at a spider in your kitchen yesterday that was 10 feet away from you."

"I was screaming to keep him away. I wasn't afraid. Haven't you ever heard of scare tactics? That's the only way to survive a confrontation with a predator."

Jeongguk just snorts and shakes his head.

"It's really ok. You should stay and take advantage of hyung buying the drinks," Jimin deflects, and nods slyly in Namjoon's direction.

"I'm what?" Namjoon sits up from where he was leaning into Hoseok.

"Namjoon-ah, not now," Hoseok says, petting his head once, then turns his attention back to the entertainment for the night. Traitor.

"Ah, I see. Worried that leaving with such a good-looking business owner might kill your chances with that girl in the corner who's been ogling you all night? That's fair." Jin is not going to give up easily. Fine, Jimin can play.

"Actually, it's you that I'm worried for. Aren't you concerned about ruining your bachelor-of-the-year reputation?"

"Maybe. I'll take my chances. But, if we run into Mrs. Kang, I'm pushing you into the nearest dumpster." Jin says it with careless levity, leaving Jimin few options out of this arrangement. His shared distaste for the local match-making ajumma, Mrs. Kang, tips him over into acceptance.

"Why don't we just put her in the dumpster and call it a night."

Jin's barking laugh is so loud, even over the music, that several tables turn their heads. "Deal."

They say their goodbyes amid knowing looks from their friends that Jimin pointedly ignores. Outside, he takes a deep breath, trying to clear his head.

They walk in awkward silence for a few blocks, the cool night air sobering. Jimin notices how Jin's long strides naturally shorten to match his pace. It's... considerate.

"So," Jin says finally, a hint of playful challenge in his voice, "do you always play like you're gunning for the World Cup, or was tonight just a special occasion?" His dark eyes glimmer with a teasing curiosity as he glances sidelong at Jimin, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

Jimin feels a spark of competitiveness flare within him at Jin's words. "I don't know what you mean, Jin-ssi. That was just me playing." He shrugs and kicks a rock out of their path.

"Aish, with the formalities. Didn't we just make a blood pact to rid this town of one of its most notorious match-makers? I really think you should call me hyung."

Jimin chuckles. "I suppose. But don't think this means you're off the hook for all the size jokes."

"But it's so easy, I don't have to reach very far," Jin laughs as Jimin cuts his eyes up in annoyance, then back down to the ground.

Before he can return the favor, Jin's laugh stops abruptly. Jimin looks up to find him staring ahead, his shoulders suddenly tight. Following his gaze, Jimin spots a couple walking toward them about a block away. The man has his arm around a woman's waist, quite possessively, and seems to be having a better time than his date, if her expression is anything to go by.

"Actually," Jin's voice has lost its warmth, "maybe we should cut through the park. It's... a nicer walk. Plus, I heard Mrs. Kang hunts this part of town for fresh meat at night."

The attempt at humor falls flat. Jin's already turning toward the park entrance, his usual confident posture crumpling inward slightly. It's such a stark contrast to his normal presence that Jimin finds himself moving before he thinks, falling into step beside him without question.

"The park's good," Jimin says easily. "I could use the extra exercise after all the soccer playing."

Jin's relief is brief but noticeable. They walk in silence until the man's loud voice fades behind them. Jimin watches from the corner of his eye as Jin's shoulders slowly relax, though something vulnerable lingers in the set of his jaw.

"You know," Jimin says carefully, "the park really is nicer. Even if Mrs. Kang isn't actually stalking the streets for prey."

That startles a small laugh out of Jin. "You don't know her like I do. She once cornered me for forty-five minutes to tell me about her sister's cousin's niece who 'just happens' to be single and 'such a nice girl.'"

"Ah, so that's the real reason you volunteered for this mission. Using me as nosy-old-lady repellent."

"You caught me." Jin's smile looks more genuine now.

Jimin's not quite sure what to do with this sliver of unguarded Jin. Something about the couple they saw doesn't sit right in his chest.

It's a combination of the pleasant buzz still thrumming through him and the surreality of the park at night, all glowing and softly-lit, that pulls the question from his lips.

"So," Jimin ventures, keeping his voice casual, "did you know them? Those people back there?"

Jin stiffens beside him, his easy stride faltering. The transformation is immediate—his shoulders square, jaw tightening as if someone's flipped a switch. "No," he says, too quickly. "Just didn't feel like making small talk with strangers."

Jimin knows a lie when he hears one. The park path stretches before them, empty except for the occasional lamppost casting pools of yellow light. In one of these circles of illumination, Jin's face looks suddenly hollow, the playfulness drained away.

"Right," Jimin says, immediately regretting bringing it up. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine." Jin cuts him off, then seems to catch himself. His expression softens slightly, though the tension remains in his shoulders. "I mean, it's nothing. Just... some people from my parents' social circle. Not exactly my biggest fans."

The explanation feels incomplete, but Jimin doesn't push. The easy rhythm they'd established has vanished, replaced by an awkward silence that stretches between them like a physical thing.

Jin clears his throat. "Anyway, did I ever tell you about the customer who tried to convince me that croissants are actually Korean instead of Parisian? She had a whole presentation and was convinced there was a conspiracy behind it."

It's a weak attempt at humor, but Jimin latches onto it gratefully. "Did she convince you?"

"I told her I'd consider her evidence and then gave her a free coffee to make her go away." Jin's laugh is forced, nothing like the carefree sound from before.

They walk in silence for another minute, the crunch of gravel under their feet the only sound. Jimin feels guilty for overstepping. He should have known better than to pry. Whatever is brewing between them—this strange push and pull of attraction and irritation—is complicated enough without him digging into Jin's personal life.

"This is me," Jimin says as they reach his apartment building. It's nothing special—just a modest five-story complex with a small courtyard out front—but he's suddenly self-conscious about it. Jin probably lives somewhere sleek and modern, not in a building with peeling paint and a perpetually broken elevator.

"Nice place," Jin says, and Jimin can't tell if he's being sincere or polite.

"It's... convenient," Jimin settles on. "Close to the studio."

They hover awkwardly at the entrance. Jimin should just say goodnight and go inside. That would be the smart thing to do. Instead, he finds himself lingering, reluctant to end the evening despite the tension still hanging between them.

"Well," Jin says finally, rocking back on his heels. "I should probably—"

Just then, a cyclist rounds the corner of the building, nearly knocking Jin over. He lurches forward, hands shooting out to catch himself. Jimin reacts instinctively, stepping in to steady him, and suddenly they're chest to chest, Jin's hands gripping Jimin's arms.

Jin's eyes widen slightly, his lips parting in surprise. For one wild moment, Jimin thinks he might lean in and a panicked squeak slips out of his mouth.

Jin steps back abruptly, smoothing down his shirt with exaggerated care. "Sorry about that," he says, voice pitched slightly higher than normal. "That biker clearly didn't recognize me. It's dark, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, but he really should be more careful around someone of my stature."

Jimin forces a smile. "No harm done."

"Right." Jin runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "Well, goodnight then, Jimin-ah."

"Goodnight, hyung," Jimin says softly.

Jin gives an awkward half-wave before turning and walking away, his usual confident stride slightly off-kilter. Jimin watches him go, fighting the urge to call him back and… do what? The fact that he can't answer that question irritates him and, not for the first time tonight, he forces himself to look away as he turns towards the building.

Once inside his apartment, Jimin flops face-down onto the couch and groans. What is wrong with him? He has no business getting tangled up with someone like Jin—someone who clearly has his own complications, his own ghosts. He's known the man all of 24 hours and there is absolutely no reason he should be feeling this disoriented.

"Focus, Park Jimin," he mutters to himself. "You have a competition to win."

The thought of going straight to bed makes his skin itch, so he strips off his clothes and heads for another shower, determined to wash away the lingering sensation of Jin's hands on his arms. The competition is in two months. Two months to perfect his routine, to prove he deserves a spot in that professional troupe. He can't afford distractions. Period.

Jin is bad for his concentration. Bad for his focus. Bad for the careful plan he's laid out for his life.

As he steps under the hot spray, Jimin makes a decision. Whatever this thing is between them—this spark, this tension—he's going to ignore it. He has to. His future depends on it.

The water beats down on his shoulders, but it does nothing to erase the memory of Jin's face, so close to his own, or the way his heart had raced at the contact.

"Forget it," he tells himself firmly. "Just forget it."

So, he tries.

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.

Chapter Text

Jin stares at the ceiling, lying in bed on one of his rare late mornings. Something feels different today. It's been a week since the official breakfast disaster of 2025, and somehow, they've fallen into a rhythm that feels strangely... comfortable.

He'd spent the night before Jimin moved in pacing, second-guessing his impulsive offer. What was he thinking, inviting someone to live in his carefully curated sanctuary? His alone time would vanish. His routines would be disrupted. His carefully scheduled pockets of gaming-time would be shattered.

But, none of that has happened.

Instead, Jimin moves through the apartment like a considerate ghost—present but unobtrusive, leaving little traces of himself that Jin finds himself looking for. A dance shoe abandoned under the coffee table. A hoodie draped over a chair. A mug in the sink with a perfect lip print on the rim left by the tinted balm he always seems to have handy.

Ugh. Lips.

Jin groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. He's only human, and Jimin is... well, Jimin. And Jin thinks his lips deserve a place in The Louvre.

There's a particular pouty shape his mouth takes on in the mornings, shuffling to the kitchen with his eyes half-closed and hair sticking up in all directions. Adorableness incarnate. Then, there's the alluring and intense outline they form when he practices dance moves in the living room, sweat glistening on his neck (the first time he'd walked in on Jimin practicing had been a wild and immediate discovery of his preference for Jimin's skin-tight dance clothes). And then, there is his personal favorite, which happens when Jimin reads on the couch, lower lip caught between his teeth.

He has a hard time keeping his mind from slipping into imagining what it would feel like to bite Jimin's soft-looking bottom lip. What it would feel like in his mouth. A distinct pulse through his dick has him pinching the skin of his arm, willing away the threat of a pre-shower boner.

His selfish, turned-on lizard brain suggests that maybe if he just rubbed one out he could go back to thinking more friend-flavored thoughts of Jimin.

This platonic roommate charade is getting harder to maintain. The casual touches—a press of a shoulder on the couch, fingers brushing when passing a mug, that one not-so-casual time he accidentally got a handful of Jimin’s ass trying to stop him from falling off another chair—send sparks through his blood that he's constantly trying to smother.

Jin sighs.

He's fucked. And as much as he wants to start his day jerking off to thoughts of Jimin's pillowy mouth, he knows that's a line he can't cross. It's his job as the landlord-hyung to make Jimin feel welcome and comfortable while he's here, not to be a creep.

Jin drags himself out of bed, determined to reclaim his day from what he's coined 'The Jimin Spiral'. Padding to the bathroom, he rubs his eyes, mentally planning the café's specials for the next week as a distraction.

He pushes the bathroom door open and steam billows out.

What the….

Jin freezes, one hand still on the doorknob. Through the dissipating cloud of vapor, he sees Jimin—completely, gloriously naked—reaching for a towel on the rack.

Time slows to a painful crawl. Water droplets cling to Jimin's golden skin, tracing paths down the lean muscles of his back, over the curve of his ass, down strong thighs. His body is a masterpiece of controlled and graceful power—not bulky, but defined in ways that speak to years of dedication. The morning light filtering through the window above the shower catches on the moisture covering him, making his skin gleam like he's been dipped in honey.

Jin's mouth goes dry, brain short-circuiting, unable to form a coherent thought.

Jimin turns, still unaware of Jin's presence, giving him a full-frontal view that sends a jolt through every nerve in his body. His chest and stomach are sculpted and lean, a dancer's body without an ounce of excess anywhere. The v-line of his hips draws Jin's eyes downward before he can stop himself.

It's the small inhale escaping Jin's lips that finally alerts Jimin. Their eyes lock.

"I—" Jin's voice comes out strangled.

Jimin's eyes widen to impossible proportions, his hands flying to cover himself.

"HYUNG!" Jimin shrieks, snatching the towel off the hook to clutch in front of himself.

Jin's body finally responds to his brain's frantic commands. "Sorry! Sorry! I thought—practice—I didn't—sorry!" He backs out, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the hinges.

Mortified, he flees to his bedroom and shuts the door, then collapses face-first onto his bed. The image of Jimin's naked form is seared into his retinas, and he knows with absolute certainty that it will feature prominently in his thoughts for the foreseeable future.

He could literally scream into the void right now. Of all the things to walk in on after a concerted effort to stop the blood flow to his dick…

"Get it together," he mutters to himself. "It's just a naked body. You've seen naked bodies before." But not like that. Not Jimin's body, with its perfect proportions, water sliding down skin that looked impossibly soft and supple.

He knows there's no coming back from seeing what he saw. He will never be able to look at Jimin in the same way again. He's ruined the fragile, newborn friendship between them before it even had a chance to take its first few steps.

What does he even say to make up for ogling his brand-new roommate like a complete pervert?

He definitely can't ever show his face on the other side of his door again. Maybe he can cut a hole in the floor of his bedroom, install one of those fire poles, and use that to get to the café. He thinks he'd be pretty good at climbing up and down it. He's got good… feet?

Or, he could get a hot plate and a mini-fridge, just like college. He won't ever have to leave his room. Jimin can have the rest of the apartment. Jeongguk can have the café.

He sits up with a defeated sigh. All of the avoidance tactics in the world aren't going to get him through this truly terrible fuck-up he's landed himself in.

A heartfelt apology and the offer to Men-In-Black himself are the only options.

'No! No jokes. Not one single joke, Kim Seokjin', he tells himself.

Ten minutes later, Jimin emerges fully dressed, face flushed crimson to the roots of his blonde hair. He doesn't look at Jin, who's now awkwardly hovering in the kitchen, pretending to make coffee.

"I thought you had practice," Jin offers weakly. The speech he'd just come up with and practiced in his head is nowhere to be found in the face of its subject.

"The studio's booked this morning." Jimin's voice is tight. "I'm going to Tae's. Possibly forever."

Before Jin can formulate a response, Jimin grabs his phone and practically sprints out the door.

That went well.

---

Jin spends the day in a daze, breaking two mugs and giving a customer chamomile instead of chai. By closing time, he's rehearsed seventeen more apologies, each sounding more ridiculous than the last.

When he finally shuts down the café and trudges upstairs, he's surprised to find Jimin curled on the couch, the TV playing softly. Jimin turns wary eyes towards him and every word he practiced, once again, flees his brain. He is definitely not ready for this conversation.

"So," Jin starts, aiming for casual but landing somewhere between strained and panicked. "I've been thinking of installing more locks. Everywhere. Maybe even sewing those little location devices into our clothes, so we always know where each other is in the apartment." He pauses. "Although, I guess that wouldn't have helped our special situation this morning."

Jimin turns his face into a pillow and makes a sound like a dying whale.

"Or I could just gouge my eyes out. That's also an option I've been considering."

Jimin finally looks up, face still flushed. "Don't you dare joke about this."

"Well, what else should I do?" Jin spreads his arms wide, voice rising in pitch. "Pretend I didn't see anything? Because I definitely saw... things. Many things. All the things."

"Stop saying things!" Jimin hurls the pillow at Jin's head with perfect aim and surprising force.

Jin catches the pillow and hugs it to his chest like a shield. "Look, this is exactly why I made the no-naked rule! Rule number one! The very first rule!"

"You said unless there was an emergency!" Jimin sits up, pointing an accusatory finger. "Like a spider!"

"Was there a spider?"

"No, but—"

"Then why were you naked?"

"I was taking a shower!" Jimin's voice cracks. "Like a normal person! In what I thought was an empty apartment!"

"I was here!"

"I know that now!"

They stare at each other, both breathing hard and flushed. Jin clutches the pillow tighter, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of dignity.

"Okay," he says finally, forcing his voice to stay steady. "New rule. Bathroom door stays locked at all times. Even if you're just washing your hands. Even if you're checking your hair. Even if—"

"I get it," Jimin groans, falling back into the couch and throwing an arm over his eyes. "God, this is so embarrassing."

"If it helps, you have nothing to be embarrassed about." The words slip out before Jin can stop them. "I mean—because—you know—you're very—" He makes a vague gesture with one hand that could mean anything from 'in shape' to 'please kill me now.'

Jimin peeks out from under his arm, eyes narrowing. "I'm very what?"

"Symmetrical," Jin blurts, then immediately wishes for the floor to swallow him whole.

A beat of silence follows this declaration. Then, to Jin's surprise, Jimin starts laughing—a bright, genuine sound that makes his whole face scrunch up and his eyes disappear behind round cheeks.

"Symmetrical?" he wheezes. "That's what you're going with?"

"It's a very objective third-party compliment!" Jin protests. "Very scientific. Like something a medical professional would say. Clinical. Intellectual, but still appreciative—"

"Oh my god, stop talking.”

Jin stops rambling. He knew he should have practiced how he wanted this to go a little more. But Jimin doesn't seem quite so willing to disappear into the couch anymore, so he relaxes a fraction.

"How about we tell each other our schedules?" Jin suggests.

"That feels very domestic. Is that what you want?" Jimin asks with genuine concern in his voice. "You're not worried about losing some of your privacy?"

Jin didn't even think of it that way, to be honest. "It kind of seems fair seeing as how you just lost pretty much all of yours."

"Hyung!"

"Ok, sorry, sorry, I'll stop." Jin walks over and sinks into the couch at a respectable distance from Jimin.

"I don't mind sharing my schedule with you," Jimin says carefully, tucking his feet up underneath him. "And I'll make sure to lock the door from now on when I shower. That one really was my fault."

Jin turns to reply, "It's ok, Jimin-ah. I shouldn't have stared. I was just… surprised." And physically unable to look away from every gorgeous line of your body, he finishes internally.

"So," Jimin fidgets with the hem of his shirt, "we're ok?"

"Yeah, Jimin-ah," Jin sighs and holds out his hand. He can do this. He can be the hyung. "We're ok."

The resulting shake of Jimin's tiny hand sends a warmth through his chest he's not exactly sure what to do with. This is all getting much too sentimental for his taste. But, Jimin seems eager to make things normal between them again, so he pushes through.

"Have you eaten? From the eyeful I got I'd say we definitely need to work on your calorie intake."

Jimin chuckles and rolls his eyes. "I'm really not hungry, hyung."

"Hunger has nothing to do with it." Jin stretches as he stands up from the couch. He feels cool air on his stomach where his shirt rides up. For some unexplainable reason he turns, mid-stretch, and catches Jimin's eyes darting away from where they were definitely trained on his mid-section.

I suppose that's only fair, he thinks sardonically.

"Let's go make some ramyeon. I think we both deserve a splurge."

"Sure, hyung. If you say so." Jimin stands and walks towards the kitchen, the giant t-shirt he usually wears around the house with his dance leggings now paired with baggy sweat pants. Jin bets himself that he won't be seeing those skin-tight dance outfits any time soon. Pity.

---

Days blur together in a rhythm that Jimin never expected to find with Jin. Their schedules mesh with surprising ease. Jin often rises early for work at the café, leaving coffee in the ridiculously expensive coffee maker and sometimes a pastry wrapped in wax paper with Jimin's name, barely legible, scrawled across it. Jimin returns the favor by washing the dishes Jin leaves in the sink after his late-night snacks when he returns from the studio, or folding the clean laundry Jin forgets in the dryer.

Dinners together on the rare nights they are both home become a thing without either of them acknowledging it. Jin cooks, Jimin cleans. Sometimes they eat in comfortable silence, other times they talk about everything and nothing—the café, Jimin's competition, their friends' latest antics.

One night, Jimin comes home to find Jin has made kimchi jjigae. The familiar smell hits him like a physical force, stopping him in his tracks.

"Jeongguk-ie mentioned it was your favorite," Jin says casually, not looking up from the pot he's stirring. "He called your mom for the recipe."

Jimin doesn't mention the lump in his throat or how the stew tastes exactly like home. Jin doesn't mention how Jimin's eyes shine a little too brightly when he takes the first bite.

They're careful with each other in ways Jimin can't quite define. Jin never asks about the competition when Jimin comes home looking defeated, just slides a beer across the counter and turns on a mindless action movie. Jimin never pries when he walks in to find Jin standing in the kitchen, tense and withdrawn, just makes sure to ask him about the latest special he's running in the café.

It's comfortable. It's safe. It's nothing like what Jimin expected.

And the normalcy is driving him absolutely crazy.

Because living with Jin means seeing all the little things that make him human—the way he hums while he gets ready for bed, how he talks to the plants on the windowsill, the reading glasses he says make him look like his ancient uncle but actually make him look like a hot professor right out of one of Jimin's college fantasies. It means noticing how his hair sticks up in the back after he naps on the couch, or how his laugh changes when he's truly tickled versus when he's just being polite.

It means creeping closer to his suppressed feelings a little more each day, and having nowhere to hide from them.

---

"Jimin-ah!" Jin's voice carries from the living room one rare Friday evening when they are both home. "Come here! I need you!"

Jimin doesn't look up from his laptop where he's been watching footage of his routine with obsessive repetition. Even after weeks of practice he still hasn't quite nailed his floorwork transition during the final movement. "What is it?"

"Emergency! Code red! All hands on deck!"

Alarmed, Jimin rushes out of his room to find Jin sprawled dramatically across the couch, a Nintendo Switch controller in each hand.

"What's the emergency?" Jimin asks, heart still racing.

Jin holds up the controllers with a solemn expression. "I need someone to lose to me in Mario Kart."

Jimin stares at him. "That's your emergency?"

"My ego is very fragile, Jimin-ah. It needs constant validation."

"I was in the middle of something important."

"More important than helping your hyung maintain his delicate self-esteem?" Jin pushes his lip out in a pout. "I'm wounded."

Jimin rolls his eyes, but he's already moving toward the couch. "Fine. One race."

"Seven races," Jin counters. "Best of seven."

"Three."

"Six."

"Five, and I get to pick three of the courses."

Jin narrows his eyes. "Deal. But I get first pick."

Jimin drops onto the couch, accepting the controller Jin hands him.

Jin navigates through the menu screens with practiced ease. "Prepare to be destroyed, Park Jimin."

"In your dreams, hyung."

Jin selects Rainbow Road for the first race, a choice that has Jimin groaning. "Really?"

"Go big or go home," Jin shrugs, selecting his character—Waluigi, because of course he would pick the lanky drama queen.

Jimin chooses Toad, earning a snort from Jin. "Picking the smallest character? Very on-brand."

"At least I'm not compensating for something," Jimin fires back, immediately regretting the innuendo when Jin's eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh, I know," he says with a smirk that infuriates Jimin.

Heat rushes to Jimin's face. "We promised to let that morning die a violent death and never talk about it again!"

Jin laughs that ridiculous windshield-wiper laugh but mercifully presses the button to begin.

The first race is a disaster for Jimin. He falls off Rainbow Road so many times that he finishes in eleventh place, while Jin cruises to an easy victory.

