MASTERPIECE/Yoonmin HIATUS

16// Jimin

Jimin groaned.

He didn't really like the way his king sized bed felt under him. It was soft, sure, but it was so soft he felt like he'd fall right through. He didn't like it.

He preferred Yoongi's bed, to be honest.

His thoughts always seemed to make their way back to the older boy, making Jimin often blush at random times. Most often when he was with his hyung, although he always hid it from him. He didn't want his hyung to think that Jimin liked him in that way.

But then again, Yoongi had asked him to move in with him. And treated him to a very fancy meal. And taken care of him countless times when he came to his house, drunk off his ass. And let him sleep in his bed with him whenever Jimin had a bad dream (or just wanted to sleep next to him, and told white lies to not blow his cover).

Okay, perhaps he did like Yoongi that way. And perhaps Jimin wanted to be more than friends with Yoongi, but the thing was:

Jimin was sure Yoongi didn't like him like that.

There was no way they would ever be a real couple.

Just because they'd almost fucked, like, twice, doesn't meant that Yoongi had feelings for Jimin. Right?
Sure Yoongi cared for Jimin - they're friends after all - but it wasn't like he cared that much for him. Not in that way, anyway.

Jimin sighed sadly, and sat upright in his bed. He felt alone in the big apartment of his. He didn't want to feel like that anymore. Perhaps he should accept Yoongi's invitation?

He didn't know.

He sighed once more, and climbed out of the white covers. The sun streamed through his big windows - they were almost as replacement for walls. He stretched as he enjoyed the view.

The city was already buzzing under him in all its morning glory; perhaps last night's pulsating life never really died away before sunrise.

He decided he wanted pancakes for breakfast. French toasts had become a thing he shared with Yoongi, and Yoongi only. It was secretly their thing.

Jimin liked it that way.

He left the room without noticing a familiar now-black-haired boy walking through the entrance of his apartment building under him.

-

"Just a moment!" Jimin called when he heard a knock on his door. He hurriedly pulled a shirt on, before he walked to his door. He stopped to see who it was through the peephole, smiling as he saw a puff off black hair, the person too short for Jimin to see their face. But he knew who it was anyways.

"Yoongi," he beamed when he opened the door. The older boy stood there smiling, and welcomed himself in before saying anything.

"I'm sorry I came so suddenly," he said when he took off his shoes. He placed a hand on Jimin's shoulder to keep his balance, and Jimin blushed at the small gesture. Perhaps it meant nothing to Yoongi, but to Jimin, it meant so much.

"I-it's okay," he stuttered, turning away when Yoongi withdrew his hand, not wanting his hyung to see.

"You're adorable when you blush, stop turning away from me."

Shit, Jimin thought. Caught again.

"Why are you here, anyway?" Jimin asked, trying to switch the subject, following Yoongi into the living room (it was the only room Yoongi knew where was).

"I came to see you," the older said, dumping down on one of the big sofas. Jimin felt guilty having such big couches - and two of them - compared to Yoongi's small one. Perhaps he could bring them with him when he moved in.

If he moved in.

yeah, only if.

"I see that," he chuckled, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Yoongi stared at him, his legs spread widely, and Jimin felt his eyes burn his skin. He pushed the thoughts of how perfectly he'd fit on Yoongi's lap out of his mind.

"Don't be embarrassed, Jiminie," Yoongi cooed. His genuine, gummy smile helped Jimin relax a bit.

"I'm only here because I wanted to ask you something."

"A-and you couldn't have texted me? We have phones for a reason, Yoongi-ah." He tried his best to not sound flattered.

"Where's the fun in texting anyway? Also, it's cuter to ask you face to face."

Jimin felt his cheeks burn as he sat down on the opposite couch of Yoongi, just for precautions.

"And your pajama pants are cute too," he added under his breath, but loud enough for Jimin to hear. Jimin then realized he was still wearing his rubber duck-patterned pajama pants, and blushed so intensely he could've been mistaken for Mars. He buried his face in his hands from embarrassment, groaning.

"I hate you," he said when Yoongi laughed, only making the situation worse for Jimin. He was, of course, happy that Yoongi was having fun, but he didn't like that it was him he laughed at. Still red as a tomato, he got up and walked to his room.

"No you don't!" Yoongi called after him. He could hear the smirk.

"You're right," he muttered to himself, almost silently, as he picked up a pair of black, ripped jeans. He figured they'd go well with his white shirt.

It was only when he looked in the mirror that he realized that it was the same outfit that he had worn the first night he had met Yoongi.

The same pair of jeans; the same light shirt.

He gulped at his reflection, memories suddenly flooding back:

"Wow, wow, wow, there buddhy," Jimin said, approaching the boy by the bus-stop. His head was heavy and cloudy from all the alcohol, and he leaned against the side of the bus-stop shelter for support. He couldn't keep himself upright.

"Get lost," the boy hissed, his hands clenched in fists. Jimin might've been very drunk, but he noticed the infrequent breathing of the other boy, and how he seemed to spit the words more than speak them. He clearly wasn't very happy.

"I said get lost!" He nearly shouted it this time around. It rang in Jimin's ears.

"Take it slow, tiger." Jimin stepped into the light. The boy's eyes widened at the sight of him, and it felt like his stare was going to burn Jimin's face odd his body. He held back a hiccup.

"What do you want?" The other boy's fists shook slightly, the extreme force he used to keep them from hitting Jimin's face, showing.

Jimin thought for a very short moment, before deciding that it didn't matter this time if he could phrase his sentence correctly.

"Well, yes, take the bus, why not," he ended up saying.

"And youh?"

He dumped down on the bench a little distanced from the angry boy. He placed a hand in his pocket, feeling the cold steel flask against his own warm palm.

The boy scoffed for an answer.

"No comment."

-

//A/N

I aint rlly sorry but sorry