"I thought dancers were supposed to have exceptional coordination," Jin teases as the results screen displays.

"Shut it. I'm just getting warmed up."

For the second race, Jimin chooses Moo Moo Meadows, hoping the straightforward course will give him a fighting chance. He does better, finishing fourth while Jin takes second.

"Not bad," Jin concedes. "For a beginner."

"I'm not a beginner. I just haven't played in a while."

"Excuses, excuses."

By the third race—Bowser's Castle, Jin's choice—they've fallen into a rhythm of trash talk and playful jabs. Jin bumps Jimin's shoulder when he tries to overtake him, and Jimin retaliates by shoving him with his foot.

"Cheater!" Jin accuses when Jimin manages to hit him with a red shell just before the finish line.

"All's fair in love and Mario Kart," Jimin says smugly, finishing first while Jin drops to fifth.

For the fourth race, Jimin chooses Coconut Mall, a course he remembers being good at years ago when he used to play with Tae and Jeongguk. If he loses this one and Jin wins the tournament, Jimin will never hear the end of it.

The tension is palpable as they start the penultimate race. Jimin leans forward, elbows on knees, determined to win. He's always been competitive, but something about Jin brings it out in him tenfold.

"Getting serious now?" Jin teases, but Jimin notices he's sitting up straighter too.

"Just getting ready for my victory lap," Jimin replies, eyes fixed on the screen.

The countdown begins, and they're off. Jimin gets a perfect start, shooting ahead of Jin's Waluigi. He weaves through the mall's escalators with surprising precision, muscle memory from countless gaming sessions with Taehyung finally kicking in.

"Where did that come from?" Jin exclaims as Jimin drifts perfectly around a corner.

Jimin just grins, focusing on maintaining his lead. He's in second place overall, just behind the Bowser-NPC, when he obtains a blue shell from an item box.

"Don't you dare," Jin warns.

Jimin's finger hovers over the button. "Sorry, hyung," he replies, not sorry at all. He launches the blue shell, which zooms forward to hit Bowser—and Jin, who had just overtaken the NPC.

"You little—" Jin's curse is cut off by his character spinning out, allowing Jimin to zoom past into first place.

The final lap is a blur of intensity. Jin recovers quickly, hot on Jimin's heels. They're neck and neck approaching the final stretch when Jin nudges Jimin's shoulder, throwing off his timing just enough to miss a critical drift.

"Hey!" Jimin protests, shoving back harder than intended.

Jin loses his balance, overcorrects, then topples sideways onto Jimin. The controller flies from Jimin's hands as Jin's weight presses him into the couch cushions. Suddenly, they're face to face, Jin's body half-covering his own, their noses inches apart.

Time stops moving. Jimin can feel Jin's breath on his lips, can see those pretty flecks of amber in his dark eyes.

On screen, both their characters crash spectacularly, other players zooming past them to the finish line.

"You cheated," Jimin says a little breathlessly, but there's no heat in his accusation.

"So did you," Jin murmurs, making no move to pull away.

Jimin swallows hard, hyperaware of every point where their bodies connect. Jin's eyes drop to his lips for a fraction of a second, and Jimin feels something electric shoot down his spine.

The game's cheerful music continues in the background, oblivious to the tension crackling between them. Jimin's hands hover uncertainly at Jin's sides, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

Jin seems equally frozen, suspended in the moment of decision. His expression is unreadable, but Jimin thinks he sees something hungry flicker across his face.

"Hyung," Jimin starts, not sure what he's about to say, but it doesn't matter because Jin's phone vibrates in his front pants pocket, causing them both to start at the tingly surprise.

Jin practically flings himself up and off of Jimin, scrabbling to pull the phone from his pocket.

"Um, I should take this," Jin says, voice slightly higher than normal. "It's the café. Probably an emergency."

Jimin sits up, smoothing his shirt and willing the blush from his cheeks. "Yeah, of course."

Jin answers the call, turning away. "Hello? This is Jin, café owner." He walks toward the kitchen, voice fading.

Jimin remains on the couch, heart still racing.

"How did you get my number?" Jimin hears Jin faintly from the kitchen and his ears perk up at the strange tone.

He strains to hear Jin's voice as it retreats further. It's muffled, but the tone is unmistakable—tense, afraid. Nothing like the confident, playful Jin he's come to know.

"You can’t call me. You’re not allowed to contact—" Jin hisses, sounding just shy of panic.

Jimin knows he shouldn't eavesdrop, but curiosity pulls him toward the kitchen. He stops just outside, pressing his back against the wall.

"The restraining order…you can't just—"

Jimin rushes to the couch when he hears movement. He grabs his controller, pretending to be engrossed in the paused game.

But Jin exits the kitchen and heads towards his room. The door swings shut behind him but catches on the frame, leaving it open just a sliver. Enough for Jimin to hear the rest of the conversation whether he wants to or not.

"It's been years, Sanghoon-ssi, please." Jin's voice sounds small, almost pleading.

There's a long pause. Jimin holds his breath.

"I don't care what you think you need to say." Jin's voice breaks, even though his tone has hardened. "You don't have that right anymore. Don't call me again."

Jimin realizes he's still holding his breath as Jin shuffles down the hallway back towards the living room. He lets it out quickly, turning to Jin with what he hopes is a face that doesn't say 'Who the hell is Sanghoon and what about a restraining order?'.

"Sorry about that," Jin says, his smile too bright, too forced. There’s something strange about his eyes. "Supplier mix-up. They ordered the wrong flour. Again. How can you confuse almond for wheat three times in a row?" He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture Jimin's never seen before.

"Everything okay?" Jimin asks carefully.

"Fine, fine." Jin waves dismissively, but he doesn’t look at Jimin. "Just the joys of owning a small business."

Jimin nods slowly, studying Jin's face. The usual warmth in his eyes has dimmed, replaced by something frightened. Like a cornered rabbit. His shoulders are tight, jaw clenched.

The cheerful music from the TV is at odds with the awkward tension spreading through the room. Jimin wonders if he should push and make sure Jin’s okay. The intuition that it would only make things worse stops him.

"Want to finish our game?" Jimin offers, holding up the controller. "I was about to make a spectacular comeback."

Jin glances at the screen, then shakes his head. "Actually, I should probably get to bed. Early morning tomorrow."

"It's Friday," Jimin points out before he can stop himself. Jin always goes in later on Fridays.

"Inventory day," Jin says quickly, gaze flitting around the room, never settling on one thing for too long. "Lots of... counting things."

The silence stretches between them.

"Okay," Jimin says, trying to cut through the awkwardness. "Goodnight, hyung."

"Goodnight, Jimin-ah." Jin's voice is steady now, controlled. "Don't stay up too late watching those dance videos."

"Yes, mom," Jimin tries to joke. Jin's attempt at a smile is thin, and Jimin catches the way his entire face falls a fraction of a second too soon as he turns away. Then he's gone, bedroom door clicking shut behind him, leaving Jimin alone with the kitschy Mario Kart music and a head full of questions he doesn't know how to ask.

---

Jin surveys his kingdom of flour and butter with hands on his hips. The café kitchen gleams in the predawn light—every surface polished, every tool hanging in its proper place after putting his latest test batch of croissants in the oven. A sacred morning ritual before the chaos of prep begins.

The protein bars tucked into his apron pocket bump against his leg as he moves, a silent reminder of his current side-quest. Not that Jimin knows about it. Jin's been careful—tucking the bars into Jimin's dance bag when he isn't looking, preparing meals and leaving them in labeled containers in the fridge.

"Take five minutes to eat something," he mutters, mimicking what he wishes he could say directly to Jimin's face without him rolling his eyes and mentioning something about Jin's mother-hen tendencies.

It started with small signs—Jimin's favorite breakfast pastries remaining untouched, the sound of the front door closing well past two in the morning, the dark circles deepening beneath his eyes. Then came the more alarming ones—Jin finding Jimin slumped over his laptop at the kitchen table, videos of his routine playing on endless loop while he dozed, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion.

The soft ding of the oven's timer pulls Jin from his thoughts. He removes the tray of croissants, inhaling the buttery aroma with satisfaction. The protein bars in his pocket aren't exactly gourmet, but they're high-calorie and full of the nutrients Jimin seems determined to deprive himself of. It's the least he can do.

What the hell are you doing, Kim Seokjin? He wonders for the thousandth time. He's never played nursemaid to anyone before Jimin moved in. But something about watching Jimin drive himself into the ground makes his chest tighten uncomfortably.

The café kitchen door creaks open behind him—his new baker's assistant arriving early, eager to prove himself. Jin turns, prepared greeting dying on his lips when he sees Jimin instead, swaying slightly in the doorway.

"Jimin-ah?" Jin sets down his spatula. "What are you doing here? It's four in the morning."

Jimin's eyes are bloodshot, his face pale. His hair stands up in sweaty tufts, dance clothes rumpled and sticking to his body. He looks like he might collapse at any moment.

"I was on my way up," Jimin says, voice raspy. "Saw the light on. Thought I'd say hi. Also, it smells good in here."

Jin's eyes narrow. "Have you been at the studio this whole time? Since yesterday morning?"

"Just a few hours." Jimin waves a dismissive hand, the movement uncharacteristically clumsy. "Lost track of time."

"A few—" Jin cuts himself off, counting backward in his head. "Jimin, that's nearly twenty hours."

"Is it?" Jimin blinks slowly, as if the concept of time has become abstract. "Doesn't matter. I almost have it. Just need to nail that fucking transition." He demonstrates a partial dance move and stumbles, catching himself on the counter.

Jin is across the room in an instant, steadying him with a firm grip on his elbow. "Okay, that's enough. You're done."

"I'm fine," Jimin insists, but doesn't pull away from Jin's support.

"You're not fine. You're delusional from exhaustion." Jin guides him to a stool, ignoring Jimin's weak protests. "When's the last time you ate something?"

Jimin's forehead creases in concentration. "Um. Lunch? Yesterday? Or was that the day before..."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Jin mutters, reaching into his apron for one of the protein bars. He tears it open and thrusts it toward Jimin. "Eat this. Now."

Jimin stares at the bar, then back at Jin with a flicker of puzzlement. "You carry these around?"

"Just eat it before you pass out on my clean floor."

To Jin's relief, Jimin takes a small bite, then another. Some color returns to his face as he chews, though his eyes remain glassy with exhaustion.

Jin turns away to hide his relief, busying himself with heating milk for tea. "This isn't sustainable," he says over his shoulder. "You can't keep pushing yourself like this."

"Competition's in less than two weeks," Jimin mumbles around a mouthful of protein bar. "Have to be perfect."

"You won't be perfect if you're hospitalized from exhaustion." The words come out sharper than Jin intended as he sets a steaming mug in front of Jimin with a thunk. He's finding it increasingly difficult to mask his anger. "Drink this."

Jimin's hands tremble slightly as he wraps them around the mug. "I know what I'm doing."

"Clearly," Jin scoffs, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "That's why you're dead on your feet and can't remember when you last ate."

"I don't need a lecture." Something hard edges into Jimin's voice. "Especially not from you."

Jin raises an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Jimin takes a sip of tea, avoiding Jin's eyes.

Something prickly stirs beneath Jin's ribs. "No, go on. Say what you want to say."

Jimin eyes narrow as sets the mug down with a little too much force, tea sloshing over the rim. "Fine. It's ironic for you to talk about balance and taking breaks. Everything comes easy for you."

Jin feels something cold settle in his stomach, slowly replacing the concern he felt moments ago.

"Doesn't it?" Jimin laughs, a brittle sound with no humor. "You waltz around with your perfect café and your perfect apartment and your perfect life. You don't know what it's like having to earn every single thing you own. Some of us don't have trust funds to fall back on."

The words hit with precision, finding that tender spot Jin thought he'd armored so well. His face goes carefully blank, the mask sliding into place with practiced ease. He leans back against the counter, arms crossed, and smiles—the empty, brilliant smile he perfected years ago.

"You're right," he says, voice cool and distant. "I couldn't possibly understand the noble struggle of the working class. How exhausting it must be, being so virtuous all the time."

Jimin's eyes widen, clearly not expecting Jin to agree with him. "That's not—"

"No, please," Jin continues, the smile never slipping, "tell me more about my perfect life that you know so much about after, what, a whopping six weeks of living under my roof? I'm fascinated by your deep insights."

For a moment, Jimin looks like he wants to take back his words. But something hardens in his expression at Jin's dismissive tone. "And there it is. The real Jin. I knew you'd show up eventually."

"Is that what this is? You, finally uncovering the real me?" Jin returns his own brittle laugh. "How brave of you."

"At least I'm honest about who I am," Jimin pushes himself up from the stool, swaying slightly. "You hide behind jokes and that fake smile. You don't let anyone see anything real."

"And you're so much better? Working yourself to death because you're too proud to admit you might need help?" Jin's voice rises despite his effort to remain detached. "That's not dedication, Jimin, it's self-destruction."

"What would you know about dedication? Everything's been handed to you!"

"You don't know anything about me," Jin repeats, his voice dangerously quiet now.

"And whose fault is that!" Jimin's voice is barely under a shout and his fists clench at his sides. "I know enough," he snaps, backing toward the door. "I know you've never had to fight for anything in your life. I bet if your little café fails, you can just call daddy for more money. Must be nice to have that safety net."

Jin feels something crack inside him—a hairline fracture in the careful wall he's maintained. For a second, he considers telling Jimin everything—about his parents, Sanghoon, the years of struggle that Jimin can't see.

But, the impulse is gone as quickly as it came. Instead, he exhales slowly and shrugs. "You've got me all figured out, Park Jimin. Congratulations."

Jimin stares at him, chest heaving, something like regret flickering across his exhausted face. But it's gone in an instant, replaced by a stubborn set to his jaw.

"I don't have time for this," he mutters. "Some of us have to work for what we want."

With that, he turns and stumbles towards the door to the apartment, slamming it shut behind him with a finality that echoes in Jin's chest.

The kitchen falls silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. Jin remains frozen, the practiced smile still fixed on his face even with no one to see it.

He waits until he hears the upstairs door close before he allows his shoulders to slump. The protein bars in his pocket suddenly feel like lead weights.

"Fuck," he whispers to the empty kitchen.

He doesn't need this—not with Sanghoon's voice bouncing around in his head from that phone call, not with the constant worry about whether his ex will make good on his veiled threats.

Up until he'd heard Sanghoon's voice on the other end of that call, he couldn't be sure he wasn't hallucinating the night he'd walked Jimin home. He'd convinced himself it was impossible he'd seen his ex walking down the street.

He's still reluctant to admit it, but it's always there in the back of his mind, worrying away at his sense of safety. What if it was him?

His eyes drift toward the ceiling, pretending he can see through it to his desk drawer where the restraining order paperwork is buried. It should bring him a sense of comfort but doesn't. Not when he knows how far his ex is willing to go to get what he wants.

He knows he should try to find out the truth, for his own sanity and well-being. But it's easier to focus on the ten thousand other things he manages every day. The way his mind shies away from the thought of Sanghoon existing here, in the place Jin feels safest, isn't totally in his control—repression, or some fancy word his therapist had used.

Jin shakes his head to clear it and turns back to the croissants cooling on the rack. He picks one up, tears it in half. The layers separate perfectly, steam rising from the buttery interior—a small, fleeting victory that feels hollow.

His life was so much simpler before Jimin moved in with his intensity and his perfect damn face and his ability to cut through Jin's carefully constructed walls. The apartment feels both too empty and too full at the same time.

This arrangement was always meant to be temporary, Jin reminds himself. Maybe that's for the best.

He takes a bite of the croissant, barely tasting it. Jimin thinks he has Jin all figured out—that he's just some privileged rich kid playing at being self-sufficient. Let him think that. It's easier that way. Safer.

Jin's phone buzzes on the counter, displaying a text from his assistant baker: Running 15 minutes late, sorry!

He responds with a thumbs-up emoji and begins mechanically preparing for the morning prep. The routine is comforting—measure, mix, knead. No complications, no messy emotions.

Just the way it's supposed to be.

Chapter Text

Jimin's muscles scream in protest as he drags himself up the side stairs to Jin's apartment. It's late, and he's been up since mid-morning, only sleeping a few hours before returning to the studio, punishing his body for the words that had flown out of his mouth that morning.

Every time he closed his eyes today, he saw Jin's face—that perfect mask sliding into place, the smile that didn't reach his eyes. The memory makes his stomach twist with guilt.

He shouldn't have said those things about Jin's background and family. The attack had spilled out of him in the heat of the moment—his exhaustion making him defensive, reaching for whatever ammunition would hurt the most. Jimin doesn't even know if he believes what he said. Fighting has never come naturally to him; he's usually the first to apologize, to mend bridges. But this time, he knows simple words won't be enough. This will take some major damage control.

Once inside he throws his bag down and shuffles towards the bathroom. He pauses before the hallway, noticing light spilling from under the door leading down to the café kitchen. Jin should be asleep by now. The café closed hours ago, and Jin had been up since before dawn.

Curiosity has him pulling open the door and quietly descending the stairs. He hears movement, pots being set down, a dish being pulled from the rack.

He slowly peers through the half-opened door at the bottom of the stairs to see Jin moving around the kitchen with practiced ease, his back to Jimin. The sleeves of his white t-shirt are pushed up to his elbows as he stirs something on the stove.

Jimin is about to push his way in when he notices Jeongguk sitting at the counter, shoulders hunched, head down. Even from this angle, Jimin can tell something's wrong. Jeongguk's usual bright energy is dimmed, his posture radiating defeat.

"It's stupid," Jeongguk mumbles, voice barely carrying to where Jimin stands, hidden. "I shouldn't be this upset about it."

Jin doesn't look up from the pot he's stirring. "If it matters to you, it's not stupid."

"But it's just a project. And it's not like I failed. I just... didn't get the grade I wanted."

Jin hums softly, a non-judgmental sound of acknowledgment. Jimin watches, transfixed, as Jin moves with quiet efficiency, ladling whatever he's made into a bowl. There's none of his usual dramatic flair or exaggerated movements, no attempts at humor.

"You didn't eat, right?" Jin places the bowl in front of Jeongguk—tteokbokki, Jimin realizes, Jeongguk's favorite.

Jeongguk picks up his chopsticks, poking at the rice cakes. "I'm not really hungry, hyung."

"Eat anyway," Jin says, but his voice is gentle. "Food helps, even when you don't think it will."

Jimin shifts slightly, careful to stay hidden but desperate to bear witness to the scene unfolding on the other side of the door. It's a side of Jin he's never seen before—no jokes, no deflection, just a quiet, steady presence. It makes Jimin feel like he's intruding on something private.

"I worked so hard on it," Jeongguk says after a few bites. "I don't understand what I did wrong."

Jin leans against the counter, giving Jeongguk his full attention. "Sometimes our best isn't enough for other people. Doesn't mean it wasn't your best."

"But what if my best is never enough, hyung?" Jeongguk's voice cracks slightly. "What if I'm just... not good enough?"

Jin is quiet for a moment, and Jimin holds his breath, waiting for the punchline, the misdirection, the lighthearted comment to break the tension.

It doesn't come.

Instead, Jin reaches across the counter and gently ruffles Jeongguk's hair, the gesture so tender it makes Jimin's chest ache. "You are enough, Jeongguk-ah. More than enough. One grade doesn't define you."

The simple sincerity in Jin's voice hits Jimin like a physical blow and he feels a sudden pressure behind his eyes. He imagines himself in Jeongguk's place, on the receiving end of genuine comfort and affection from Jin.

Like a knife twisting in his stomach he realizes that's exactly what Jin had been trying to do this morning. Care for him.

You don't know anything about me.

The words echo in Jimin's head, and for the first time, he admits they're true.

Guilt washes over him anew. He'd thrown Jin's supposed privilege in his face without knowing anything about his life, his struggles.

Jimin retreats silently up the stairs, careful not to make a sound. In his room, he sits on the edge of the bed, the weight of his earlier words pressing down on him.

He thinks about the protein bars he'd started to find in his bag. All those pastries left out for him. Meals he'd find in the fridge with his name on them. How Jin never pushed when Jimin came home frustrated from practice, just offered quiet company and distraction.

His heart aches with a longing he doesn't want to name—craving the gentle attention and understanding Jin had offered to Jeongguk. But this morning had proven he doesn't deserve it.

Jimin absentmindedly removes his clothes and crawls under the covers, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion weighing him down like lead. Tomorrow, he'll apologize. Tomorrow, he'll try to make things right.

For now, he closes his eyes, the image of Jin's gentle hand in Jeongguk's hair following him into restless dreams.

---

Jimin jerks awake to the sound of knocking, disoriented and groggy. Sunlight streams through the curtains he forgot to close last night, and for a moment, he can't figure out where the noise is coming from.

The knocking comes again, more insistent this time.

"Ughhh," he groans, fumbling for his phone. The screen reads 1:47 PM. "Shit, shit, shit."

He never oversleeps. Not even on his days off. Especially not when he has less than two weeks until a career-defining competition.

Stumbling out of bed, he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and rushes to the door, yanking it open to find Namjoon standing there, hand raised to knock again.

"Joon-hyung?" Jimin blinks, running a hand through his hair. "What are you doing here?"

Namjoon's eyebrows rise slightly as he takes in Jimin's disheveled appearance. "I went by the studio looking for you. When you weren't there, I figured you might be here." He pauses. "Did I wake you up?"

"No. I mean, yes, but—" Jimin shakes his head, trying to clear the fog. "I was supposed to be at the studio hours ago."

"You look like you needed the sleep," Namjoon says, stepping inside when Jimin moves aside. "When's the last time you took a day off?"

Jimin doesn't answer, already calculating how much practice time he's lost. His routine still isn't perfect, and now he's wasted half a day. Panic bubbles in his chest.

"I need to get ready," he says, already turning toward the bathroom.

"Actually," Namjoon says, "I was hoping you'd come to lunch with me. I haven't seen you in weeks."

"I can't, hyung. The competition—"

"–is in two weeks, I know. But you still need to eat." Namjoon's voice is gentle but firm. "One meal won't ruin your chances."

Jimin hesitates, torn between his rigid schedule and the genuine concern in Namjoon's eyes. His stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, reminding him that he hasn't eaten since that protein bar Jin forced on him yesterday morning.

Jin. The memory of their fight crashes back, making Jimin wince. He should stay and find Jin so he can apologize properly. But how does he explain that to Namjoon without revealing the whole ugly scene?

"I was thinking we could go to that fried chicken spot we love," Namjoon adds, clearly sensing Jimin's wavering resolve. "Hyung's treat."

Jimin's stomach growls again, louder this time. "Fine," he sighs. "Let me shower first."

Namjoon grins, victorious. "Take your time. I'll wait."

By the time Jimin emerges, dressed in clean clothes with damp hair, Namjoon is examining the collection of small succulents on the windowsill.

"Jin-hyung's?" Namjoon asks, gesturing to the plants.

"Yeah," Jimin nods. "He talks to them sometimes. Says it helps them grow."

Namjoon's eyes light up and Jimin braces himself. "He's not wrong. There are actually scientific studies showing that plants thrive under conditions where—"

Jimin's rumbling stomach saves him from a long-winded rant about one of Namjoon's favorite subjects.

"Right, food. We're on our way, delicious chicken!" Namjoon crows as he steers him out the door.

Namjoon's cheerful attitude is contagious, but Jimin still feels the pull of the studio as they descend to the sidewalk. He'll make up for it later, he promises himself.

The walk to the restaurant is filled with Namjoon's easy chatter about his latest music project, requiring minimal input from Jimin, which he appreciates in his current state.

The restaurant isn't busy, the lunch-rush crowd having already blown through by this time of day, so they manage to snag their favorite table near an open window towards the back. Namjoon orders for both of them—a full spread of fried chicken, pickled radish, and cold beer that makes Jimin's mouth water despite himself.

"So," Namjoon says once their food arrives, "how's the competition prep going? Besides the obvious sleep deprivation." He watches Jimin tear into a fried wing like a starving wild dog. "And lack of square meals, apparently. Is Jin-hyung not feeding you?"

Jimin stops mid-chew, thoughts of Jin's attempted kindness souring the taste in his mouth. He swallows and chooses to ignore his hyung's last comment. "It's going fine," he says between bites. "Just need to perfect a couple more transitions and the last little section."

"And you will," Namjoon says with such certainty that Jimin almost believes him. "You always do."

They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Jimin's body gratefully absorbing the calories. He's halfway through his fourth piece when Namjoon speaks again.

"Speaking of the devilishly handsome, how's living with Jin-hyung? I was pretty surprised when he offered his place."

"That makes two of us," Jimin replies with his mouth full. He takes a swig of beer to wash it down. "It's... fine."

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. "Just fine?"

"I mean, it's good. He's a good roommate." Jimin fiddles with his napkin. "Cleaner than I expected."

"But?" Namjoon prompts, too perceptive for Jimin's comfort.

Jimin sighs, setting down his chicken. "We had a fight. Yesterday morning."

"About?"

"I was being an ass," Jimin admits, the words bitter on his tongue. "He was trying to help, and I basically told him he was a spoiled rich kid. Said some things I shouldn't have."

Namjoon's expression shifts, something unreadable passing across his face. "What kind of things?"

"I kind of accused him of having everything handed to him. Said he wouldn't understand what it's like to have to work for what you want." Jimin's voice drops. "I may have mentioned his trust fund."

Namjoon winces. "Ah."

"I know, I know. It was a low blow." Jimin runs a hand through his hair. "I was so exhausted and stressed, hyung, it just came out. It's no excuse, but I haven't had a chance to apologize yet."

Namjoon is quiet for a moment, swirling his beer thoughtfully. "Hyung doesn't talk about his past, much," he says finally. "But there's a lot more to his story than most people know."

Jimin leans forward slightly. "What do you mean?"

Namjoon hesitates, clearly weighing his words. "I probably shouldn't say anything. Hyung is private about this stuff."

"I know," Jimin says quickly. "And I don't want to pry, but... I said some hurtful things. I'd like to understand why they hit so hard."

Namjoon takes a long drink of his beer, then sets it down with a sigh. "A while back Jin-hyung was in law school. Top of his class, on track to join his father's firm. And completely miserable."

Jimin blinks, trying to reconcile this information with the Jin he knows—the one who makes terrible puns and talks to plants.

"His grandmother was the only one who supported him when he decided to drop out," Namjoon continues. "She died suddenly about a month after he left school. Left him some money but not enough to live off of. And…"

Jimin takes a wild guess"… his parents?"

"Disowned him. Completely cut him off." Namjoon's voice is matter-of-fact, but Jimin feels each word like a blow. "The trust fund jokes? That's just hyung's way of dealing with it. His grandmother's money may have helped him buy the building, but he built that place into what it is, Jimin-ah. Every penny he's earned since then? That's all him."

Jimin sits back, stunned. The image of Jin he'd constructed—the privileged rich kid playing at being self-sufficient—crumbles in his mind.

"I had no idea," he says softly. "How do you know all of this?"

"It wasn't easy to get him to talk about himself. But, I got lucky one night, because he's a very chatty drunk." Jimin can easily believe that's the truth.

"He doesn't like people to know. Says it's easier if they think he's just some spoiled chaebol's son playing café owner." Namjoon shrugs. "Less questions that way."

Jimin thinks back to their fight, to the way Jin's face had gone blank at his accusations. You don't know anything about me, plays through Jimin's head again. And he'd been right.

"Hyung, I'm really not trying to pry," Jimin says slowly, a memory surfacing, "but there's something else. You know that night after my soccer game, when he walked me home?"

Namjoon nods, caution in his eyes.

"Well, we saw a couple on the other side of the street, and Jin kind of freaked out and made us cut through the park to avoid them. He seemed... spooked."

Namjoon's expression remains guarded. "What are you asking, Jimin-ah?"

"I don't know," Jimin admits. "But a few days ago, I overheard him on the phone with someone named Sanghoon. He, um, mentioned a restraining order."

Namjoon shifts uncomfortably as the pieces start to connect in Jimin's mind. Jin wasn't avoiding nosy friends of his parent's that night; maybe he thought he saw someone from his past. Someone who had hurt him.

"Do you know who that is, hyung?" Jimin asks.

"I think he might be someone hyung was dating before he moved here. But he doesn't talk about it, and I don't ask."

"Dating?" Jimin echoes, something cold settling in his stomach.

"Look, Jimin-ah," Namjoon leans forward, voice low. "I've probably already said too much. This is Jin-hyung's story to tell, not mine. If you want to know, you should ask him."

Jimin nods. He feels like the smallest person in the world. He'd not only judged Jin without knowing anything about his struggles, but he had thrown his supposed privilege in his face when Jin had been fighting his own battles all along.

"I will," he promises. "I need to apologize anyway."

They finish their meal in thoughtful silence, Jimin's mind racing with new information. By the time they stand outside the restaurant, Jimin's resolve to make things right with Jin has solidified into single-minded determination.

"Thanks for lunch, hyung," Jimin says, giving Namjoon a quick but genuine hug. "And for... you know."

Namjoon squeezes his shoulder as they part. "Just talk to him, okay? Hyung acts like nothing bothers him, and actually most things don't, but he's got a soft heart."

Jimin nods, "I will."

---

The apartment is quiet when Jimin returns later that evening, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the living room. He had made a rather out-of-the-way pitstop at a convenience store after practice to pick up a bag of gummies he knows Jin is partial to. He's about to call out when he spots Jin on the couch, fast asleep.

Paperwork is scattered around him—invoices, order forms, and the calculator app on his phone, screen still on. A pencil is loosely held in his fingers, as if he'd dozed off mid-calculation.

Jimin approaches quietly, taking in the sight of Jin unguarded in sleep. With any trace of tension gone from his face he looks younger, more vulnerable. There are dark circles under his eyes that Jimin hadn't noticed before, evidence that Jin hasn't been sleeping well either.

Carefully, Jimin removes the pencil from Jin's grip, setting it on the coffee table. Jin stirs slightly but doesn't wake. A blanket is draped over the back of the couch, and Jimin gently unfolds it, covering Jin's long frame.

As he tucks the blanket around Jin's shoulders, Jimin's chest tightens with an emotion he can't quite name. This man, who built his business from nothing after losing everything he cared about, who carries wounds Jimin can only begin to understand, had still taken the time to make sure Jimin ate, to comfort Jeongguk, to try and take care of everyone around him.

And Jimin had weaponized it against him.

Jin shifts in his sleep, a small furrow appearing between his brows. Without thinking, Jimin reaches out, smoothing it away with a gentle touch. Jin's skin is warm beneath his fingers, and for a moment, Jimin allows himself to linger.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, though he knows Jin can't hear him. "I'll make it right."

As he pulls his hand away, Jin's eyes flutter open briefly, unfocused and heavy with sleep. "Jimin-ah?" he murmurs, voice thick.

"Shh, go back to sleep, hyung," Jimin says softly. "We'll talk later."

Jin's eyes close again, his breathing evening out as he slips back into sleep. Jimin stays there for a moment longer, watching the rise and fall of Jin's chest beneath the blanket.

If Jin will let him, Jimin thinks, he'd like to try taking care of him too.

---

The next night, Jin closes down the café methodically, his movements adept as he works on auto-pilot. The familiar ritual usually calms him, but tonight his mind keeps drifting to Jimin.

Today was… better. They still haven't had a proper conversation about their fight, but Jin finds he's more than ok with that.

He's rearranging the pastry display for the third time when he hears tapping on the window at the front of the café. Irritation pricks at him—he'd definitely flipped the sign to 'CLOSED.' Prepared to send away the late-night pastry-seeker with his most polite refusal, Jin looks up, freezing when he sees who's on the other side of the glass.

His ex-boyfriend stands with one hand pressed against the window. Even from this distance, Jin can see the glassy sheen to his eyes, and he feels the edges of panic start to bleed in.

He can't get in, Jin tells himself. The door is locked. He can't get in.

A painful shock jolts through his body as he realizes he can't actually remember locking it, too distracted by his stupid daydreaming.

Before he can do anything to stop it the door swings open, the chime above it ringing out a mocking cry at his forgetfulness.

"Yeobo," Sanghoon slurs, a crooked smile spreading across his handsome face as he slips inside. "Surprise."

Jin's limbs feel leaden, his blood encased in permafrost as Sanghoon lurches farther into the café. He's dressed impeccably despite the obvious intoxication, not a wrinkle visible or hair out of place. The familiar scent of his cologne hits Jin, triggering a cascade of memories he's spent years trying to repress.

"You're not supposed to be here," Jin finally manages, his voice high and strained. His mind races to find an escape, screaming at him to run.

Sanghoon's smile doesn't waver. He waves a dismissive hand. "I just had to come see what all the fuss was about, Jin-ah. Everyone in this ridiculously small town thinks you and your little café hung the moon."

Jin's eyes dart toward the apartment door—too far away, he’d never outrun Sanghoon from this distance. His phone is lying on the counter a few steps behind him. If he could just get to it without alerting Sanghoon—

"I tried calling to let you know I'd be stopping by," Sanghoon continues, moving closer. His steps are unsteady but purposeful. "But you never pick up. You never listen." There's an edge to his voice now, the veneer of charm slipping to reveal something harder. "You never fucking listen to me, yeobo."

Jin inches backwards toward the counter and his phone, his breath shortening with each step Sanghoon takes toward him. "Don't call me that," he says, straining to keep his voice steady. He just needs to keep Sanghoon distracted. "You can't be here. You need to leave. Now."

Sanghoon laughs, the sound sharp and devoid of humor. "Or what? You'll call the police?" He glances around the empty café. "You always were so dramatic. We both know this little... restraining order... is just a misunderstanding."

"It's not a misunderstanding," Jin insists, trying to find his voice in the face of the fear tightening his chest. "You hurt me. You threatened me. You—"

"I loved you!" Sanghoon bellows, suddenly furious, making Jin flinch. "I was the only one who loved you after your family threw you away! I took care of you!"

Jin feels himself shrivel at the volume, at the raw aggression that's so familiar it makes his skin crawl. He tries to calculate how long it will take to reach his phone, how quickly and quietly he can call for help. The thought that he should have taken Sanghoon more seriously rings hollow in his head.

"You need to go," Jin repeats, trying to project more confidence than he feels. "I don't want you here."

Something darkens in Sanghoon's expression. "You don't mean that." He moves closer still, close enough that Jin can smell the alcohol on his breath. His hand reaches toward Jin, and a spike of fear stabs through his gut. "You never did. You just got confused. Let someone else put ideas in your head."

Jin shifts back one more step, sensing the edge of the counter. "No one put ideas in my head. You did this all on your own."

"Always so stubborn," Sanghoon sighs, like he's dealing with a difficult child, his arm falling back to his side.

Reaching behind him, Jin grabs the counter, acting as if he’s bracing himself. He carefully drags one hand sideways then closes his fingers around his phone, relief washing through him. But before he can even think about using it, Sanghoon's hand shoots out and grabs his wrist in a vise-like grip, yanking it forward, the now useless piece of metal still clutched in Jin’s fingers.

"You always thought you were so clever." Sanghoon hisses, his face inches from Jin's. "But I always see you, yeobo. I know everything."

Jin can’t stop the panic that bursts through, his hands starting to shake, even the one in Sanghoon’s grip.

“But there is one thing I can’t figure out.” Jin feels Sanghoon’s body heat as he crowds Jin against the counter. It makes his stomach tighten, the assault on his senses making him nauseous.

“Who’s the pretty little twink I keep seeing around, hm?” It comes out sickly sweet, but Jin knows this specific tone, the one Sanghoon uses when his jealousy is starting to bubble over.

Panic gives way to a flash of protective fear. "Leave him alone," he spits.

"So there is someone," Sanghoon laughs, the sound ugly and twisted. "Poor Seokjin-ie, always desperate for someone to love him." His grip tightens painfully. "But they won't. Not like I did."

Jin tries to move, but Sanghoon tightens his hold, his other hand coming up to grip his jaw and pull him closer. The jostle causes Jin’s phone to slip from his fingers, clattering to the floor. Before he can think he tries to bend down and catch it, but Sanghoon's hand moves into his hair, grasping a handful of it as he jerks Jin upright.

"Let go!" Jin screams, unable to contain his fear anymore as pain radiates from his skull.

But Sanghoon seems fueled by the resistance. His eyes darken with rage as he twists Jin around and pushes until his back hits the wall beside the coolers, knocking a rack of copper pans to the floor on the way. The hand that was gripping his hair moves to Jin's throat, squeezing until Jin feels his airways begin to tighten.

"Why won't you listen?" Sanghoon growls, his face contorted with drunken anger. "I'm trying to help you! If you don’t listen you’re gonna ruin everything again, just like you ruined it walking away from our life.” He pulls Jin away just to slam him back into the wall again. “From me!"

Despite the ache in his back and bruising pressure on his throat, Jin feels a spike of fury at the insinuation that everything he's worked for was a mistake. Without thinking, he pools saliva under his tongue then spits it in Sanghoon's face. A fleeting triumph flares when Sanghoon flinches, but then dies instantly as the back of his hand whips across his face.

The shock of pain barely registers as the familiar violence begins to draw the curtain around his mind. His body starts to feel detached, unresponsive—caught in the fog of past trauma and present fear. He's back in Seoul, cornered in their apartment as Sanghoon's jealousy explodes. The ghostly ache of old bruises pulse beneath his skin.

Just as Sanghoon winds his arm back for another strike, the kitchen door slams open.

“Hyung, are you—” Jimin stands in the doorway, a question dying on his lips. It takes him less than three seconds to connect the dots—Jin pinned against the wall, Sanghoon's hand at his throat, the mess of fallen cookware.

Jin pushes through the fog, a new fear spreading in his gut.

"Get your hands off him." Jimin's voice is calm but there's a slight tremor.

Sanghoon turns, a vicious smirk curving across his face. "I was hoping you’d join us, pretty boy. Jin-ie loves an audience," he sneers.

"I said," Jimin takes a step forward, his face dark and radiating fury, "get your fucking hands off him. Now."

“Jimin-ah, don’t—” Jin tries to choke out, but Sanghoon whips his back to face him, hand tightening on his throat.

“Shut up,” he says as he slams Jin’s head back against the wall.

Through the haze of pain and detachment, Jin watches what happens next like a fragmented dream. Time skips and stutters. Jimin moves—a blur that his mind can't quite process.

Suddenly the pressure is gone from his throat and his wrist is released. He sucks air down his windpipe, coughing and reaching to steady himself on the counter.

When he looks up Sanghoon is across the room, Jimin standing in between them.

Jin's mind registers disconnected images: Sanghoon rushing towards Jimin, the flash of Jimin's leg arcing through the air, the sharp crack of impact, Sanghoon's body folding where it shouldn't. The violence feels distant, underwater, like memories overlapping with present reality.

In what seems like seconds, Sanghoon is on the floor, unconscious, while Jimin stands over him. Something about seeing his tormentor crumpled and vulnerable stirs a strange feeling in Jin's chest—satisfaction mixing with disbelief. But it’s all blurry, so he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.

When he opens them again, the fog parts momentarily, and Jimin comes back into focus. He turns to look at Jin and his eyes burn with a cold fury that should frighten Jin but somehow anchors him instead.

Jimin’s fierce expression quickly melts into concern as their eyes meet.

"Jin-hyung," Jimin crosses the room in quick strides, hands rushing to touch Jin, voice a little frantic. "Are you okay? Where are you hurt?"

Jin tries to answer, but his voice won't work. His mind feels strangely detached, watching the scene as if from a distance.

"Hyung?" Jimin's voice seems to come from far away. "I need to call the police. Stay with me, okay?"

Jin nods mechanically, watching as Jimin pulls out his phone. The conversation happens around him—Jimin explaining the situation, requesting police and an ambulance, giving their address. The whole time, Jimin keeps one arm wrapped around Jin’s waist. He can feel Jimin shaking slightly.

"They're on their way," Jimin says, hanging up the phone. "Hyung, look at me. You're bleeding."

Jin raises a hand to his lip, surprised when his fingers come away red. He can't feel it. He can't feel much of anything.

"It's okay," Jimin says softly, guiding Jin to sit on one of the café chairs. "The police will be here soon. He won't hurt you anymore."

Jin nods again, unable to form words. He's vaguely aware of Jimin moving around the kitchen. He thinks maybe Jimin uses something to tie Sanghoon up, then he returns with ice wrapped in a towel.

"Can I?" Jimin asks, holding up the cloth.

Jin nods once more, and Jimin gently presses the cloth to his lip. The cool contact grounds him slightly, pulling him back into his body enough to feel the sting.

"You can fight," he says, voice hoarse, not quite sure if he's asking a question or making a statement.

A small smile flickers across Jimin's face and his voice is soft when he responds. "My parents made me take Taekwondo after I got bullied in elementary school. I studied for a long time."

Jin tries to return the smile, but the attempt makes his lip throb. "Good thing."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees, his eyes darting to Sanghoon's still form on the floor. "Good thing."

They sit in silence until the wail of sirens fills the air. Everything after that happens in a blur—police securing Sanghoon, paramedics checking both Jin and Jimin, officers taking statements. Jin answers their questions automatically, watching as they handcuff a now-conscious and furious Sanghoon.

"We'll need you both to come to the station to make formal statements," the officer tells them, notepad in hand.

"Can it wait until tomorrow?" Jimin asks, his voice firm despite his polite tone. "He needs rest and he's in no shape for interrogation."

The officer looks ready to insist, but something in Jimin's expression makes him reconsider. "First thing tomorrow."

"We'll be there," Jimin promises, his hand finding Jin's and squeezing gently.

Jin watches as they lead Sanghoon away, feeling nothing but a hollow emptiness.

When the last of the emergency vehicles pull away, the café falls silent once more. Jin stands rooted to the kitchen entryway, staring at the spot where Sanghoon had been, while Jimin locks the door and picks up the scattered pots and Jin’s phone.

"Come on, hyung," Jimin says softly, offering his hand. "Let's go upstairs."

In the apartment, Jin sits motionless on the couch, locked in memories he's spent years trying to forget.

"Hyung, what do you need?" Jimin asks, setting a steaming mug in front of Jin. "Do you want me to call someone?"

Jin shakes his head. There's no one to call.

"I don't know what to do," Jimin admits with a small frown. "Please let me help you." He sounds worried. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The harmless question sends a flash of panic through Jin. Talk about it? How? How does he explain the shame, the fear, the self-loathing that comes with staying with someone who hurt him over and over again? How does he make Jimin understand without seeing that same look of pity and judgment he's seen before?

"I can't," Jin whispers, his voice cracking. Anything but that.

He needs to escape this feeling swelling in his chest, it's suffocating and terrifying. He doesn't want to go back there, he can't go back there, to his past.

Another, stronger wave of panic rises behind him as he stares at Jimin's face, so open and genuine.

"Hyung," Jimin begins and takes both of Jin's hands in his.

But Jin doesn't want to talk, he wants to forget. Without thinking, driven by pure desperation and the way Jimin's eyes shine in the dim light from the kitchen, Jin leans forward and presses his lips to Jimin's.

There is no finesse, no coordination. His lips meet Jimin’s lips and he pauses for a fraction of a second before moving, coaxing Jimin to kiss him back. His need becomes frantic, urgent—Jin is seeking oblivion at any cost. His split lip throbs in protest, but he barely registers the pain as the heat from Jimin's mouth spreads down and starts to warm all the places that are frozen.

He expects Jimin to push him back, to look at him with confusion or worse, pity. Instead, to Jin's surprise, Jimin starts to kiss him back, a hand reaching out to pull him in by the back of the neck, the other slipping under his arm and around his waist.

Jimin’s mouth is fierce and consuming, and his hand pressing into Jin's back feels like a white-hot brand through his shirt. Jimin kisses like he dances—with precision and passion, unrestrained yet perfectly controlled. The feeling has Jin’s blood singing in his ears.

Jimin’s tongue slips out to trace the seam of Jin's lips, pressing in just enough for Jin to taste a hint of his own smeared blood. When Jin parts his lips with a soft gasp, Jimin deepens the kiss, the hand on his neck drawing him even closer.

Jin surrenders to the sensation, his mind emptying of everything but the feeling of Jimin's warm, soft mouth, the swipes of his sinful tongue, the pleasurable sting of teeth grazing his bottom lip that send shivers through his entire body. The taste of him is driving Jin crazy. This is what he needs—not questions, not conversation, just something alive and searing to drown it all out.

When they finally break apart, both breathing hard, Jin feels the panic start to rise again at the realization of what he's done, what line he's crossed. But before he can retreat, Jimin's hand moves from his neck to his hair, then tightens as he pulls Jin back in for another, deeper kiss.

Jin expects to feel fear bloom at the familiar sensation of prickling pain at the base of his skull, but it doesn’t and the relief is so good he could cry. Jin makes a soft sound of surrender against Jimin's mouth, letting himself be consumed.

The world narrows to the points where their bodies connect—lips, hands, a tangle of arms, thighs pressing together as Jimin pulls him impossibly close. Everything else fades to background noise against the pounding of Jin's heart, the wet slide of their mouths, and the intoxicating heat of Jimin as it overwhelms and swallows him whole.

---

The fear Jimin felt when he opened the door to find Jin pinned against the kitchen wall—choking, terrified, blood trailing from his mouth—has left an imprint on his soul deeper than what his rational mind can understand. But he can feel it.

He feels it in the white-hot fury that had coursed through his veins when he saw Jin in danger—the need to protect Jin and destroy the man who was hurting him. He feels it in the desperate way he's giving in to Jin's wordless request for Jimin to make him forget. He feels it in the way his hands pull Jin closer, as if he can use his body to coax out and absorb Jin’s pain and fear.

His mind fights for control even as his body responds. Jin is vulnerable, traumatized, and some distant part of Jimin knows there will be consequences. But the warning bells in his head grow fainter with each desperate press of Jin's hands.

When Jin's lips crash into his own, Jimin doesn't need to think - his body already knows. He can't watch Jin fade into that hollow, faceless shadow. He won't. The need to pull Jin back from the edge drowns out everything else.

The first taste of Jin’s mouth, even tinged with blood, is overwhelming and more satisfying than he could’ve ever imagined. The lips he’s craved for weeks are even softer than they look, and they fit perfectly against his own.

They move in short bursts of hesitancy before giving way to desire. Jimin draws breath after breath as he plunges into the depths of Jin’s mouth, exploring his tongue, his teeth, licking anywhere he can reach. The protectiveness he feels towards Jin doesn’t fade in the face of his want, it increases and spreads through his body like molten metal. He needs to erase every violent touch with his own hands, replace the fear with pleasure until Jin forgets anyone else ever touched him.

So, he kisses Jin with everything he's been holding back for weeks. Heat spreads between them, electric and consuming, as Jimin pours himself into the kiss.

His hands roam Jin's body, seeking bare skin under fabric, gripping his waist and pulling him closer. Nothing exists beyond this—beyond them.

Their mouths clash with desperate urgency—all slick tongues and grazing teeth. A sweet ache blooms in Jimin's chest, even as they shift awkwardly on the narrow couch.

When they eventually separate, breathing ragged, Jimin watches Jin’s face transform with uncertainty, his eyes clouding with worry and a touch of fear. His lips are slick with their shared spit, shining ruby red and inviting. But looking at his lips also means looking at the bruise rising around the swollen, split skin. The protective feeling mutates into something darker, more possessive.

He can keep Jin safe. If it means taking down a thousand Sanghoons, so be it—he won’t ever lay a hand on Jin again.

The feeling pulses down his arms and into the very tips of his fingers, which flex as they hold Jin steady. Jimin needs to show him, prove to him that he can take care of him. Needing more, he moves his hand up into Jin’s hair, pulling softly before diving back into the ambrosia of his mouth.

Jin stiffens for a second before surrendering with a soft sigh that sends heat pooling low in Jimin's belly.

They move together in earnest now, all earlier hesitation burned away. Jin's mouth grows desperate, his hands restless and seeking, but Jimin holds firm. He’s going to take his time with Jin.

"Slow down," he murmurs against Jin's lips, fingers digging into Jin's hips to still his movements. "Let me—”

But Jin doesn't let him finish, surging forward until their chests are flush. His long fingers grip Jimin's shoulders as he pushes his way into his lap. His thighs bracket Jimin's hips, and he rolls his body downward, pressing as much of himself into Jimin as he can. Jin's hands are everywhere—sliding under Jimin's shirt, gripping his shoulders, pushing and pulling like he can't figure out what he wants.

But Jimin knows, like an instinct that’s always been part of him, and he feels certainty settle into his entire body. He catches Jin's wrists in one hand and pins them between their stomachs, using his other arm to wrap around Jin's waist. In one fluid movement, bracing one knee on the cushions for leverage, he holds Jin in place and flips their position, pressing him down into the couch.

Jimin pins Jin's wrists above his head and just looks at him. Jin's chest rises and falls rapidly, his lips parted and wet. There's something about seeing him like this—vulnerable and waiting—that makes Jimin's stomach tighten. He takes a breath, letting the moment stretch between them.

"I said," Jimin's voice comes out low, and a bit shaky, "slow down."

Jin stares up at him and tests the hold Jimin has on his wrists—not trying to break free, just feeling the strength of it—and it sends a lick of dominating heat up Jimin's spine.

"Jimin-ah," Jin's voice cracks on his name. His eyes are closed as he pushes his head back, exposing the long curve of his neck. "Please…"

"Hyung." Jimin uses the hand that was holding his waist to catch his chin, thumb ghosting over his split lip. His body might know what Jin needs, but his heart knows what’s right. "Hyung, tell me what you want. I need you to say it."

The shiver that runs through Jin's body sends a clear message, and there's no room for mistranslation as he pulls his hands from Jimin’s grasp to tug the hem of Jimin's shirt up and over his head.

But still, Jin breathes out, "I just need you." A shaky inhale. "I want to feel you, all of you."

Jin traces his fingers up Jimin's sides, raising goosebumps along the path. Jimin's eyes flutter closed, a shiver running through him as those hands continue upward, palms warm against his chest before curling around the nape of his neck. The gentle pressure guides him downward, and Jimin nearly loses his resolve. Something about Jin's touch threatens to unravel his careful control, makes him want to abandon his measured pace entirely.

When his eyes open they find Jin's, wide, waiting, and a little unsure. "Please don't leave. Please…"

Jimin can withstand hours of physical torture—he regularly puts himself through hell—but that vulnerable look in Jin's eyes breaks his resolve instantly.

He leans down, pressing their foreheads together, sharing breath. In this moment, Jimin knows with absolute certainty that he won't leave—couldn't leave—Jin adrift in his need. If Jin wants everything, then everything is what Jimin will give him.

"I'm not going anywhere, hyung."

Slowly, Jimin tilts his head until their lips slot together again. It still overwhelms him but he's determined to take his time exploring Jin's mouth. He swallows every tiny sound Jin makes, coaxing more and more of them until he is pliant and loose beneath him.

Only then does Jimin begin to work his way down Jin's jaw and throat. Fury simmers beneath his skin when he finds the spots where bruises will form—angry reminders of violent hands—so he reclaims every single one with gentle bites and soothing kisses. Each mark is a promise: mine now, safe here, I've got you.

Jin's chest curves upward beneath Jimin's mouth, his hands sliding up into his hair, gripping tighter with each new blossom Jimin paints onto his skin. The sounds he makes morph into something aching and a little uncontrolled, heating Jimin's blood as he sheds layer after layer of restraint. He can feel Jin growing harder against his thigh where he's situated between Jin's legs, the way his hips shift and seek pressure. Jimin's resolve to take his time wavers again, but he grits his teeth against his own need. He's waited too long for this to rush it now.

When Jimin's teeth catch the sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder, Jin's whole body jerks. Jimin responds by branding another mark into his skin, relishing Jin's gasp. He's already working the buttons of Jin's shirt open, needing to see every inch, to touch and taste until Jin forgets anyone else's hands have ever been on him.

Jin doesn't ask for what he wants with words. Instead, he grabs Jimin's hand and guides it down between them, pressing it against where he's hard and straining in his pants. The broken sound he makes has Jimin's hips pushing forward in response.

"Fuck," Jimin breathes out, palm sliding slowly against Jin's length. He can feel the heat of it even through the fabric.

Jin grabs Jimin's neck and pulls him into another kiss—hungry and messy. Their teeth clash, and Jin hisses as his split lip gets caught between them.

Jimin freezes at the sound of pain.

'Don't... you... dare,' Jin warns, the words hot and breathless against Jimin's mouth. But Jimin pulls back anyway, hands pressing Jin's hips firmly to the couch when he tries to chase the contact.

Jin looks up at him with wild, bright eyes. His chest rises and falls rapidly, shirt splayed open to reveal the marks Jimin has left across his collarbones. A flush spreads from his cheeks down his neck, skin shimmering with sweat.

He's the most beautiful thing Jimin has ever seen, and despite his concern about Jin's lip, he has absolutely no intention of stopping—just changing his approach.

To prove it, he lowers his head down to Jin's chest, tongue laving over a peaked nipple. Jin's back snaps into an arc with a cry as Jimin sucks hard then gently grazes it with his teeth. He catalogs every reaction, storing away each gasp and shiver like a choreography he needs to remember. He can't help but appreciate the perfect arch of Jin's spine, the way his body responds to the slightest touch like it's been waiting for Jimin's cues.

"So sensitive," Jimin murmurs against his skin, and Jin tugs his hair in retaliation.

Jin starts to reply, but his voice breaks on a moan when Jimin's tongue flicks across the sensitive peak again and again. The rhythm begins to travel through Jimin's body and he's soon moving in time with his tongue, rutting his hips down into Jin’s, unable to stop the groans that work their way out at the delicious pressure against his cock.

Jimin's hands slide down Jin's sides, mapping the way his muscles jump and twitch beneath warm skin. When his fingers find the waistband of Jin's pants, Jimin stops moving as Jin's breath catches audibly, hips lifting in silent permission.

Together they work the fabric down and off, along with his underwear, and finally his shirt. The sight of Jin completely bare beneath him pulls the air from his lungs.

From this view, Jin is a masterpiece of angles and curves. His broad shoulders stretch wide against the cushions, and the smooth expanse of his chest spills below him like a canvas, marked and flushed from Jimin's mouth. His long, lean stomach narrows with a graceful curve at his hips, and Jimin can't stop his hands from reaching out—they feel so perfect around his small waist. His cock lies hard and leaking against his stomach, flushed and pearly at the tip.

He wants to take his time, he does. But the primal need to have Jin in his mouth is almost too much to resist.

Jin starts to shift under his gaze, uncertainty bleeding back into his expression and Jimin can’t have that. He lifts one of Jin's slender legs to press open-mouthed kisses along his inner thigh, murmuring praises and feeling the lean muscles flex beneath his lips. He lowers himself down, scooting back so he can copy the path of kisses up Jin’s other thigh. Each slow lick draws desperate little gasps that spill past Jin's lips and pool like honey in Jimin's stomach.

When Jimin reaches the soft, smooth dip at the apex of Jin's inner thigh, he can't help but grin before dragging his tongue in one long stroke from the base of Jin's cock all the way up its length. Jin makes a high, broken sound and threads fingers through Jimin's hair, gripping tight. Jimin's grin only widens.

He wraps his hand around the shaft and takes the tip into his mouth, sucking gently. The taste sends pleasure shooting through him, curling his toes against the couch cushions. He relaxes his jaw, taking Jin in a little bit more as he presses his tongue against the sensitive underside, feeling it throb in response. Keeping his lips parted, he lets saliva pool and spill, coating his hand until it's drenched.

Jimin lifts off of Jin’s cock and watches, mesmerized, as his fingers slide over the hot, tight skin of Jin's cock, spreading the wetness he’s gathered. Jin's hips buck up into his touch, seeking more friction, more heat, more everything.

Jin’s thighs begin to tremble in earnest when Jimin pays special attention to his slit, pressing his thumb down and dragging it through slowly. He shifts down the couch, settling between Jin's spread thighs.

"Hyung's gonna have to stay still," Jimin instructs as he positions himself to lie flat, one arm hooked under Jin's leg while his other hand keeps working him. The hand that's not in Jimin's hair grips the back of the couch, knuckles white with the effort of not moving as Jimin takes Jin into his mouth, slowly.

The weight of him on Jimin's tongue, the taste, the needy sounds spilling from Jin's throat—his own arousal is reaching painful heights as he shifts his hips for even the slightest bit of friction.

He sucks in a breath through his nose, turning his focus to softening his throat as he takes in as much of Jin as he can. The rest he wraps a hand around, coordinating the bob of his head with the slide of his fingers.

"Jimin-ah," Jin moans. The sound sends a warm pulse to his core, so Jimin ignores the budding cramp in his neck to take Jin even deeper and increase the pressure of his hand.

He sets a steady pace, emptying his mind until nothing exists but here, now, Jin. His world narrows to pure sensation—the weight on his tongue, the salt-bitter taste, the rhythm of his hand, the obscene wet sounds as saliva slicks his fingers and wrist. Jin writhes above him, back arching and muscles tensing, and Jimin feels his own arousal mounting with each reaction, unsure who's enjoying this more.

Jin tugs sharply at his hair, pulling a deep groan from Jimin's throat. He responds by taking Jin deeper, flattening his tongue against the underside where thick veins pulse beneath sensitive skin. Jin's back arches in response, creating the perfect opening for Jimin to brace on one elbow and slide his free hand up Jin's torso until his fingers find a nipple, circling it lightly before pinching, eliciting a gasp and something that sounds like “… gonna come.”

Jimin slips his mouth off and looks up the sinuous lines of Jin's writhing body, his hand taking over for his mouth, not slowing down.

Jin's eyes are squeezed shut, head thrown back against the couch. His chest heaves with each breath, muscles tensing visibly under his skin. Jimin can feel him getting closer—the way his thighs start to tremble, how his cock pulses against his palm.

“Then come, hyung,” Jimin says, voice low and rough.

He focuses on the head of Jin's cock, twisting his wrist just so, watching intently as Jin's body goes rigid. For a suspended moment, Jin seems frozen on the edge—then he gasps, back arching sharply as he comes in Jimin's hand with a drawn-out moan.

Jimin doesn't stop, working him through every pulse, every shudder, memorizing each expression that crosses Jin's face as pleasure overtakes him.

As Jin's breathing begins to slow, Jimin discreetly gathers the evidence of Jin's release, coating his fingers in the warm slickness. Jin's eyes are still unfocused, his body lax from his climax—the perfect moment for what Jimin has in mind.

He lowers his head again, taking Jin's sensitive cock between his lips, gently cleaning the tip with his tongue. While Jin's attention is captured by this new sensation, Jimin carefully circles his slicked finger around Jin's entrance before pressing just past the tight ring of muscle.

Jin's reaction is immediate—his back arches sharply off the couch, a strained cry escaping his throat as his eyebrows draw together in surprise and renewed pleasure. His chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath.

“It’s ok, hyung,” Jimin murmurs as he moves from Jin’s cock to kiss his hips and stomach.

He works him through the tremors and threat of overstimulation, patient and attentive. He keeps his movements gentle at first—shallow thrusts with just one finger, twisting and curling to help Jin adjust to the intrusion. When Jin's initial tension melts into soft sighs, Jimin begins to press deeper, searching for that spot that will make him forget any discomfort.

“More,” Jin gasps when Jimin finds it, his head thrown back against the cushions. “Please, Jimin-ah.”

But the slide is gathering more friction the deeper and longer he goes. “I’m not going to fuck you dry, hyung, no matter how much you beg,” Jimin says, his tone playful but brooking no argument.

Jin’s eyes flutter open at that, desperation crossing his face. He reaches blindly above him, toward the arm of the couch, his fingers fumbling to find the edge. “Side pocket,” he manages between gasps. “There’s lube in the side pocket.”

Jimin follows his gesture, stretching over Jin and finding a discreet fabric pocket hanging from the couch’s frame—he literally had no idea this existed. His fingers close around a small bottle, and he raises an eyebrow, looking back down at Jin. “Convenient,” he says wryly. He uncaps the bottle and settles back in between Jin’s spread legs.

“I like to be prepared,” Jin replies with a breathless laugh that quickly dissolves into a moan as Jimin presses two fingers inside him, the cool slickness of the lube making Jin shiver before their combined body heat warms it up.

The stretch has Jin’s brows pinched together, but Jimin knows the difference between pain and pleasure, and the sounds pouring from Jin’s mouth are coated in ecstasy. He scissors his fingers carefully, working Jin open with methodical precision, transfixed by the way Jin's expression transforms with each careful thrust and curl of his fingers.

Before long he's three fingers deep and Jin is falling apart, writhing and gasping as Jimin continues to pump into him. His cock is fully hard again, leaking steadily against his stomach. The sight of him—panting, marked up, taking Jimin's fingers so perfectly—has Jimin's own neglected arousal pressing painfully against his unforgiving jeans.

When Jin starts rocking down against his hand, fucking himself on Jimin's fingers, he decides he can't wait anymore.

The loss of his fingers has Jin whimpering, but Jimin's already working his pants open, shoving them down past his ass, just enough to free his cock. The release of pressure after being trapped against unforgiving denim ignites a shiver between Jimin's shoulders that travels all the way down his back.

The first stroke of his hand has his eyes rolling back as he tries to remember how to breathe. It takes all of his control not to stroke himself to a quick orgasm just to take the edge off. Instead he grips the base tight, clenching his jaw to settle down.

Jin is propped up on his elbows watching him through heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted and bitten red. His gaze is hungry as his eyes travel down to where Jimin is gripping himself.

Jimin isn't as long as Jin, but he's thick when he fills out and Jin's sharp intake of breath at the sight makes pleasure curl through Jimin.

When Jimin spreads Jin’s legs and positions himself against Jin's clenched hole, Jin's body shivers in anticipation and a needy whine comes from the back of his throat.

It’s torture not to immediately press in, but Jimin isn’t taking any chances. He folds himself over, eyeing the line from his mouth to Jin's hole. A fat glob of spit lands perfectly and Jimin smears it around his tip and uses his thumb to press the rest into Jin.

Jin's head falls back between his shoulders. "That should not be turning me on this much."

Jimin smirks as he curves his thumb down into Jin’s hole, getting a small groan in return.

"You're kind of filth—" Jin starts, but cuts off his words with a strangled, guttural moan as Jimin removes his thumb and pushes himself inside, burying his cock halfway in one thrust and feeling every centimeter of tight drag. It's all-consuming and he has to pause, panting and throbbing from the heat and pressure.

It's a painfully slow push the rest of the way in, neither of them able to do much more than groan and grasp at whatever skin they can find to anchor themselves.

When Jimin is finally seated inside, Jin's legs wrap around his waist, and Jimin bends down to press his head to Jin’s shoulder. He wants to move, needs to move, but he pins his hips in place, forcing himself to breathe and wait until Jin adjusts.

Jin has other ideas. His hands slide down Jimin's back, grip his ass and pull him in deeper.

"Hyung," Jimin moans and struggles to breathe.

"Move, Jimin-ah," Jin grinds out, nails digging into Jimin's ass.

The band around Jimin's control snaps and he pulls out to drive back in, hard, watching Jin's mouth fall open in pleasure. He does it once more, pulling out agonizingly slowly just to slam back in, groaning as the friction sets his blood on fire.

He keeps his movement slow and deep for as long as he can, but at some point he realizes he can’t organize his thoughts as his hips slap into Jin’s ass at a furious pace. Each thrust draws louder and louder sounds from Jin's throat, raw and unrestrained. Jin is so tight, so responsive, so perfect. But it's not enough. Jimin needs more, needs to take Jin apart completely.

In a controlled but fluid movement, Jimin pulls out, slides an arm around Jin's back to support his weight, and turns him onto his knees, facing the couch. Before Jin can protest the sudden change, Jimin is pushing him over the back of the couch, his feet finding purchase on the plush rug beneath them. Jin's arms spread wide, hands bracing himself on the top of the couch.

“Don't move,” Jimin murmurs, reluctant to step away even for a second.

He quickly strips his jeans fully off and stops breathing when he turns back, the sight before him constricting his lungs and burning him alive. Jin has shifted, propping one knee high on the back of the couch and arching his spine in a deliberate curve. He looks back over his shoulder, lips parted and eyes dark with want.

“Oops. I moved.” Jin's voice is wrecked but the challenge in it is unmistakable. Relief floods through Jimin—even now, Jin is still Jin. That familiar spark of defiance in his eyes makes Jimin's heart skip even as his cock throbs with want.

Jimin answers by running his palm slowly down the curve of Jin's spine, tracing each vertebra before gripping his hip firmly. Jin shivers under his touch, a small whimper escaping his throat.

The sight of Jin like this—bent over, spread open for him, hole glistening and slightly reddened from Jimin's cock—sends an even stronger surge of possessive heat through Jimin's veins than before. No one else gets to see Jin like this. No one else gets to have him this way. Only Jimin.

He snatches up the bottle of lube and spreads a generous amount over his aching cock, the brief touch almost too much after denying himself for so long. He lines himself up against Jin's entrance, feeling the heat radiating from him, and pushes back in with a single thrust, the new angle punching a cracked sob from Jin's throat. The tight, slick heat engulfs him completely, sending electric shivers up his spine and pulling a ragged groan from his chest. His vision blurs at the edges as pleasure crashes through him

Like this, Jimin can go deeper, harder, and he sets a merciless pace. When he glances down, he catches glimpses of Jin's cock bouncing heavily between his legs with each thrust. The view above is equally intoxicating—Jin's head thrown back in abandon, arms straining to hold himself steady, raw sounds spilling from his throat that Jimin wants to memorize. When he adjusts his angle, searching for that perfect spot, he knows he's found it the moment Jin's gasping moans transform into sharp, desperate cries.

"There," Jin wails, voice wrecked. "Please… don't stop—"

Jimin holds that angle, driving in with measured precision. Each thrust pulls a higher, more desperate sound from Jin's throat. He watches Jin's hands clutch frantically at the couch, knuckles white, arms shaking with the effort to hold himself up.

The tension builds in Jin's body—Jimin can feel it in the way he tightens around him, in the tremors running down his spine. Jin's breath catches, his rhythm faltering as he pushes back against Jimin.

Jimin feels ravenous and slightly out of control, all of his wanting narrowed down to chasing both of their pleasures. His breath comes in harsh gasps as he pushes deeper, harder, faster, grinding with a punishing pressure against Jin's prostate.

“Don’t stop, please—” Jin is gasping, begging as he hangs onto the couch with trembling arms.

Jimin focuses on his pace, his position, every angle that sucks the breath from Jin’s lungs. His own orgasm is building with blinding speed and he doesn’t think he can hold it back much longer.

Jimin curves himself over Jin's back, never breaking his rhythm. His lips trace the curve where neck meets shoulder, where a bruise is already forming from earlier violence. The sight makes something fierce and tender unfold in Jimin's chest at once.

“Mine,” he whispers against Jin's skin, just loud enough to be heard. Then he seals the declaration with his teeth, pressing firmly into the soft flesh with a promise on his tongue.

Jin's reaction is immediate and violent—his back bows, a strangled cry ripping from his throat as his body convulses in another orgasm, muscles clenching around Jimin in pulsing waves, wringing desperate moans from his throat.

The sound of Jin falling apart, the feel of him spasming around his cock, is so close to pushing Jimin over the edge, he groans from the force of holding his release back.

He grips himself hard, and slows his thrusts, pressing his forehead against Jin's sweat-slicked back. For a moment, he just stays there, buried deep, feeling the aftershocks ripple through Jin's body. Jin's breath comes in ragged gasps, his arms shaking where they brace against the couch.

“I've got you,” Jimin murmurs, lips brushing Jin's shoulder blade. He feels the exact moment Jin's strength begins to fade, his legs trembling against the back of the couch.

With a concerted effort, he catches Jin around the waist, pressing close to keep him steady. “I've got you,” he repeats, carefully withdrawing, both of them hissing from sensitivity.

Using the couch for leverage, Jimin turns Jin in his arms until they're face to face, Jin's legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. For a breathless moment, they're pressed chest to chest, Jin's arms looping around Jimin's neck for support. Jimin can feel Jin's heartbeat hammering against his own as he carefully lowers them both to their knees on the plush rug.

He cradles the back of Jin's head, guiding him down until he's lying on his back, Jimin hovering above him. The care he takes is at odds with the desperate need coursing through his veins—he wants to devour Jin whole, but forces himself to be gentle.

Jin looks utterly ruined—flushed and panting, eyes shiny and unfocused, thighs quivering. His skin glistens with sweat, crimson marks blooming across his neck and chest. The sight of him spread out like this—completely undone by Jimin's touch—sends a jolt of primal hunger through Jimin's body.

Jimin's hands shake as he reaches for Jin's thighs, spreading them wider to make room for himself. He needs to be back inside, needs to sink back into that velvet grip.

"Hyung, you're so good for me," Jimin murmurs, voice strained with need as he runs his hands along Jin's thighs. He hooks his palms under Jin's knees, drawing them up and outward with gentle pressure. His thumbs trace soothing circles against the tender skin there, feeling the slight tremble in Jin's muscles.

"Jimin-ah… Jimin-ah, I need—" Jin’s breathing is labored and his head lolls to the side as his eyes close and eyebrows draw together.

"I know, hyung," Jimin reassures him. "I've got you."

When he hooks Jin's legs over his shoulders and folds him nearly in half, Jin's breath catches audibly. He turns his head back to look straight into Jimin's eyes, desire and exhaustion fighting for control. Jin just whimpers and bites his bottom lip.

The push back inside has them both moaning, Jimin's mouth open and head bowed from the overwhelming sensation. His dick is over-sensitive and he can feel every ridge and line of Jin's hole as he presses forward until their bodies meet.

Jin's body welcomes him easily now, but he's still clenched and tight from his previous orgasms. Tears bloom in the corners of Jin's eyes as Jimin pumps in and out, experimenting with speed and angle. When he finds the rhythm that lights up every nerve in his body, and the angle that hits Jin’s over-stimulated prostate, he locks in.

"Look at you," Jimin breathes, mesmerized by the way Jin's stomach clenches, how his cock is filling again despite how thoroughly he's been used. "Taking me so well, hyung."

Jin tries to respond but the pace Jimin sets has Jin's words dissolving into stifled sobs. Each thrust pushes Jin further up the rug until Jimin has to brace one hand on the floor above Jin's left shoulder to stop him from sliding.

The position lets him curl over Jin completely, pushing his knees down towards his chest, watching every flutter of his eyelashes, every contortion of his face, every shape his mouth takes.

Jimin's body is screaming at him—even his hard-won stamina is reaching its limits. He clenches his jaw and braces his other hand above Jin's right shoulder. They are almost chest-to-chest, Jin's thighs the only thing separating them as he keeps moving, keeps building the ache spreading from his gut and down into his cock.

Jimin has Jin effectively pinned, face twisting in pleasured-pain at Jimin’s relentless pace. He knows he isn't going to last much longer as his lower stomach tightens.

Jimin shifts his weight to his left arm and uses his now-free hand to wrap around Jin's cock, which is still wet and almost fully erect again despite everything.

At the touch Jin lets out a piercing wail that vibrates inside Jimin's skull. His body twists violently beneath Jimin, caught in the paradox of his own desire—simultaneously trying to escape the overwhelming sensation and arch into it. Every nerve ending must feel like it's on fire, pleasure tipping dangerously into pain and back again with each stroke.

“Can't,” Jin sobs, tears streaming freely down his temples into his hair. His hands scrabble at Jimin's shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks. “Jimin-ah, I can't—it's too much—”

But even as he protests, his cock twitches eagerly in Jimin's grip, his body betraying his words. Jimin feels Jin clenching tight around him with each pass over the sensitive head of his cock, the pressure almost enough to push him over the edge too soon.

“You can,” Jimin pants, adjusting his angle to hit that spot inside Jin with each thrust. His own release is building, threatening to overtake him, but he's determined to drag Jin over the edge again. “One more, hyung. Give me one more,” he grunts in between thrusts.

He leans down, capturing Jin's gasping mouth with his own, swallowing his broken sounds. Their tongues slide together, messy and desperate, as Jimin works Jin with relentless precision—hand and hips moving in perfect counterpoint.

Jin's fingers dig into Jimin's biceps, his grip almost bruising. Through the haze of his own building orgasm, Jimin catches the subtle shift in Jin's expression—the moment when resistance gives way to surrender. Jin's mouth goes slack against his, a soft exhale that seems to say everything words can't.

The surrender triggers something primal in Jimin. He strokes Jin faster, drives into him deeper, chasing that final peak for them both. Jin's body responds instantly—back arching off the floor, muscles seizing as one final, dry orgasm wracks through him. His face contorts in beautiful agony, tears flowing freely as he clutches at Jimin like he's drowning.

The first pulse of Jin's release around him is all it takes. Jimin's vision blurs at the edges as his orgasm crashes through him without warning. A guttural sound rips from deep in his chest as his hips jerk erratically, burying himself as deep as possible while he empties inside Jin in hot, pulsing waves. His arms shake violently with the effort to hold himself up, every muscle drawn impossibly tight as pleasure tears through him.

For a long moment, neither of them moves. Jimin's forehead rests against Jin's shoulder as they both struggle to catch their breath. Jin shakes with another tremor that causes his walls to tighten again, milking Jimin's cock almost painfully until there's nothing left for him to spill.

They gasp and struggle to come down, clinging to each other as their bodies start to soften, muscles unlocking and breathes evening out.

Jimin is the first to return to cognition, but when he starts to pull back, Jin's hands tighten on his back.

"Just..." Jin's voice is barely there. "Stay. Please."

The quiet request has Jimin pressing closer, but his arms are shaking with the effort to hold himself up. "Need to lie down, hyung," he says hoarsely against Jin's skin. "I'm gonna pull out, okay?"

Jin nods against his neck but still whimpers at the discomfort when Jimin carefully withdraws, his come spilling out with nothing to hold it in.

Jimin gently helps Jin onto his side, twisting so that his back is to the couch, then turns himself to face Jin, putting his back to rest of the room.

Jin immediately curls into him, tucking his face against Jimin's neck. He's still shaking slightly and the sweat on their bodies is starting to cool.

"I've got you," Jimin murmurs, sliding his arm under Jin's neck and curling it around to card his hand through the damp hair at Jin's temple. His other arm wraps around Jin's waist, pulling him closer as his thumb strokes soft circles into his skin. He pauses to reach up and snag a pillow from the couch, carefully lifting Jin's head to slip it underneath.

The apartment is quiet around them, peaceful in a way that settles into Jimin's bones. Their breathing starts to sync up as Jin's trembling subsides. Jimin twists around and spots a half-empty water glass on the coffee table and stretches to grab it without disturbing their position.

"Here, hyung" he says softly, helping Jin take small sips. "You need this."

Jin manages a few swallows before turning his face back into Jimin's neck, his hands tucked between them. Their legs tangle together naturally, seeking warmth and closeness.

"We should clean up," Jimin says weakly, but makes no move to get up. Instead, he reaches for the throw blanket that had fallen from the couch.

Jin huffs a laugh against his neck. "Bold of you to assume I can move."

Something in Jimin's chest loosens at the unexpected humor in Jin's voice. He uses a corner of the blanket to gently wipe away the worst of the mess before pulling it over them both. He'll worry about proper cleanup later.

The plush rug is soft beneath them, and Jin seems content to stay wrapped in Jimin's arms, protected and warm. His body is growing heavier with approaching sleep. Jimin's hand moves in slow, soothing strokes up and down the curve of Jin's back.

Jin shifts slightly, wincing, and Jimin immediately adjusts to take pressure off his hips, pulling Jin halfway onto his chest as he turns onto his back. The movement elicits a small, content sound from Jin—almost like a purr—as he settles into the new position. His fingers curl against Jimin's chest, and Jimin can feel Jin's eyelashes flutter against his neck as he fights sleep.

The quiet feels different now, weighted with something Jimin's not ready to name. He focuses instead on the physical: the slight tackiness of cooling sweat on their skin, the way Jin's breath tickles his neck, how their legs stay tangled together despite having plenty of room to spread out on the rug.

Just before Jin drifts off completely, he presses a soft kiss to Jimin's collarbone. The gesture makes something warm unfurl in Jimin's stomach, but he pushes the feeling aside. That's for later. Right now, all that matters is the quiet in Jimin's head, the steady beat of Jin's heart against his chest, and making sure Jin feels safe and comfortable in his arms.

Everything else can wait.

Chapter Text

Jin wakes with a jolt, disoriented by the unfamiliar hardness beneath his back. His mind struggles to piece together where he is until the weight across his chest registers—Jimin's arm, heavy with sleep, pinning him to the living room floor.

Everything floods back at once. Sanghoon. The café. Jimin bursting through the door like some avenging angel. And then...

Jin carefully shifts his head to look at Jimin's sleeping face, peaceful and unguarded. His lips are slightly parted, lashes casting delicate shadows across his cheeks. Jin's chest tightens with something that feels dangerously close to tenderness. As his eyes travel down Jimin's face to his smooth chest the tenderness becomes a flash of heat under his skin as he remembers pieces of last night.

Jimin's hands, his lips and mouth everywhere, taking Jin down his throat—the first feel of Jimin pushing inside of him… He feels warmth bloom across his cheeks as he recalls just how many times he'd begged. Begged. Jin's never begged for anything in his life.

He catalogs the physical evidence of last night's desperation without moving. His lip throbs where it split under Sanghoon's hand. His throat feels raw, both from being choked and from sounds he tries not to remember making. There's a delicious soreness between his legs and along his inner thighs that spreads the blush from his cheeks all the way down his neck.

A war is brewing in the space between Jin's head and heart. He wants to ignore it, wants to crawl out from under Jimin's body, take a shower, drink his coffee, and start his day at the café as if nothing happened. He wants it so badly he can taste the fleeting hint of freedom on his tongue. His craving grows and grows as he tries to outrun the other thing he feels.

Safe.

His brain immediately starts its usual pattern of emotional self-defense by supplying the thought that last night only happened as a response to trauma, that he wasn't fully in control and had made decisions based on the pure adrenaline of the moment more than anything else. But he knows it's a lie, and he can feel the actual truth of it all in the way something warm and content curls up in his belly when Jimin shifts in his sleep and pulls Jin closer, nuzzling his face into Jin's neck.

The difference between how he’d felt when they started compared to the feeling of falling asleep on Jimin's chest afterward—Jin had lived an entire lifetime in the space of that difference, and now Before-Jin and After-Jin find themselves unable to reconcile into a version that makes sense. He feels like he's standing on an unsteady raft rushing down a river full of rapids and one wrong move will throw him into the churning white-water to drown.

But, Jin is an expert at channeling his anxiety into forward motion. Nothing is worse than being stuck, frozen by indecision. He'd rather chew glass. If he falls in, he falls in.

Carefully, Jin extracts himself from beneath Jimin's arm, making sure his head is supported on the pillow and wincing as his body protests the movement. Jimin stirs but doesn't wake, merely curls into the warm spot Jin leaves behind, his lips pushing out into a pout. That tender feeling twists painfully in Jin's chest.

He picks up his discarded underwear and pulls them on, then limps silently to the kitchen. His body is starting to feel foreign—simultaneously wrung out and hyperaware, like he's been turned inside out and put back together wrong. The coffee maker hums to life under his hands, the familiar routine almost grounding him as he tries and fails to keep his mind from racing.

What the fuck has he done?

Jin catches his reflection in the microwave door and barely recognizes himself. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in all directions. His neck and chest are a constellation of bruises. But it's his eyes that stop him cold—wide and vulnerable and unfamiliar.

He feels stripped bare, not just physically but emotionally. The walls he's spent years carefully constructing have been reduced to rubble, leaving him exposed and defenseless. Sanghoon was the wrecking ball, but he thinks he may have pulled the rest of the bricks down with his own hands. And that terrifies him. Because he hadn't exactly been alone at the end of the destruction.

Jin pours coffee with shaking hands, trying to steady his breathing as thoughts rush through him in a river of hot shame.

He'd used Jimin last night—used him to escape his own head, his own fear. Used him like a drug to numb the panic that threatened to swallow him whole after seeing Sanghoon again.

Jimin deserved better than to be Jin's distraction, his escape route. And now they have to go to the police station together and give statements about what happened in the café, as if the boundary-shattering intimacy that followed didn't completely change everything between them.

His hands tighten around the mug as a fresh wave of fear crawls up his spine. What if the police release Sanghoon? What if the restraining order isn't enough to keep him away again? What if he comes back?

Jin's mind conjures the image of Sanghoon's face twisted with rage, his hand at Jin's throat. The mug trembles in his grip a little.

But this time, instead of just his own safety, Jin finds himself thinking of Jimin. What if Sanghoon decides Jimin is a threat? What if he tries to hurt him to get to Jin?

The thought of Jimin in the crossfires of Sanghoon’s jealousy because of him makes Jin's stomach turn. He sets the mug down before he drops it. This isn't just about him anymore. Jimin is involved now—Jimin, who knocked Sanghoon unconscious with a single kick, who held Jin like he was something fragile, who whispered promises against his skin in the dark.

Jimin, who Jin has no right to drag into his mess.

Jimin, who Jin is already starting to crave as his body pushes him towards a source of safety and trust and… and home.

A soft sound from the living room pulls Jin from his spiraling thoughts. He straightens, schooling his features into something he hopes resembles normal as he hears Jimin beginning to stir.

He needs to get it together. They have to go to the police station. They have to face what happened in the café.

The thing that happened after can be dealt with later—or better yet, never mentioned again. Jin can blame it on trauma or fear, on needing comfort. He can apologize, set boundaries, keep things professional.

He can rebuild his walls, brick by brick, until he's the familiar kind of safe again.

But as he hears Jimin's footsteps approaching the kitchen, Jin knows with absolute certainty that nothing between them will ever be the same. The Jin who woke up this morning is not the Jin who fell asleep on the couch with paperwork scattered around him yesterday. That Jin wouldn't have known what Jimin's skin tastes like, or the sounds he makes when he's buried deep inside someone, or the way he cradles you afterward like you're the most important thing in the world.

That Jin wouldn't have known what it feels like to be completely undone and then carefully put back together by Park Jimin's hands.

Even as his body reacts to the anticipated nearness of the source of all his confusion, Jin takes a deep breath and turns toward the doorway, coffee mug clutched like a shield against his chest. He forces his lips into what he hopes is a casual smile, ignoring the sting of his split lip and the tightness in his throat.

Whatever happens next, he'll handle it. He always does.

---

Jimin's eyes open a fraction of an inch, then shut tight at the intrusion of light. A noise in the distance pricks at his ears. His arm reaches out instinctively, finding only empty space and cooling fabric where Jin's warmth should be. His eyes fly open, blinking rapidly against the morning light filtering through the living room window

"Jin-hyung?" He croaks as he sits up too quickly, wincing as his muscles protest. The blanket pools around his waist as he scans the room, relief washing through him when he hears movement in the kitchen.

Jimin glances down at himself, naked except for the blanket, marked with evidence of their night together. His skin bears its own constellations of fingerprints and light scratches, but he knows Jin's body carries more.

He quickly locates his briefs and pulls them on, dragging a hand through his tangled hair. The floor is cold against his bare feet as he pads toward the kitchen, heart hammering in his chest.

Jin stands with his back to the doorway, shoulders tense as he clutches a coffee mug. Even from behind, Jimin can see the dark finger-shaped bruises circling Jin's throat, while softer, less violent marks trail across his shoulders. Jimin's stomach twists sharply with anger that quickly morphs into an aching need to make sure Jin is ok. That he doesn’t hate Jimin for what happened.

Jin must sense his presence because he turns, a smile sliding onto his face too quickly, too perfectly—like a mask being fitted into place. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"Morning," Jin says, voice slightly raspy. "Coffee?"

Jimin hesitates in the doorway, suddenly unsure of how to navigate this new terrain between them. Last night, everything was so clear—protect Jin, comfort Jin, keep Jin safe. But in the harsh light of morning, uncertainty creeps in.

"Hyung," he starts, then stops, searching for the right words. "Are you—how are you feeling?"

Jin's smile doesn't waver, but his knuckles whiten around the mug. "I'm fine. Well, sore in places I haven't been sore in a while, but..." He trails off. "We should get ready. Police station."

Jimin nods slowly, watching as Jin busies himself with pouring another mug of coffee, movements precise and controlled. Every line of his body screams tension.

"Jin-hyung," Jimin tries again, taking a step forward. "About last night—"

"We should probably shower," Jin interrupts, still not meeting Jimin's eyes as he extends the cup of coffee towards him. "Separately, of course. We're already running late, and we told the officer first thing."

The dismissal stings, but Jimin swallows his hurt as he closes his fingers around the warmth. Jin needs space, time to process—Jimin gets it. Pushing now would be selfish.

"You go first," Jimin offers quietly. "I'll wait."

Jin nods, finally looking at him For a brief moment, the mask slips and Jin is unguarded with a strange look behind his eyes—fear, confusion, and something else Jimin can't quite name.

"Thank you," Jin replies, and Jimin isn't sure if he's thanking him for the shower or for last night or for fighting off Sanghoon. Maybe all three.

Before Jimin can respond, Jin is moving past him, careful not to let their bodies touch.

Jimin stands alone in the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. He finds he doesn't really want coffee, so he sets it down and wraps his arms around his middle, suddenly feeling exposed in more ways than one. Last night, he'd felt so certain, so right in his actions. This morning, he knows he's crossed a line that can't be uncrossed.

The shower runs for nearly twenty minutes. When Jin emerges, he's fully dressed in a loose sweater and jeans, hair damp and neatly brushed. The high, rolled collar of the sweater covers some of the marks on his neck, but nothing can hide the bruised lip or the shadows beneath his eyes.

"All yours," Jin says, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Jimin showers quickly, washing away the physical evidence of their night together while his mind races. He pulls on a robe once out of the shower, unwilling to make the situation more uncomfortable by parading around half-naked.

They move around each other in awkward silence. Jin takes his vitamins with trembling hands. Jimin makes toast that neither of them eat. Jin grabs his keys, then sets them down, then picks them up again.

"I'll drive," Jimin says gently.

Jin looks like he wants to argue but then nods, dropping the keys into Jimin's outstretched palm. Their fingers don't touch.

The drive to the police station is a study in silence. Jin stares out the passenger window, one hand absently rubbing at his throat. Jimin grips the steering wheel tightly, stealing glances at Jin's profile whenever he can.

Jin seems to be retreating further into himself with each passing minute, shoulders curling inward as if trying to make himself smaller. It's so at odds with the Jin that Jimin has come to know that it makes his heart ache.

They're halfway to the station when Jin's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glancing at the screen, and Jimin watches as all the color drains from his face.

"Unknown number," Jin whispers, the phone continuing to vibrate in his shaking hand.

Jimin reaches across the console to place his hand over Jin's. "It's not him," he says firmly. "He can't hurt you."

Jin stares at the phone until it stops buzzing, then lets out a shuddering breath. "How do you know?" he asks, voice so small it's barely audible over the hum of the engine.

"Because I'd never let him near you again," Jimin answers without hesitation, the fierceness in his voice surprising even himself.

Jin's eyes snap to his, wide and startled. The careful mask has disappeared again, revealing such naked vulnerability that Jimin almost can't hold Jin's gaze.

Then, just as quickly, the walls come back up. Jin pulls his hand away from Jimin's and tucks the phone back into his pocket. "I just want this to be over," he murmurs, turning back toward the window.

Jimin's hand feels cold where Jin's warmth has left it. He returns it to the steering wheel, focusing on the road ahead.

One thing is clear—whatever is growing between them, it's far from simple. Jin is building walls as fast as Jimin tries to scale them.

Jimin risks one more glance at Jin's profile—the proud line of his jaw clenched tight against whatever emotions are threatening to spill over.

"I meant what I said," Jimin says quietly.

Jin doesn't respond, but Jimin notices how his shoulders lose just a fraction of their tension. It's not much, but it's something.

---

The police station is exactly as depressing as Jimin expected—fluorescent lights that make everyone look ill, a faint smell of coffee and disinfectant, and the constant background noise of phones ringing and keyboards clicking. They're led to a small interview room with gray walls and uncomfortable plastic chairs, where Officer Shin, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, sits across from them.

"I understand this is difficult," she says, her voice steady as she opens a folder. "But I need you both to walk me through what happened last night, starting from the beginning."

Jimin glances at Jin, who sits ramrod straight beside him, hands folded tightly in his lap. His face is carefully blank, but Jimin can see the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his throat works as he swallows repeatedly.

"Mr. Kim," Officer Shin prompts gently. "Could you start by telling me about your relationship with Han Sanghoon?"

Jin opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His eyes fix on a point somewhere past the officer's shoulder, and the silence stretches, uncomfortable and heavy.

"Jin-hyung?" Jimin murmurs, resisting the urge to reach for his hand.

Jin's breathing quickens, his chest rising and falling too rapidly. His lips part again, but instead of words, a small, choked sound escapes. Jimin recognizes the signs that Jin is slipping into dissociation, retreating somewhere Sanghoon can't reach him.

"Officer Shin," Jimin says quietly, leaning forward slightly. "Would it be alright if I provided some context? I think it might help."

The officer studies Jin for a moment, then nods. "Go ahead, Mr. Park."

Jimin chooses his words carefully, conscious of Jin beside him, and hopes Namjoon wasn't wrong. "Han Sanghoon is Jin-hyung's ex-boyfriend. They were together in Seoul before he moved here. I believe there's an existing restraining order against Sanghoon."

He keeps his voice steady, factual, though his insides burn with fury at what he's about to say. "Last night, Sanghoon violated that order. He came to the café after closing. When I arrived, he had Jin-hyung pinned against the wall by his throat." Jimin's hand tightens on his knee. "He was choking him."

Jin makes a small sound beside him, and Jimin immediately stops, glancing over. Jin's eyes are closed now, his breathing shallow. His face is aflame, and Jimin's heart twists painfully at the sight.

"Mr. Kim," Officer Shin says, her voice softening slightly. "Would you like to take a break? Some water, perhaps?"

Jin shakes his head, eyes still closed. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I just... when I try to talk about..."

"It's alright," the officer says. "Many victims of domestic violence experience this reaction when discussing their abusers." She pauses. "Is that what you experienced in the past with Han Sanghoon, Mr. Kim? Domestic violence?"

A pained nose comes from the back of Jin's throat, and Jimin can’t stop himself from reaching for Jin's hand. It's clenched and clammy but he pushes his fingers through to clasp around Jin's palm, tightly.

It's a full minute before Jin can gather himself enough to whisper, "Yes."

Jimin's breath catches at the confirmation of what he'd suspected. The word hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable.

"Perhaps we could try a different approach," Officer Shin suggests. "I'll ask specific questions that you can answer with short responses. Would that be easier?"

Jin nods.

"How long were you and Mr. Han together?"

"Two years," Jin answers, his voice barely audible.

"And when did you obtain the restraining order?"

"Three years ago. Right before I graduated and moved here."

The officer makes a note, then continues. "Was last night the first time Mr. Han has violated the restraining order?"

Jin hesitates, then shakes his head. "No. He called me a few times from different numbers. And I... I think I saw him in town a couple of weeks ago walking down the same street nearby, but I couldn't be sure."

"Did you report these incidents?"

Jin's shoulders hunch inward. "No. I thought... I hoped I was wrong about seeing him. And the calls... I hung up on the first one and didn't answer the rest."

"I understand," Officer Shin says, and there's no judgment in her voice. "Now, about last night—was Mr. Han physically violent toward you before Mr. Park arrived?"

Jin's other hand moves unconsciously to his throat, fingers ghosting over the bruises. "Yes. He... he grabbed me, pushed me against the wall. He hit me when I..." Jin's voice cracks. "When I spit in his face."

Pride flares in Jimin's chest at Jin's small act of defiance.

"And was this similar to the behavior that led to the original restraining order?"

Jin's eyes are shining and filled with shame. "Yes," he manages. "But it was worse, toward the end. Before I left."

Officer Shin's expression remains professional, but Jimin catches the flash of sympathy in her eyes. "Mr. Kim, I know this is difficult, but I need to ask—did Mr. Han ever threaten your life during your relationship?"

The silence that follows is answer enough. Jin's hands are shaking in earnest now, and without thinking, Jimin narrows the distance between their chairs and reaches around his back to pull Jin close to his side. He pauses, thinking that maybe Jin doesn't want to be touched like this right now. But then he feels Jin lean into him ever so slightly and the warmth of him fills Jimin's chest with emotions he has to ignore. The tremors subside, and Jin's breathing evens out a bit.

"Yes," Jin finally says in a thin voice. "Back then… when I tried to leave. He said if I went to the police, he'd... he'd make sure I regretted it."

Officer Shin nods, making another note. "Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Kim. I know this is difficult. Just a few more questions, and then we'll move on to Mr. Park's statement."

She guides Jin through the rest of his account with careful questions, allowing him to answer at his own pace. Jin's voice grows steadier as he goes back over Sanghoon's violation of the restraining order, though his body remains tense against Jimin's side. There are a few times Jimin involuntarily reacts to the things Jin says, tightening his hold around Jin's waist or pulling him a few centimeters closer. Jin just squeezes his hand but never makes eye contact.

When it's Jimin's turn to speak, he recounts finding Jin pinned against the wall, the split-second decision to intervene, and the defensive moves he used to subdue Sanghoon. He's clinical, precise, leaving out the rage that had consumed him and the protective fury that still simmers beneath his skin.

"Mr. Park," Officer Shin says when she finishes, "your quick action likely prevented more serious harm." She looks at Jin. "You're lucky to have such a friend, Mr. Kim."

Jimin stiffens for a moment, waiting to see how Jin responds.

"I know," Jin breathes, eyes still trained on the floor. The small victory Jimin feels at the admission is hollow in the context of why Jin needed such a friend last night.

"Mr. Han will remain in custody pending a hearing, and we'll be adding this violation to his file." She closes her folder. "We may need additional statements later, and you'll most likely be called as witnesses, but for now, you're free to go."

As they stand to leave, she adds, "Off the record, Mr. Kim, and as a mother of a son close to your age, not as a police officer: you did very well." She looks toward Jimin with a small smile. "Take good care of him."

The feeling in his chest is too big, and he's afraid to let it out. So, he holds it in, and replies with a bow. "I will, Officer Shin. Thank you. You've been very kind."

Outside, the mid-morning sun feels jarring after the fluorescent gloom. Jin squints against the light, looking smaller somehow than Jimin has ever seen him.

"She's right. You did really well in there, hyung," Jimin says softly as they walk to the car.

Jin doesn't respond, just nods and climbs into the passenger seat. They're in the same car, less than two feet apart, but Jimin knows that Jin is an ocean away.

The apartment is too quiet.

Jin stands at the sink, skin pink and raw from the heat of the water, his hands moving over the same plate he’s been scrubbing for the last five minutes. The sponge circles the rim, the pattern, the grooves—over and over, something steady to train his focus on. If he just keeps moving, he can outrun the memories clawing at the back of his skull. Sanghoon’s voice, low and venomous. The police station’s fluorescent lights, buzzing like a hive of angry bees. The words that strangled him as he tried to answer the officer's questions. Jimin’s hands, once again, physically holding him together.

Gently, like Jin was something fragile. Like he might break.

His fingers tighten around the plate. It's too much. He shouldn’t have let Jimin see him like that, shouldn't have thrown himself through the first open window to escape his own mind. The shame burns him again, hot and sickening, twisting in his gut.

He scrubs harder, the ceramic clinking against the sink, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence. His chest is tight, his pulse hammering in his throat. If he can just get this stupid plate clean, he can stop thinking about the way Jimin had looked at him this morning, all soft concern and careful words, like he knew Jin.

Like he cared about Jin.

The plate slips.

Time slows as it falls, the world narrowing to the sharp crack of ceramic shattering, the shards scattering across the bottom of the sink like broken teeth. Jin’s breath stalls. His hands reach for the counter, gripping the edge so hard his knuckles ache, and for a heartbeat, he’s back in Seoul. Back in their apartment, Sanghoon’s fist slamming into the wall beside his head, the mirror above the sink cracking like a gunshot, the way his ex had laughed when Jin flinched.

“Jin-hyung?”

Jimin’s voice cuts through the memory, and Jin’s head snaps toward the sound, panting. Jimin stands in the kitchen doorway, his blonde hair damp at the temples from whatever exercise he'd been doing, his expression tight with worry. His eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, his full lips parted just slightly, and Jin’s chest aches because fuck, Jimin is beautiful. “Are you—? Did you cut yourself?”

Jimin’s voice is soft and careful and he’s looking at him like that again—like he’s fragile, like he’s something that needs to be fixed—and Jin snaps. A roar of white noise fills his head as he moves, crossing the kitchen in two long strides, his hands finding Jimin’s waist, pulling him sideways and then up against the wall. Jimin’s breath leaves him in a rush, his eyes widening, but he doesn’t push Jin away. Doesn’t stop him when he crowds into his space.

Doesn't stop him when Jin’s mouth crashes into his, sharp and needy. Jimin makes a startled sound, but then his hands are there, gripping Jin’s hips, pulling him closer, and the way he gives in so easily sends electricity through Jin’s veins. He’s never felt like this—like he wants to crawl inside Jimin's skin and live there.

His mouth is hot and wet, his body pliant under Jin’s hands, and for the first time since last night, Jin feels something other than fear and worry. Jimin’s fingers tighten around his waist, his breath coming in sharp little gasps as Jin kisses him like Jimin is the only thing keeping him alive.

After a few more seconds Jimin breaks the kiss with a gentle hand on Jin's chest. His lips are already swollen, his eyes dark and dazed, his pupils blown wide. “Hyung?” His voice is uncertain, and Jin hates that Jimin sounds worried and hesitant, even though his body is still stretching to close the distance between them.

And then Jimin’s hands slide up his chest, nails scraping lightly over his shirt, and Jin’s body reacts, his skin too hot, too tight. The siren-call of escape is too tempting to ignore.

“Need—” Jin’s voice cracks. He swallows, his throat dry. “I need you to let me.”

Jimin’s breath hitches. His fingers tighten on Jin’s shoulders, his gaze searching Jin’s face for a long, suspended moment. Then he nods, just once, his voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Jin's relief turns into another bruising kiss, lingering on the way Jimin's lips slide against his own, the taste of him mingling with their shared breaths.

Needing more, he pulls Jimin's head back by his hair so he can lean down to suck on the soft skin of his long, bared neck. Jimin's breathy moans spark like little flashes of lightning under his skin.

It’s still not enough, so he turns Jimin around, pressing him face-first against the wall. Jimin’s breath stutters as Jin’s palm flattens between his shoulder blades, holding him in place. Jin continues to mouth along his neck as his hands wander over Jimin's perfect lines and curves. He really does drive Jin insane. The sensual dip of his back, arching from where his chest is pressed against the wall, as it curves down into Jimin's perfect, mouth-watering ass. He squeezes a handful just to hear Jimin gasp.

"Hyung?" And all Jin wants is for him to say it like a prayer, begging for him.

He grips Jimin's chin to pull it sideways so he can capture Jimin's mouth in a deep kiss as his hand slides forward and underneath his waistband, down, down until he feels... He's already hard and getting harder as Jin strokes him lightly. Jimin shivers and a small moan vibrates between their lips.

Jin pulls back to put his lips next to Jimin's ear. "Can hyung eat you out?"

Jimin's moan is pure sin.

"Fuck yes," he pants.

Jin's cock pulses and he presses his hips into Jimin's ass for a little friction and wonders what it would feel like to push inside.

Instead, he drops to his knees.

The tile is cold but he barely registers it. His hands slide down the back of Jimin’s sweatpants, pushing the fabric down his thighs, baring him to the waist. Jimin’s breath starts coming faster, the anticipation making him shake and flex his muscles involuntarily. Jin presses a kiss to the dip of Jimin’s spine, then lower, his tongue dragging over the swell of one cheek. Jimin’s breath hitches, his body tensing, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop Jin when he parts him with his thumbs, when he leans in and presses his mouth to Jimin’s hole, his tongue flat and wet and demanding. He doesn't plan to go slowly, because he doesn't want to and he knows Jimin can take it.

Jimin’s entire body jerks, a broken sound tearing from his throat. “Hyu—fuck—”

Jin doesn’t let up. He licks him open, hard and thorough, his tongue circling the tight ring of muscle before pressing inside, again and again, reaching deeper each time. Jimin’s legs shake, his fingers scrabbling at the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pushes his ass back chasing Jin's tongue in between thrusts. Jin’s cock is hard, aching, but he ignores it, focusing on working Jimin open until he's a trembling, panting, leaking mess.

Jin pulls back just enough to look around then stretches sideways to reach for the olive oil on the counter. He pours a generous amount over his fingers breathing in the rich and familiar scent. As soon as his fingers are coated he presses one against Jimin’s hole, massaging. “Breathe, Jimin-ah,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the small of Jimin’s back. “Just breathe.”

Jimin’s breath hitches, his body clenching tight, but Jin is impatient. He circles him, teasing, his other hand holding him steady. Jimin exhales shakily, his body relaxing fractionally, and Jin presses inside.

Jimin’s breath leaves him in a rush, his fingers curling against the wall, his body tensing around Jin’s finger. Jin doesn’t move, just waits, his thumb tracing soothing circles on Jimin’s hip, his mouth pressing kisses through the thin t-shirt on Jimin’s lower back. Jimin’s body softens incrementally, his breath evening out, and Jin presses in to curl his finger, searching. Jimin’s entire body jerks with a cry when he finds it.

Jin does it again, slower this time, his mouth moving to the back of Jimin’s thigh, his teeth grazing lightly over the sensitive skin. Jimin’s legs are shaking, his breath coming in sharp, needy pants as Jin moves his finger in and out, finding a steady rhythm.

When he adds a second finger, stretching him carefully, his other hand slides up Jimin’s shirt to grip the back of his neck as his fingers tangle in his hair, holding him in place as he works him open. Jimin’s moans are raw, his body trembling as he throws his head back, his fingernails leaving thin half-moon indentations in the wall.

Jin’s cock is throbbing but he doesn’t touch himself. Not yet. He needs to hear Jimin, needs to hear him and know that it’s him making Jimin sound like that. The knowledge combined with the desperate, aching cries coming from Jimin mix into a heady, intoxicating feeling that drips from his throat down into his stomach, turning molten once it reaches his core.

When he adds a third finger he picks up speed, pumping in and out and grazing over Jimin's spot with every stroke.

"Hyung, please—" Jimin pants and moans, back arching even more and mouth open. He's a vision and even Jin's deepest fantasies couldn't have prepared him for the reality of having Jimin like this, caught in the ecstasy of the moment, moaning hyung and chasing Jin's fingers to fuck himself with, each graceful, seductive curve of his body on display. Just for him.

Jimin’s body clenches tight around his fingers, his hips rolling back, seeking more. Jin gives it to him, curling his fingers just right, his thumb pressing against the sensitive skin behind Jimin’s balls.

"Oh my god, hyung—there!" Jimin's cry echoes through the kitchen. "Don't stop, please, don't—" But he can't finish his sentence as Jin slides his hand down from Jimin's neck and around his hips to fist his cock, spreading pre-come along the length to cushion the slide.

He works Jimin towards his orgasm with two hands and intense focus, and Jimin's body shakes and twitches in response. He's stopped moaning, stopped breathing, his brows pinched and his mouth open in a silent scream.

"Hyung," Jimin squeezes out. "Hyung, I'm gonna—"

And then he chokes in a stuttering breath, his body tensing then releasing with a loud moan as his orgasm crashes through him, come spilling over Jin's hand and splashing onto the wall.

Jimin’s thighs shake with the force of it but Jin doesn’t stop. He keeps his fingers moving slowly, thoroughly inside Jimin, while his other hand works him through the aftershocks, unable to look away as pleasure washes over Jimin's face.

When Jimin is twitching from overstimulation Jin slides his fingers out, stands up and unbuttons his pants in one barely-controlled motion.

Jin is aching, desperate, and he frees himself with a shuddering exhale. He doesn't need any more lube as he strokes himself with rough, desperate movements. His free hand finds its way back to Jimin's waist, lifting his shirt to expose the taught curve of his lower back. He can't stop the groan that works its way up and out of his throat as he aims himself at Jimin's back, intending to find his release.

Jimin says something but he can't make it out through the blood pounding in his ears. Then suddenly Jimin is reaching behind him to take Jin's cock in his hand and push it between his thighs, still slick with oil and come.

"Fuck my thighs, hyung," Jimin croaks. His body is still shaking, but Jin feels him clench his legs together as his hands move to brace himself on the wall.

Jin thinks he blacks out at the first drag of his cock between Jimin's smooth, muscled thighs. The slide, the heat, the sounds it pulls out of Jimin as he drags along the underside of his still sensitive balls.

"Jimin," Jin groans, abandoning propriety as he pushes back through. He can't breathe, can barely feel his hands or register that he has sensations outside of the feel of his cock thrusting between Jimin's thighs.

"You're so hard, hyung," Jimin groans and pushes his ass back even further, increasing the angle and tightness between his legs.

Jin can't hold back after that. He wraps an arm around Jimin's stomach, places the other hand on the wall next to Jimin's, and pulls them together as he loses himself in the pressure and the tight ache building in the lowest part of his stomach. It’s a race towards a cliff Jin intends to fling himself off.

It takes seconds, but feels like an eternity when Jin’s orgasm finally rips through him, stealing his breath, his come landing in hot, messy streaks across the wall and in between Jimin's legs. Jin's hips stutter through the lingering aftershocks before he plasters himself to Jimin’s back, both of their chests heaving.

Silence hangs in between their ragged breaths as Jin continues to hold Jimin, who continues to hold most of their combined weight up with his hands against the wall. When Jimin's arms start to shake from the effort, Jin pushes himself off of Jimin, legs wobbly.

His body still hums with the aftermath, but the guilt is already creeping back in, sharp and poisonous. He grabs a dish towel, dampens it under the faucet, and steps toward Jimin, who’s still leaning against the wall, head turned to watch him with dark eyes that hold words Jin can’t acknowledge.

Jin wipes him down with careful, detached movements, cleaning the come and oil from his thighs and in between, the sweat from his neck. His hand stills as it lays over small fingerprint-sized bruises on his right hip.

Jimin finally turns around, his hand gripping Jin's wrist, lightly.

“Hyung, let me—” Jimin says, reaching for the wet towel.

But Jin doesn't. Instead he pulls away.

In a flash of anger he suddenly can't stand himself. Can't stand the way he feels inside of his skin. Can't stand how much he wants to sink into Jimin's embrace and let him hold him until he falls into a blissful, dreamless sleep. Can't stand the way his mind is berating him for using Jimin, yet again.

As he softens, the afterglow has already faded and he absolutely cannot accept the way Jimin’s looking at him right now, eyes soft and full of understanding.

He doesn't deserve it. Any of it.

He turns on his heel, leaving Jimin standing there, chest threatening to implode as he runs from the scene of his shame.

After the bathroom door locks with a click, Jin leans against it, his eyes burning, his chest tight. He feels his mind slipping away from him as tears start to leave their tracks down his cheeks. He can't think, he only feels and it's overwhelming, almost painful as the emotions expand and stretch his chest open until he feels like he's going to split apart.

The shower runs hot, steam filling the small space, but it’s not enough to wash away the taste of Jimin’s mouth, the memory of his sounds, the way he’d let Jin use him like that. The images flashing through his mind should turn him on, but instead they make him sick.

He scrubs at his skin until it’s red and stinging, but the guilt doesn’t rinse off. It settles deeper, a weight in his stomach, a knot in his throat.

He doesn’t know how to face Jimin after this.

Doesn’t know how to explain that he’s not strong, not fixed, not whole—that he is and might always be the same terrified, desperate mess he was last night. That he took something from Jimin he didn’t deserve.

The water runs cold before he forces himself to turn it off.

---

Jimin feels the echo of the bathroom door lock clicking into place bounce around inside his head. It's ping-ponging between all the confusion and arousal and aching and not knowing what the fuck to do.

One second his body was vibrating with the feeling of Jin pressed up against his back as he came in between his thighs, the next he's spiraling into the fear that he's done something wrong. That maybe that wasn't what Jin needed, and he should've stopped it or made Jin talk about it instead of fuck his way around it.

In the face of his overwhelming doubt, his rational mind decides he should at least clean up. Then, maybe he should give Jin space and figure out his own emotional turmoil.

Jimin presses his palms against the counter until his fingers hurt, grounding himself in the physical reality of the cool marble. He shakes his head to clear it then pulls his underwear and sweats back up and gets to work.

An hour later, kitchen cleaned, showered and dressed in sleep clothes, Jimin hovers outside Jin's bedroom door. His stomach is lead, and his feet keep pointing him away from Jin and towards his own room. He keeps telling himself that hyung needs space, and he's probably exhausted.

Jin's face as he turned to march out of the kitchen flashes through his mind. It was a heart-wrenching mix of guilt, shame, and disgust and Jimin knows it was all pointed at himself. He knows that Jin is lying there hating himself for what happened. And he probably thinks Jimin feels the same way, that he regrets what happened.

Fuck this, he thinks. Jin doesn't get to hide. They both did this together.

He knocks once, twice.

"Jin-hyung? Can I come in?"

No answer. Just the faint rustle of sheets from inside.

Jimin turns the knob before he can second-guess himself. The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of Jin's phone charging on the nightstand. Jin lies curled on his side, facing the wall, the blankets pulled up to his shoulders like armor.

"Hyung," he says softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and Jin flinches. "We should talk."

Jin's voice comes muffled through a pillow. "Do we have to?"

"Yes." Jimin keeps his tone firm but gentle.

"I'm tired, Jimin-ah." Jin's voice is small and strained. "Can we do this tomorrow?"

Jimin exhales through his nose, studying the tense line of Jin's shoulders. "Nope."

A beat. Then Jin rolls onto his back with painful slowness, his expression carefully blank. His eyes are red-rimmed, his lower lip bitten raw. Jimin's fingers twitch with the urge to reach out, but he keeps his hands folded in his lap.

"You're being stubborn," Jin mutters.

"You're being stubborn," Jimin counters. "I just want to talk."

Jin stares at the ceiling, his throat working. "What's there to talk about? If you want an apology—"

"For what, hyung?" Jimin interrupts, leaning forward slightly. "For touching me? For letting me touch you back? I don't need an apology because I was right there with you."

Jin's hands clutch at the blanket. "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me." Jimin is trying to keep his voice steady. Why can't Jin understand? He needs him to know he didn't do anything wrong. He needs them to be ok. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like we both wanted the same thing. So if I'm wrong about that, then tell me. But don't push me away. Fuck that."

Jin's breath hitches. "It wasn't about want," he says quietly. "It was about... not feeling like me. Not feeling like the person he—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "I just used you to feel something else. Twice. Like you were just here to be my own personal, questionably-willing, emotional fuck-therapist. "

Jimin studies him for a long moment, watching the way Jin's fingers dig into the fabric of his blanket. Then he reaches out, brushing his knuckles lightly against Jin's wrist and planting his hand next to Jin's on the bed. His body softens towards Jin slightly.

"Hyung, you don't need to apologize for needing something. Or for taking it when I gave you permission."

Jin's hands clutch at the blanket. "That makes it worse. I shouldn't have dragged you into my... whatever that was."

"Your coping mechanism?" Jimin supplies. He might as well go for it. "Your really hot, really effective coping mechanism?"

Jin side-eyes him, then groans, covering his face with his hands. "You're not helping."

"Hyung," he says softly and reaches out to gently pull his hands away from his face. "I liked being used by you. I liked being the thing that made you feel good instead of... whatever else you were feeling."

"Sounds like we're both pretty fucked up, then."

Jimin barks out a laugh. He can't really argue with that. Maybe he won't convince Jin of anything tonight. Maybe that's not what he needs.

Jin turns his head a tiny bit in Jimin's direction. He takes that as a cue to keep going. "It was intense, and messy, and probably not the healthiest choice either of us could've made. But it happened. So now we either pretend it didn't—which I'm pretty sure you'd be terrible at—or we acknowledge it and move forward."

Jin chews on his lip. "Move forward how?"

"By not making it weird." Jimin shrugs. "We're adults. We had sex. It's not the end of the world."

"It's not that simple and you know it."

"Then make it simple." Jimin holds his gaze. "Because the alternative is us tiptoeing around each other for the foreseeable future, and I'd rather not live like that."

Jin studies him for a long moment. Then he sits up slowly, pulling the blanket around his shoulders like a shield. "You make it sound so easy."

"I don't think it will be." Jimin's voice softens. "But we can try it."

Another silence stretches between them. Jimin can practically see the gears turning in Jin's head.

"Or I can move out and go back to Tae's place," Jimin says with a shrug.

"No!" Jin jerks forward slightly like he's going to physically stop Jimin from leaving.

He lowers his hands to spread the covers smooth around him, clearing his throat. "I mean, you don't want to do that. I heard Yoongi telling Namjoon-ie he and Taehyung-ie had marathon sex on the couch the weekend after you moved out."

The joke catches him by surprise, but then he questions if it really is a joke—he'd believe almost anything about those two freaks' sex life. He just chuckles and pushes Jin's shoulder lightly in an attempt to break the barrier Jin's constructed that feels like a physical wall.

"Speaking of people with exceptionally big mouths, not a word of this to Taehyung-ie," Jin points a finger at Jimin, eyebrows drawn down in seriousness. "I mean it, Jimin-ah. State-secret, top-level clearance, the world will literally end in a nuclear holocaust kind of lockdown." His voice is coming back a little stronger, a small brightness entering his eyes as he ramps up. "If I even hear a single sentence with the words Jimin-ie, Jin-hyung, and—"

"Okay, okay." Jimin holds up his hands in mock surrender. "It stays between us." He pauses. “And the couch, and the rug, and the wall in the kitchen.”

Jin throws a pillow at him. Jimin catches it with a laugh, but there's something beginning to tighten in his chest now, something he doesn't want to examine too closely.

"Feel better?" he asks, standing up.

Jin considers this. "Marginally less like crawling out of my skin.” He breathes in and lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t deserve your friendship right now, but I’d be an idiot to turn it down." His eyes are so uncertain but steady and intense in a way Jimin hasn’t seen before. “Thank you, Jimin-ah. For everything.”

Jimin swallows, then nods. "Anytime, hyung.” And suddenly he’s the one that needs to break the tension with a joke. “Though I'd prefer if next time we just watch a movie after kicking your ex's ass. Like normal people."

A soft chuckle follows him out as he shuts the door behind him. Jimin leans against it for a moment, his heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with exertion. The apartment feels different now, the air charged with something he still can't name.

His mind races with the things they didn't say. And somewhere deep in his chest, that tightness winds closer and starts to feel warm—starts to feel suspiciously like wanting more of this complicated, messy thing between them.

Jimin pushes off from the door with more force than necessary. He needs to sleep. Or run ten miles. Or scream into a pillow until his brain releases him from the endless loop of his hyung in various stages of ecstasy.

Some traitorous part of him wishes they could do it all again but slower this time, with less panic and more touching, with time to explore instead of just surviving.

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, grabbing ahold of the one image that doesn't make him feel like a terrible, horny pervert: Jin's lips curving into a small smile as he tried not to laugh, while his eyes bloomed with the beginnings of his usual sparkle. Jimin's pretty sure he knows how to keep that sparkle there, now, but at what cost to himself? He feels selfish at the thought, and even though he hasn't worried about his competition in a hot minute, the anxiety didn't disappear. It's just been drowned out by all the fear and anger and mind-blowing orgasms he's experienced in the last twenty-four hours.

He hopes the exhaustion he feels in his bones will keep the anxiety at bay long enough for him to sleep, but he doesn't doubt for a second that it will be back in the morning, bigger and hungrier than ever.

Chapter Text

"Here I am. In my kitchen. My work kitchen. Just me. No one else…" Jin stands inside the empty café kitchen, breathing deeply through his nose to calm the spike of anxiety fizzing through his body.

It's been two days since Sanghoon shattered his carefully constructed sense of security, and Jin has spent most of that time holed up in his apartment, oscillating between mental spirals, long periods of avoidance distraction, and moments of forced normalcy with Jimin. He'd squeezed in a session with his therapist, at Jimin's nag—er—encouragement, which had been equal parts helpful and mortifying. Admitting to someone he's paying to analyze his mental health that he fucked his roommate not once but twice as a convenient coping mechanism really did wonders for his ego.

And then came the hovering. Despite Jimin's many attempts to completely rearrange his practice schedule to keep Jin company, Jin had finally convinced him that he could be safely left alone and that at no point would he consider walking into traffic as a good solution to turning his brain off. The last part was said as a joke, but Jimin has, annoyingly, learned how to tune out Jin's darkening sense of humor.

So, early this morning Jimin had reluctantly slipped out the door to restart his routine. His balanced, reasonable, regular calorie-consuming routine that Jin had made him swear to. If Jin has to lean into this new wholesome chapter of his life where he doesn’t get to fuck away his problems, he’s taking Jimin down with him.

He should have been back at work yesterday, but he couldn't bring himself to face his employees, to explain the bruises on his face or the marks around his throat that makeup can only partially conceal.

He flips on the lights, the space coming to life under the warm glow. For a moment, he just stands there, letting the quiet normalcy of it wash over him as his gaze drifts. His eyes consistently skip over the spot next to the cooler where he'd been pinned against the wall. Nothing happened here, he tells himself.

The mantra doesn't quite stick, but it's enough to get him moving toward the pantry. He has things to bake, coffee to brew, a business to run. The routine will help.

His fingers are sunk into a tray of focaccia when his assistant manager arrives, her cheerful "Good morning!" cutting through the kitchen. Jin plasters on his best smile before turning to face her.

"Seokjin-nim," she says, her smile faltering and concern immediately creasing her brow. "What happened to you?"

Jin touches the tip of his tongue to his lip self-consciously, feeling the tender spot where Sanghoon's ring had caught his skin. "Would you believe me if I said I walked into a door?"

She gives him a look that clearly says she doesn't.

"Fine," Jin sighs, turning back to his dough. "I had a disagreement with an old... acquaintance. Don't worry, he's definitely in worse shape. It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing," she says softly, but doesn't push further. Instead, she ties her apron and starts the morning prep beside him, her movements careful and deliberate, as if she's afraid sudden motions might startle him.

It's exactly the kind of treatment he was dreading. Instinctively, he reaches for a joke about his battered face but there's nothing there.

It's gonna be a long day, he thinks to himself.

By the time lunch rolls around, Jin has perfected his performance of normalcy. His humor clocks back in and he jokes with the regulars, flirts harmlessly with the elderly women who come in for their afternoon tea, and pretends not to notice the curious glances at his bruised face. He's in the middle of bullshitting his way through the difference between their house blend and single-origin roasts to an innocent and unsuspecting old man when the bell above the door jingles and Jeongguk walks in.

His eyes scan the café until they land on Jin. They light up as his face stretches into a wide smile that freezes the moment he gets close enough to really see Jin's face.

"Hyung!" Jeongguk's voice is piercing from across the room, eyes widening in horror. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Jin winces at the volume, mouthing so sorry to the scandalized old man. "Inside voice, Jeongguk-ah," he shouts to the side, turning back to finish the coffee order.

But Jeongguk isn't deterred. He walks over to hover at the counter, fidgeting anxiously as Jin hands off the coffee with his brightest customer service smile. The moment the little confused man walks away, Jin turns to Jeongguk with his hands on his hips.

"This is a family establishment."

Jeongguk's face instantly flushes. "Sorry, hyung. It just came out."

"Well make it stay in next time."

"Ok," Jeongguk says demurely—then immediately pivots from his repentance. "But seriously, hyung, your face—were you in a fight? Did someone mug you? Should we call the police? Do you need to go to the hospital? Does it hurt? Have you taken anything for the pain? Did you put ice on it? My dad always says you should—"

"Jeongguk-ah," Jin interrupts. "I'm fine. Just a little misunderstanding. Nothing to worry about."

Jeongguk's brows furrow, clearly not buying it. "A misunderstanding with someone's fist, hyung?"

Jin turns away, busying himself with wiping down the already-clean counter. "Want the usual?"

"Hyung," Jeongguk's voice drops lower, more serious than Jin has ever heard it. "You know you can tell me if something's wrong, right? I may be the youngest, but I'm not a kid."

When Jin looks up at Jeongguk he is surprised to find that he doesn't want to hide anything from him. For a moment, he considers spilling the whole story. But the café is starting to fill with the mid-lunch rush.

"I know, Guk-ah," Jin says softly. "Just… not right now. Later?"

Jeongguk looks like he wants to argue, but after a moment, he nods reluctantly. "Fine. But I'm staying right here until the lunch rush ends."

"Don't you have class?"

"Canceled."

Jin tries to look reproachfully at Jeongguk, but he is met with a furrowed brow and decides arguing with a 22-year-old is not where he will be finding joy in his day.

Turns out that having Jeongguk's steady presence in the café is oddly comforting, even if he keeps shooting him worried glances every few minutes. Jin notices him typing furiously on his phone when he thinks Jin isn't looking, but he's too tired to call him out on it.

It's on a trip to the dry storage room when he catches a glimpse of Jeongguk's screen—a group chat with what looks like a dozen exclamation points and the words "EMERGENCY FAMILY MEETING" visible before Jeongguk quickly locks his phone.

Great. The last thing he needs is everyone panicking over him.

He absolutely ignores the pang in his chest at the word 'family'.

As the afternoon wears on, Jin finds himself settling back into the rhythm of the café. By the time the last rays of the sun are filtering through the café, he's almost convinced himself that things might actually be okay.

Then Namjoon walks in, guitar case in hand, and Jin changes his mind.

"Oh, hey hyung," Namjoon waves in tiny and tries then fails to catch his bag from slipping off his shoulder.

"Namjoon-ah," Jin replies as he reaches forward to take Namjoon's bag, a secretly fond smile tugging at his lips.

"Thanks, hyung." Namjoon's cheeks flush.

They stare at each other for several seconds.

"It's not Friday," Jin says, nodding towards the guitar.

Namjoon shifts, adjusting his grip on the guitar case. "Oh, yeah, uh, actually, I was thinking I could host an impromptu session tonight if you're up for it."

Jin narrows his eyes, suspicion blooming. "Impromptu?"

"Yeah, you know, spontaneous. Unplanned." Namjoon's ears are turning red, a tell-tale sign he's lying. "I've been working on some new material and thought it would be nice to try it out here… at your café… amongst the people."

"Uh-huh." Jin crosses his arms. "I'm sure this has nothing to do with a certain big-mouthed dongsaeng?"

Namjoon's guilty expression confirms everything.

Jin sighs, shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm fine, Joon-ah. Really."

"Not according to your face," Namjoon replies gently. "Look, I'm not here to interrogate you. Just thought maybe having friends around might be nice tonight."

The sincerity in Namjoon's voice makes it hard for Jin to maintain his annoyance.

"Fine," he relents. "But I'm not talking about..." he gestures to his face, "this."

Namjoon smiles, relief evident. "Well, that'll be a first."

"Yah! Where is your respect? I'm your elder and I let you play your 'experimental' music in my café!"

Namjoon just chuckles, dimples popping as he ducks his head.

"You're on thin ice, Namjoon-ah."

Namjoon lifts his hands in surrender as he backs towards the stage, the guitar in his right hand knocking into a two-top where a pair of women scramble to steady their sloshing cups.

Namjoon reaches out to right the table, only to ram his guitar case into it a second time. "Shit! Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to—shit, no I'm so sorry…"

Jin thinks it's very lucky that Namjoon is handsome.

"I've got it, Namjoon-ah," Jin says as he arrives at the table with a towel. "And I'll have fresh coffee brought to you, ladies. Apologies for… this," he gestures at Namjoon then bows in apology. He turns toward the kitchen and shakes his head at Namjoon's exaggerated and silent I'm so sorry.

A short while later the café has been rearranged for the impromptu open mic. Namjoon is setting up the sound system, and Jeongguk is arranging chairs in a semi-circle.

Jin is pulling a tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven when his phone buzzes with a text.

tiny dancer: heard there's an emergency open mic tonight

Jin shakes his head, unable to suppress a small smile.

jin: more like an emergency intervention. they're about as subtle as a brick wall

tiny dancer: they care about you

jin: i know it's annoying

tiny dancer: want me to come? i can skip evening practice

Jin pauses, thumb hovering over the screen. Part of him wants to say no, to spare Jimin from the inevitable questions and concerned looks. But a larger part—the part that's still reaching for the warmth and safety he felt with Jimin like a flower to the sun—wants him there.

jin: only if you want to, don't skip practice on my account

tiny dancer: i'll be there after i finish so save me a double shot of espresso

jin: absolutely not. that is not on the approved night-time beverage list

tiny dancer: ugggggggh hyung i'm dying

jin: not sleeping will kill you faster

tiny dancer: 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄

Jin tucks his phone away, ignoring the tingly warmth spreading through his chest.

By six, the café is filled with a few unfamiliar faces, plus a handful of regulars who've wandered in, drawn by the music and the smell of fresh pastries. Hoseok arrives with a box of cold beer, setting it on the counter with a wink. Yoongi slouches in shortly after, hands in his pockets, eyes immediately finding Jin's bruised face but saying nothing. Taehyung bursts in last, silver hair catching the light as he bounces over to where Jin is arranging cinnamon rolls on a tray.

"Hyung!" Taehyung exclaims, throwing an arm around Jin's shoulders. "Surprise! We all just happened to be free tonight. Isn't that great!"

"Yes, what a remarkable coincidence. I'm so lucky," Jin deadpans.

Taehyung at least has the decency to drop the act immediately. "Jeongguk-ie was worried. And when Jeongguk-ie worries, we all worry. We don't get a choice." His expression softens as he takes in Jin's face. "Though I can see why he was concerned. You look like shit, hyung."

"Thank you for that assessment," Jin says dryly. "Your bedside manner is impeccable."

Taehyung grins, unfazed. "Where's Jimin-ie? I thought for sure he'd be hovering over you like a protective little shiba."

Jin busies himself with rearranging the already perfectly arranged pastries. "He's at practice. Said he might stop by later."

"Hmm," Taehyung hums, a note of suspicion in his voice that makes Jin glance up sharply, quirking an eyebrow.

"Oh nothing, nothing," Taehyung says airily.

Before Jin can respond, Namjoon calls for everyone's attention. Jin takes the opportunity to escape Taehyung's omniscient gaze, moving to stand behind the counter where he can observe without being the center of attention.

As Namjoon's soothing voice fills the café, Jin finds his tension easing fractionally. Hoseok distributes beers, and even Yoongi seems to relax, his usual stoic expression softening as he watches Namjoon perform.

It's while Namjoon is finishing his last song that the door opens, and Jin's heart does a complicated little flip in his chest as Jimin walks in. He's clearly come straight from practice—hair damp with sweat, dance bag slung over his shoulder, cheeks flushed. Their eyes meet across the room, and Jimin offers a small, private smile that makes Jin's stomach tighten.

As he reaches the counter, he steps around it and slides up next to Jin, dropping his bag at his feet. "Told you I'd make it," he says softly, bumping Jin's hip with his own. "Did you save me anything?"

Jin wordlessly slides a plated cinnamon roll across the counter, watching as Jimin's eyes light up. "Last one," he says. "I had to fight off Jeongguk-ie with a spatula."

Jimin chuckles. "My hero," he teases, taking a bite and closing his eyes in apparent bliss.

Jin's eyes are stuck on Jimin's mouth and the bit of frosting smudged over his bottom lip. He imagines licking it off, then looks around as if people can hear his thoughts, then mentally pinches himself for being an idiot.

Before Jin has a chance to make an actual idiot out of himself, Taehyung materializes beside them, slinging an arm around Jimin's shoulders. "I was starting to think you'd abandoned us for your dance floor mistress."

Jimin rolls his eyes. "She's busy tonight," he says around a mouthful of cinnamon dough and frosting.

"Speaking of beautiful faces," Taehyung says, except they had not, in fact, been speaking of beautiful faces. His gaze slides to Jin's bruised face. "Care to explain what happened to our Jin-hyung?"

Jimin tenses almost imperceptibly, his eyes flicking to Jin's in silent question. Jin realizes that Jimin is waiting for his cue, ready to follow whatever narrative Jin wants to present.

He instinctively decides that Jimin shouldn't have to lie for him. Shouldn't have to carry the weight of Jin's secrets along with his own burdens.

"Actually," Jin says, clearing his throat.

Like Pavlovian's dog upon hearing a bell, four innocent faces appear and line up at the counter on either side of Taehyung like they've been waiting all night to do so.

"Oh, look at that! How convenient," Jin quips. "Since you're all here and clearly concerned, I might as well tell you what happened."

Jin takes a deep breath, steeling himself.

"My ex paid an unexpected visit to the café two nights ago," Jin begins, keeping his voice steady despite the way his heart hammers against his ribs. "We... didn't part on good terms in Seoul, and I have a restraining order against him."

Hoseok's eyes widen. "Hyung, that's serious."

"It got physical," Jin continues, gesturing to his face. "He was drunk, angry."

"Did you call the police?" Yoongi asks, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of anger.

"I couldn't, he—he was—he pinned me. I couldn't reach my phone." Jin says, staring at the ground.

"Hyung, how did you…" Jeongguk starts, worry etched across his face.

"Jimin." Jin looks up, straight into Jimin's waiting face. "Jimin arrived just in time and… kinda kicked the shit out of him."

Taehyung gasps and Hoseok lets out a shrill “WHAT?” that draws the eyes of a few nearby patrons.

"And then we called the police," Jimin finishes.

"Holy shit," Taehyung breathes. "You went all Bruce Lee on his ass?"

"It wasn't like that," Jimin protests. "He was hurting Jin-hyung. I just... reacted."

"He knocked him out cold," Jin adds, unable to keep the note of pride from his voice. "One kick. It was quite impressive."

The group erupts into a cacophony of reactions. Hoseok bombards Jimin with questions about his "secret ninja skills." Namjoon expresses concern over the legal implications. Taehyung begs for more juicy details, and Yoongi sits in thoughtful silence, his eyes moving between Jin and Jimin with an unreadable expression. Jeongguk looks like he's witnessing the plot of an action movie unfold in real time.

"Is he still in custody, hyung?" Namjoon asks, ever practical.

Jin nods. "For now. We gave statements at the police station. They're holding him pending a hearing."

"Good," Yoongi finally speaks up. "That asshole deserves prison."

Jin feels a weight lifting from his shoulders with each passing moment.

"Why didn't you tell us, hyung?" Jeongguk asks, hurt evident in his voice.

Jin sighs. "Well, Guk-ah, it's not exactly the easiest conversation to start. Hey, everyone, my abusive ex found me and tried to choke me in my own café doesn't really roll off the tongue."

"But we could have helped," Jeongguk insists. "You shouldn't have had to deal with this alone."

"He wasn't alone," Jimin says quietly. “I was there.”

Jin feels heat rise to his face as memories of exactly how Jimin was "there" for him flood his mind. From the way Jimin's cheeks flush, he's thinking of the same thing.

Taehyung's eyes narrow, darting between them with sudden interest. "Yes, you were," he says slowly. "In fact, you've been spending a lot of time at Jin-hyung's place lately, what with the living there and all."

"Taehyung," Jimin warns, but Taehyung just grins.

"I'm just pointing out that Jimin-ie's probably been very... supportive. Hasn't he, hyung?" Taehyung asks innocently.

Jin clears his throat, desperate to change the subject. "Anyway," he says loudly, "that's what happened. Mystery solved. Namjoon-ah, don't you have another song to play?"

Namjoon takes the hint and heads back to the stage. The rest reluctantly follow after Jin shoots death glares at them.

Jin busies himself behind the counter, aware of Jimin's presence beside him like a physical touch.

"You okay?" Jimin asks softly, leaning in so only Jin can hear.

Jin nods, not quite trusting his voice. He can't help the way his body reacts to Jimin's radiating warmth, drawn in like a moth to a flame. His shoulder presses against Jimin's and a tingle runs up his arm. He tries not to, but his body has a mind of its own as he turns his head to look into Jimin's beautiful, open face.

The warmth he finds there blooms through him and steals the air from his lungs. For a moment he imagines what it would be like to fall into Jimin's eyes and let go.

They stare for several seconds longer than is socially acceptable, Jin hardly daring to breathe, before the sound of Namjoon dropping his guitar on stage startles them both.

Across the room, Jin catches Taehyung shooting Jimin a pointed look, eyebrows raised in silent question. Jimin scrunches his face and shakes his head firmly.

Jin pretends not to see.

As the evening wears on, the mood gradually lightens. Jeongguk and Taehyung take over the mic with a rap cover that has everyone doubled over with laughter. Yoongi surprises them all by joining in, and the resulting karaoke performance pulls in Jimin, his sweet voice filling the café while Namjoon and Hoseok play hype-men in the corner.

It's later, during a lull in conversation as they all help Jin close down that Hoseok brings up the upcoming fall festival.

"Oh!" Taehyung declares. "That reminds me, hyung," he turns to Yoongi, "we're going to the festival this weekend. Soyoon-noona was talking shit about my ddakji winning streak last year so now I have to destroy her."

"You cheated last year," Jeongguk accuses. "I saw you wetting your tile when you thought no one was looking."

"Sounds about right," Yoongi interjects.

Taehyung gasps. "I do not cheat! It was hot. I was sweating."

"Is that what we're calling spit these days?" Yoongi drawls, earning a laugh from the group.

Jin finds himself relaxing as the conversation flows around him.

"You have a booth this year, right, Jin-hyung?" Hoseok asks while he wipes down a table.

"Well, of course. They need my face to draw in the crowds. I'm practically a local celebrity."

"Your ego certainly is," Jimin quips, and Jin's mouth opens in fake shock.

"Park Jimin! My ego is perfectly proportional to my many talents and exceptional beauty."

"Is that why it barely fits through the door?" Jimin counters, eyes sparkling with mischief.

The banter feels normal, comfortable, and Jin melts a little inside.

"Are you going to be making an appearance?" Namjoon asks Jimin.

Jimin's smile falters slightly. "I'm not sure."

"Of course you're coming," Jin huffs. "I put it on your new schedule." Now it's Taehyung and Yoongi looking between Jimin and Jin, twin gleams in their eyes. "Who else will help me carry all the free food I plan to charm out of the other vendors?"

"Is that all I'm good for? Manual labor?" Jimin asks, but there's a pleased flush on his cheeks.

"Well, you are conveniently compact," Jin teases. "Perfect for navigating crowded festivals."

Jimin rolls his eyes, but his smile remains.

After the last chair has been flipped onto a table and the last dirty rag thrown into the hamper, Taehyung is the last to leave, pulling Jimin into a tight hug and whispering something in his ear that makes Jimin's eyes widen before he shoves Taehyung away with a hissed "Shut up." Taehyung just laughs as he heads out the door.

And then it's just Jin and Jimin.

"You didn't have to tell them everything," Jimin says finally, breaking the silence.

Jin pauses, hand hovering over the light switches. "I know. But I wanted to." He turns to face Jimin. "I didn't want you to have to lie for me."

Jimin's expression softens. "I wouldn't have minded."

"I would have," Jin says simply.

Jimin studies him for a moment, then steps closer, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from Jin's forehead. The gentle touch sends a shiver down Jin's spine.

Jin leans into the touch before he can stop himself.

The look in Jimin's eyes says too many things that Jin can't face, so he locks in on one he can handle. Want. The realization that even after everything, Jimin still looks at Jin like he's a heartbeat away from kissing him stupid makes his stomach flip and his mouth go dry.

He should say something, or, better yet, do something. It wouldn't be that hard to lean forward a bit and press his lips to Jimin's. He's already remembering how they feel and if he keeps going he can start to imagine the soft sounds Jimin might make, the way he would melt into Jin, or maybe he'd take control and push Jin up against a wall and take what he wanted. The thought has his ears burning and his blood pulsing.

Then an odd look flashes through Jimin's eyes and the moment is spent.

"Come on, let's go to bed, I'm beat." Jimin takes his hand and pulls him towards the stairs, his tone light.

Friends, Jin thinks. Just friends.

"I hope you don't expect me to put out just because you sacrificed a night of dance practice," Jin jokes. He is a bit nervous to test this particular boundary, but he needs to know if they're back to normal.

The resulting belly laugh that punches out of Jimin relaxes Jin's shoulders and he goes so far as to put both of his hands on Jimin's ass to push him up the stairs.

"Hyung, I'm going as fast as I can," Jimin whines in between his giggles.

"I've seen your moves," Jin snaps back, "I know you can go faster."

---

The mid-morning autumn sun casts a golden glow over the festival grounds as Jin slaps a new stack of compostable coffee cups onto the drink station. The Seokré Blue stand is already drawing a steady stream of customers, and Jin feels a sense of pride at the small line forming.

His pastry chef, Jisoo, has just gone back to the café for their reserve stash of pain au chocolat, so he's currently serving customers by himself.

"One americano and a honey apple macaron," Jin says, sliding the order across the counter with his brightest smile. "Enjoy the festival."

From the corner of his eye, he spots a familiar blonde head weaving through the crowd and has to work hard to tame the insane thoughts that fly through his overactive brain.

Jimin appears, slightly breathless. His cheeks are pink and it takes every shred of Jin’s control not to reach out and pinch them.

"Sorry I'm late," Jimin huffs out. "Had to fill out some extra forms for the competition. Somehow the judging committee forgot to send them to me."

"Are you sure this is a legit competition?” Jin asks dryly, but his mood spikes with happiness as Jimin ties on an apron. "You know, you don't have to help today. I've got Jisoo, we'll be fine."

Jimin bumps his elbow against Jin's and nods in front of them, "You sure about that, hyung?" Jin's eyes widen a bit as he notices that the line has grown significantly in the span of his greeting to Jimin.

"Where did you all come from? I swear they just popped out of the hay bales,” he teases and the people in line chuckle back at him.

“Maybe you’re losing your powers of observation in your old age,” Jimin grins and ducks his head as Jin shouts in protest.

“I’m losing my tolerance for petite, mouthy dancers, is what I’m losing, Park Jimin.” There’s no venom behind his words, only barely controlled fondness.

"You should be nice to me. They only started swarming when I arrived. They're clearly here for me, hyung," Jimin says with a coy smirk.

Jin smirks back. Jimin wants to play today.

"Then you won't mind taking the front. Perfect. Have fun!" He turns around to put on a pair of gloves to begin food prep. "We only have three pain au chocolat, four dozen macarons, five dozen apple cider donuts, and twelve dozen cinnamon rolls left. Don't oversell!" He calls back.

"Hyung!" Jimin splutters, "I can't run the front by myself! I've never worked customer service before!"

"Excuse me, young man," a kindly-looking older lady calls Jimin. "I'm only here for a cup of coffee. Surely, you can manage that."

Jimin turns to her in surprise, caught off-guard. Jin barks out a laugh at the look on Jimin's face.

"Give the people what they want, Jimin-ah," he sing-songs over his shoulder.

He can feel Jimin's eyes boring into his back as he begins slicing sandwich toppings. He expects to hear Jimin's sweetest hyung-will-do-anything-for-me-because-I'm-adorable voice begging him to help, but it never comes. He stops mid-chop and looks up as he hears Jimin address the older woman.

"I'm sure I can manage, thank you for your patience, eomoeni."

Jin jerks around to see Jimin taking the woman's payment with a small bow. How he figured out the tablet so quickly befuddles him. As Jimin turns to begin her drink he lifts his eyes to meet Jin's and has the nerve to smirk.

Then, Jin watches as he wraps up a macaron the woman didn't order and most definitely did not pay for.

"For your patience," Jimin says sweetly as he hands her the small pastry bag. "It's on the house."

It's Jin's turn to splutter as he watches his blood, sweat, and tears in cookie form walk away for free.

Before the next customer approaches, Jimin turns around with a shit-eating grin on his face. Jin stares for several seconds, formulating what he wants to say, determined to play this game by his own rules. Jimin wants a reaction. Jin isn't going to give him one. But Jimin quirks his eyebrow in challenge, and his eyes do that intense sparkly thing that makes Jin's heart bounce around behind his ribs.

Unfortunately for Jimin, Jin is a pro at this game. He simply lets a small smile play on his lips before giving Jimin a smoldering wink he knows drives some people to their knees. His success is announced by the falter in Jimin's grin before his eyes harden and narrow. It looks a lot like the face tiny-angry-soccer-Jimin had made right before he'd mercilessly slide-tackled an opponent.

Jin swallows.

A slow clap sounds from the back of the booth and they both turn to find Taehyung and Yoongi staring, the source of the clap clearly Taehyung.

"I don't know what that was about, but I am highly aroused," Taehyung drawls with a self-satisfied smile. "Save something for the bedroom, you two. You know what they say about chemistry on-screen…"

"Taehyung-ah," Jimin shouts, face flushing, all traces of flirty intent wiped away. "What did I say about being inappropriate in public?"

"Me?!" Taehyung shouts back. "You're calling me inappropriate? I’m not the one eye-fucking a café owner in front of half the town."

"You're both inappropriate since there's a literal line of said towns-people waiting to order!" Jin yells to be heard as Jimin and Taehyung start to bicker.

Yoongi lets out an exhausted sigh then starts to drag Taehyung away by one arm. "Oh, look, a ddakji tournament," he says in the direction of what's clearly not a ddakji tournament. Taehyung and Jimin continue their yelling until Taehyung has disappeared behind the corner of a hay-ride trailer.

Jimin and Jin turn to glare at each other, their earlier innocent rivalry now stoked into something with heat and a magnetic pull. Jin feels a flush crawling up his neck as their locked eyes start boiling him from the inside out. The thing charging between them grows stronger, and Jin can feel featherlight echoes of Jimin's hands running down his body as his mind scrambles for control.

Jimin bites his bottom lip and the second Jin's eyes catch his sensuous mouth as it dips and curves between his teeth, he's taking a step forward with no knowledge of telling his body to move.

When he realizes what he's doing, he jolts himself back into his body so hard he jerks away from Jimin, who looks surprised and a tiny bit confused.

"Customers!" Jin says a little too loudly, then wheels around to put on a new pair of gloves.

Eventually, he hears Jimin take the next order. He shakes his head to clear it a little, willing his brain to focus on the task of slicing heirloom tomatoes for the fancy sandwiches he plans to make.

A few minutes later, and just in the nick of time, Jisoo comes back with fresh croissants and steps in to help Jimin at the front.

They fall into an easy rhythm for the rest of the morning, Jimin taking orders while Jisoo prepares drinks and hands out pastries. Jin continues to prep for lunch and does not think about Jimin. At all. Not even for a millisecond. His discipline is absolute. He hasn't even looked at Jimin for over an hour, which he considers a notable achievement.

"Is that— is that Park Jimin?" says a female voice. "Jimin-ah?"

"Soomin-noona?" Jin turns as Jimin walks around the counter. "Wow, it's been forever!"

Jin watches as Jimin greets her with a hug, something uncomfortable curling in his stomach as the woman's hand lingers on Jimin's arm.

"How have you been? Are you in town just for the festival?" Jimin asks her, genuine warmth in his smile.

"No, I've moved back!" She laughs with a bright smile like she just can't believe her luck running into one of the town's permanent residents. Jin smothers the urge to roll his eyes.

"Hey, that's amazing! Let's get lunch soon," Jimin continues, her hand still on his arm. He slides his hand down to take a hold of hers. The feeling in Jin’s gut sharpens.

"Of course! You look amazing," she gushes, running her eyes up and down Jimin’s body. The audacity. "Still dancing?"

"I actually have a big competition next week," Jimin nods. "What about you? Still teaching?"

"Art department at our old stomping grounds," she says, leaning closer. Her voice dips conspiratorially. "Remember those studio sessions we used to take for photography?"

Jin accidentally-on-purpose drops a metal tray, the clatter making them both jump.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all as he makes his way up to the counter. "We're actually quite busy. Did you want to order something?"

Soomin blinks, taken aback. "Oh, I—"

"Jin-hyung," Jimin interrupts, looking amused. "This is Kim Soomin. We went to high school and college together. She’s also Taehyung-ie’s cousin." Great, a family member.

"Congratulations," Jin says flatly. "Coffee, Kim Soomin?"

"Oh, um, yeah—uh, sure, coffee sounds good," she stammers out, looking back to Jimin as if he might have an opinion.

"Great, that'll be fifteen hundred won." He turns the screen toward her with very little flair, then looks to Jisoo to hand him a cup of coffee. She does so with questions like laser beams shooting out of her eyes.

When Jin turns around to hand the woman her coffee, he finds she has taken the opportunity to engage Jimin again, making him promise they will meet up for lunch soon with her lecherous hand re-attached to his arm.

If asked, Jin will always blame this moment on the fact that sometimes his double-jointed fingers act up. He absolutely did not mean to pour hot coffee all over her very pretty, very beige wool peacoat.

"Oh, no," he says, making no move to help. "I am so sorry, that cup just slipped right out of my hands."

Jimin rushes around the counter to grab a wet rag to help her clean up, throwing an irritated look his way. Soomin accepts the rag then waves him away with a small smile on her face as she blots her coat to soak up the worst of it.

"I'm fine, Jimin-ah," she reassures him, but Jimin is fumbling his words trying to apologize for Jin and promising her a new coffee.

Jin, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction, shouts one last so sorry in the woman's general direction as he returns to his workstation.

He can't hear very clearly but he thinks she chuckles and an I know when to take a hint echoes in his direction.

Moments later, Jimin is suddenly at his side, staring at his profile as Jin continues to wield his chef's knife with his eyes fixed on the cutting board.

"Subtle, hyung."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jin does not look up from his task. "Complete and total accident. Can't trust these things, ya know." He holds up a hand and wiggles his crooked fingers.

"Good thing you don't need steady hands in your line of work," Jimin says dryly, but there's a smile creeping in.

"That'd be awful."

"She was my first hookup, you know," Jimin says casually, leaning a hip against the work surface. This close, Jin can smell the warmth of Jimin's body, a woodsy, citrus scent. It's distracting, and he can't stop pulling in lungfuls like an absolute pervert.

"She seems nice," Jin says with effort.

"Before I figured out I prefer men."

"Lucky girl."

"And she figured out she prefers women."

Jin doesn't respond to that but his hands still.

"Just thought you should know," Jimin says as he rests his fingers on the counter beside Jin's hand. After a moment he turns back to head to the register.

"I didn't ask," Jin says quietly.

"No," Jimin agrees, a smile in his voice. "You didn't."

---

The hustle and bustle of booth tear-down hums around Jimin as he makes his way back to Jin’s setup. The final practice of the day had taken the wind from his sails, but thoughts of Jin had his feet moving in the direction of the fair instead of home.

As Jimin predicted, the sight of Jin carrying bins from the booth into the back of a van sets a tingling thrill through his blood.

Their earlier teasing that had ended in… well, Jimin doesn’t really know what that was, but he knows there’s more, if he’s willing to push a little farther.

"Need a hand?" Jimin asks as he sneaks up behind Jin.

Jin shouts and drops the box he’s holding.

“So clumsy, hyung. I hope there wasn’t anything fragile in there,” Jimin teases as he reaches down to pick it up.

“Open it,” Jin says as he levels an icy stare at him.

Jimin’s bravado stutters slightly at Jin’s reaction. Inside is a small, now broken plate of sandwiches and macarons wrapped in cellophane.

Jimin’s face falls at the destroyed plate.

“Those were for you. I saved them. And that was my favorite plate.” Jin’s voice sounds uncharacteristically small and sad.

“Hyung, I’m so sorry! I’ll—I’ll buy you another one, I promise.” Jimin sets the box down and kneels to investigate the pieces of ceramic. His earlier happiness turns to ash in his mouth at his stupid mistake. “Or I could fix this one! Look, it’s only broken in two.”

He holds the pieces up to show Jin, his eyes wide and sincere. That’s when he notices Jin’s shoulders shaking, and as soon as they make eye contact, Jin bursts into laughter.

Jimin sets the plate back into the box, and when he stands up, his eyes narrow at Jin, who is now draping himself over Jisoo as she walks up.

“Your face, Jimin-ah, you should have seen it,” Jin wheezes in between giggles.

“There’s something seriously wrong with you, oppa,” Jisoo accuses as she slips out from under Jin’s arm.

“I agree,” is Jimin's reply. “Here I am, giving you even more of my precious time and all you can do is tease me.”

“But, I saved you food.” Jin’s lingering smile turns into a pout and, goddamnit, Jimin’s heart skips. It’s such a surprising gesture that Jimin can’t respond with anything but a stupid, slack-jawed stare.

Jin’s eyes start to look uncertain, and he clears his throat self-consciously. “Aish, you must be exhausted Jimin-ah. Jisoo and I can finish up,” he says, turning to walk toward the van.

After kicking himself for his brain’s inability to process the level of baby-girl he just witnessed, he snaps out of his stupor.

"I'm never too tired to help my favorite landlord," Jimin quips, carefully threading his way between tent poles and piles of boxes after Jin. It's a lie, he's definitely too tired and could have easily gone back to the apartment and fused with his mattress. But he knows Jin must be tired as well. They’ll go faster with three.

As they work to finish packing up, Jimin notices Jin stealing glances his way when he thinks Jimin isn't looking. He wonders if Jin is also replaying their scene from earlier when it seemed like Jin was about to walk over and kiss him right there in the booth, in front of all those people. It had set Jimin's blood on fire.

But then Jin had jerked away from Jimin like he'd been slapped.

Had he taken it too far with Soomin? Maybe, but he hadn't cared in the moment. Watching Jin all but pick her up and throw her out of the booth had been worth it. For the rest of the afternoon, until he'd had to go back to the studio, Jimin felt Jin's eyes on him every time he turned around.

Jimin wants Jin, even more so now that he's had him twice. He's way past denial, and he's also been around Jin long enough now to know he feels the same way but doesn’t want to admit it.

Back at the café, they unload supplies through the side entrance. The kitchen is quiet and dim, illuminated only by the pendant light over the sink. Jimin stretches, feeling the pull in his shoulders after hours of practice.

He feels Jin's eyes on him, zeroing in on the flash of skin from his rucked up shirt. When Jimin turns to catch his eyes, Jin's ears turn a rosy pink and he quickly turns away to walk another box into the pantry. Without overthinking it, Jimin grabs a box and follows him.

He has no idea where the box goes but decides its home should be right above the shelf where Jin is placing his box. Instead of waiting for Jin to finish, he comes to the conclusion that he should put his box on the shelf at the same time.

The result is the left half of Jimin's body pressed up against Jin as he stretches above his head, box in his hands. He loses his balance for only a fraction of a second, but it's enough for Jin's hands to shoot out to steady him.

"Jimin-ah, what are you doing? Get your own shelf," Jin says with a half-hearted attempt to scold him. But the warm press of Jin's hands on his back has Jimin purring in satisfaction, a bit smug that he'd gotten what he wanted so quickly.

Jimin turns to face Jin causing his hands to move to Jimin's hips. The touch makes something bold and reckless take hold. "Soomin-ie and I used to develop film in the black room back in college. It's where we first started sleeping together." He keeps his voice low and soft, tracing his eyes over the perfect contours of Jin's face.

Jin doesn't say anything, but his eyes darken a shade. Piqued, but holding back. Jimin's too far down this path he's created to turn back now.

"No one's supposed to open the door while the film develops, you know. We found out we could take our time with each other. Explore." Jin's fingers tighten on his hips. "It was a very enlightening time in my life."

"Was that an attempted pun, Park Jimin?" Jin's lips twitch at the corners.

"A question for a question, hyung." Jimin sees the way to his desire so clearly.

"What if I don't want to answer?"

"Those are the rules hyung. One question, one answer. You've already used yours, so it's my turn."

"But you haven't even answered mine," Jin huffs a little as his brows draw together. "How is that fair?"

Jimin reaches out to wrap his hand around Jin's shirt collar. "I don't make the rules," he shrugs.

At any point Jin could let go, could pull away and break the bubble they've created.

With his other hand Jimin lightly grips Jin’s chin as he asks, “Were you jealous?”

Jin's breath stutters. “Of course not,” he supplies.

“Hm,” Jimin hums low in his throat. “I suppose that cup of coffee just jumped out of your hands.”

Jin swallows. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" Jimin raises an eyebrow, pressing closer. His heart hammers against his ribs, but he keeps his composure. "So you weren't glaring at her? Weren't trying to run her off with your little malfunctioning fingers trick?"

Jin's breath catches again as Jimin moves him back against the wall and plants his hands on either side of his head. The power shift between them is intoxicating—so different from before where Jin's desperation had driven everything forward.

"Maybe I was just protecting my investment," Jin says, aiming for nonchalance but Jimin hears the slight tremor in his voice. "Can't have you running off with some college fling when you still owe me rent."

Jimin chuckles, warm and genuine. "Trust me, hyung, I'm not going anywhere."

Before Jin can respond, Jimin leans forward and captures his lips in a kiss that's nothing like their previous desperate encounters. This time, he's deliberate, slow, almost teasing. Jin's hands tighten on Jimin's waist, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens.

When they break apart, panting, Jimin holds Jin’s gaze for a second before he speaks.

“Can I have you, hyung?”

---

Jin doesn't trust himself to speak, so he just nods, surrendering to the fire that’s been building in his veins all day.

Jimin’s hands start to pull at his shirt. “Off.”

It’s unbuttoned and flung to the floor before he can blink. Jimin’s eyes darken as they move over Jin’s chest, up his throat, coming to rest on his lips. The hunger bleeding through sends a shiver down Jin’s spine.

“You’re perfect, hyung,” Jimin purrs as he trails his hands up Jin’s chest, briefly brushing fingers over his already sensitive nipples. "Even more perfect when you were glaring daggers at Soomin-ie. I thought about kissing you all day."

"I wasn't—" Jin starts to protest, but his words dissolve into a gasp as Jimin's mouth finds his neck.

"You were," Jimin murmurs against his skin. "It was hot."

Jin's rapid breaths turns into a moan as Jimin's teeth graze his pulse point. "Fine. Maybe I was a little jealous."

"A little?" Jimin pulls back, eyebrows raised in mock disbelief.

"Don't push it," Jin warns, but there's no heat in his voice.

Jimin grins, then drops to his knees in one fluid motion that makes Jin's breath catch. "Or what?"

The sight of Jimin looking up at him from the floor, eyes gleaming with mischief, sends a jolt of pure want through Jin's body. He threads his fingers through Jimin's hair, tugging gently.

"Or I'll have to find a better use for your mouth," he says. Jimin visibly shivers at the words, neck flushing.

Jimin's hands work at Jin's belt, his movements quick and practiced. "Promises, promises."

What follows is nothing like the emotionally frantic, messy encounters they've shared before, but it’s just as desperate. Jimin’s mouth is on him before he can take another breath, hot and wet and—god, he’s been thinking about this all day. Jin’s breath hitches, his hips jerking forward before he can stop himself. Jimin takes him deep, throat fluttering, and Jin’s fingers finally give in, tangling tight in Jimin’s hair.

"Fucking hell," Jin groans.

Jimin pulls off, a string of spit clinging to his lip, grinning. His hand drifts down, slipping inside his own pants, and Jin’s stomach clenches at the sight.

"You like that, hyung?" Jimin murmurs, stroking himself slowly, deliberately. "Watching me touch myself while I suck you off?"

Jin’s breath comes faster. "You’re insufferable."

Jimin chuckles, low and dark, before taking Jin deep again. His free hand moves faster inside his pants, his breaths coming in sharp little gasps and moans through his nose and around Jin’s cock. The wet, obscene sounds of Jimin sucking him off fill the small space, and Jin’s thighs tremble at the speed with which his orgasm builds.

Jimin sets an unrelenting pace even though Jin's cock is pushing so far down his throat Jin imagines there would be a noticeable bulge. The thought intensifies every sensation in a wave of heat that all flows straight to his core.

"Jimin-ah," Jin warns, his voice tight. "I’m—"

Jimin looks up, hand still working himself, eyes dark and greedy. Jin’s entire body locks.

His hips stutter forward, his release crashing over him with a broken "Jimin—". Jimin swallows around him, then pulls off with a wet slurp, his own orgasm hitting him with a strangled closed-mouth whimper. His hand stills inside his pants, his body shuddering and heaving.

For a second, Jin can only breathe, his vision swimming. Then Jimin is standing, his lips crashing against Jin’s. He tastes himself on Jimin’s tongue, and there's no stopping the moan that slips from his mouth. Jimin pulls back, siren eyes dancing as Jin struggles to surface.

"Open," Jimin murmurs, and Jin obeys. Jimin slides two of his fingers past Jin's lips and a new taste rests on his tongue. The realization that Jimin has stuffed his own cum into his mouth threatens to topple him. But then Jimin is there, mouth pressed against his, his tongue pushing in as their releases mix, thick and bitter and theirs. Jimin kisses him deep, slow, savoring it.

When they finally pull apart, Jimin’s smirk is smug and satisfied, and Jin feels lightheaded.

And even though this moment is where all of his fantasies about Jimin lead to, it’s jarring to see the man in front of him and know that it’s not a dream. He gets to have Park Jimin in his kitchen storage room, flushed and gorgeous and all but purring in satisfaction.

It dawns on Jin that he has absolutely no idea what he's doing or where this is going. But Jimin is a drug he keeps coming back for. And will keep coming back for, he realizes with startling clarity through the fog of his thoughts. It both ignites and terrifies him.

They stare at each other, pressed together in the cramped space, breathing hard and slightly sweaty.

Jimin's smoldering, mischievous eyes slowly become crescent moons as they both burst into giggles.

"Well," Jin says, attempting to collect his scattered dignity, "that was..."

"Different," Jimin finishes for him, picking Jin's shirt up off the ground and handing it to him.

"Good different?"

Jimin's smile is soft and genuine. "What do you think, hyung?"

Jin just offers a small smile in response, suddenly aware of his body again and feeling slightly awkward.

They emerge from the storage room disheveled and red-cheeked, Jin's collar askew and Jimin's hair sticking up at odd angles. The kitchen is exactly as they left it, but somehow everything feels changed.

"I should probably..." Jin gestures vaguely around the kitchen.

"Yeah, and I need to..." Jimin tilts his head toward the stairs.

They stare at each other for a beat too long, neither one moving. Then Jin clears his throat.

"So, um, thanks for your help today," he says, slightly annoyed at the anxious spike in his chest.

Jimin snorts. "Wow. That's what you're going with?"

"What did you expect? Poetry?"

"I don't know, maybe something a little more romantic than 'thanks for your help' after what we just did?"

Jin rolls his eyes, but there's fondness in his expression. "Fine. Thank you, Park Jimin, for the mind-altering storage room blow-job. Better?"

Jimin just chuckles, shaking his head before he turns to head upstairs.

Jin feels a sudden urgency, a need to say something more.

"Wait—" he reaches out a hand.

"Yeah, hyung?"

"I—" he starts, then stops. How does he say it? How does he let Jimin know everything he's feeling right now?

He really is shit at this.

"I wanted to know if…" Jin pulls in a breath, steadying his racing heart. "I just wanted to know if you want me to be there. At your competition."

Jimin's eyes widen slightly, then soften and fondness sneaks into his smile as he replies, "I was counting on it, hyung."

Jin can't stop his answering smile. "Ok. Well, um, goodnight, Jimin-ah."

Jimin takes the three steps separating them to lean up and place a small, soft kiss on Jin's lips. "Night, hyung."