There are certain days when Yoongi will head to the nearest record shop, walk back to the dingy corner where all the older and unpopular albums are kept, and wallow in the nostalgia.

He’s not sure why exactly he does it, really. Maybe he does it to try to relive the glory days, to try to remember the feeling of walking into a music store and seeing himself as larger than life, blown up on the big screen and played on repeat as girls crowd in front and tweet about it. Maybe he does it to punish himself for letting those days slip by.

“Excuse me, sir,” a salesgirl interrupts his thoughts, standing politely at his side. “Were you interested in buying something from this section? We have some hits back here, but all of our popular items are up in the front.”

“I was just looking for something,” Yoongi murmurs, trying to excuse himself from the conversation as politely and as quickly as he can manage. “I don’t you have it though, so I’ll just be going.”

As he walks out of the store, he passes the cashier’s counter and takes a moment to look at the new releases, colorful girl groups and hiphop rookies wearing too many fake chains. Their faces are schooled to look calm and seductive and confident, but Yoongi knows each of them is hiding the nervous anticipation, tentative hope.

Something churns in his stomach and he shoves the door open, leaving quickly. He’ll try not to be back soon.

-

There’s something about growing older that turns people into thrill junkies, Yoongi decides. There’s really no other reason why he’d be sitting on his front porch, staring at the shiny new motorcycle that’s occupying his driveway.

He doesn’t even know how to drive a two-wheeler.

Yoongi admires his purchase a little longer before going back to his task of sorting through his mail. He’d normally do this inside, but his mother had dropped by to visit last week and had chided him for not getting enough sun, and while Yoongi doesn’t like spending time outdoors he figures that he can suffer through it at least once to make his mother happy.

He’s paying too many bills, Yoongi decides angrily as he tosses the latest statement from the water company onto the floor. The numbers shouldn’t be this high anyway, considering he’s the only one who lives at his house.

Surprisingly, there’s a bright pink envelope stuck between the gas bill and mortgage notice, and a familiar thrill fills Yoongi as he sees that it’s addressed to Suga, not Min Yoongi. It’s been a while since he’d last received fanmail, Yoongi realizes, and it’s reassuring to know that there’s someone out there that hasn’t forgotten him. The letter itself is a short, sweet sentiment, and Yoongi’s glad to see that Suga had managed to stick with someone even this long after Yoongi had left Suga behind.

It’s dangerous to sit and think about the past, he warns himself, but he can’t help it right now.

Yoongi’s not sure what exactly possesses him to take a photo and send it to the group chat that’s probably gathering dust at this point from how long it’s sat unused. The last message in it was sent over a year ago, a friendly how ru all doing? J that had gone unanswered. Staring at it now, Yoongi feels a little guilty.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Namjoon that replies: wow hyung you’re really turning cool now~~ it had to happen at some point right?

Yoongi can practically hear Namjoon’s enthusiastic voice, too loud and too close to his ear as is the younger’s style. Something about it makes him smile, and so he texts Namjoon that the next day he has off, he should come over on his own bike and teach Yoongi how to ride.

A little girl on a bicycle stops outside the gate to his property and ogles the new vehicle, and Yoongi watches in amusement as she looks from Yoongi’s motorcycle to her own bicycle doubtfully. She must be from the new family that moved in across the street the other day, Yoongi figures. The thought sours his day a little; he had specifically picked his house because it was in a neighborhood with no loud children.

“Hey, ahjussi,” the little girl yells, and Yoongi frowns because he isn’t even thirty yet, let alone old enough to warrant being called an ahjussi.

“You got a real nice bike,” the kid continues. She flashes Yoongi a thumbs up, then takes the piece of gum out of and sticks it onto the metal gate before riding away. Yoongi silently fumes.

Sitting outdoors isn’t worth it, he decides. It’s bad for his blood pressure.

-

It turns out that trying to ride his motorcycle before Namjoon teaches him how is a bad idea, and Yoongi finds himself stranded on the side of a road with a busted ankle and an even more busted motorcycle.

It’s just past noon, and that makes everything even worse because it means Yoongi has to suffer through the hot sun beating down on his shoulders. He’s not sure if his motorcycle helmet is shielding his face from the rays or just slowly baking his head, so he takes it off and hopes that he won’t pass out from heat soon.

His motorcycle won’t start up again, and he can’t tell if he needs to put more gas in it or if something’s gone wrong with the engine because his instruments aren’t working anymore after he fell off and the bike skidded a good thirty meters along the road.

So now here he is, nursing a hurt ankle and an even more hurt ego.

“You look like you could use a friendly stranger.”

Yoongi looks up sharply and squints against the sunlight to see the face of concerned-looking man sporting bright red hair smiling down at him. He wonders if the heat somehow made him delirious enough to miss the massive pickup truck that’s pulled up alongside him.

“Clearly,” Yoongi says dryly, all his patience and politeness sapped out of him by the heat. “You gonna help me?”

“Well, not with that attitude,” the stranger says, but he looks amused enough as he walks over to Yoongi’s motorcycle and props it upright. “Wow, she’s gorgeous.  What’s wrong with her?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be stranded here,” Yoongi says, rubbing his hands over his forehead to try to wipe the sweat away from his eyes. “I would have called my insurance or something, but my phone doesn’t get reception out here.”

“That’s what you get for riding this in the middle of nowhere,” the other man remarks conversationally, turning around. For a split second Yoongi thinks he’s leaving and panics, but his worry turns out to be short lived when the man unhitches the back of his truck and pulls the gate open.

“I can give you a ride back to the city,” the man says, cracking his fingers as he walks back over to Yoongi. “Drop you off at a mechanic or something. Sound good?”

Yoongi’s immediately suspicious, because normally people aren’t so ready to help strange men lying on the side of the road. But the stranger—clad in dark overalls and a bright white shirt—doesn’t seem to be too sketchy, at least not with his baby face. And Yoongi figures that if he does try to pull anything, Yoongi will have to use his limited taekwondo skills to escape.

“Give me a hand?” the stranger requests, wheeling the bike over to his truck. Yoongi stands quickly and makes his way over to help (and notes in surprise that the man is even shorter than Yoongi himself, something he hadn’t noticed when he was lying on the grass). Together, they manage to lift the bike enough to roll it into the truck, and the stranger shuts the gate once it’s apparent the bike is staying put.

“My name is Park Jimin, by the way,” the man says, sticking out his head. It’s got some grease on after handling the motorcycle, but Yoongi takes it anyway since he owes the guy for helping him out.

“Min Yoongi,” Yoongi replies cautiously, following Jimin and getting into the passenger seat of the truck. It’s higher than what he’s used to, and he feels a little silly when Jimin catches him looking around.

“I know,” Jimin says, laughing a little as he starts up the engine and starts heading into the city. Yoongi shoots him a slightly startled look, since there aren’t many people in the world that know his real name. Suga, yes, but nobody knows Min Yoongi. Maybe Jimin’s secretly that stalker Yoongi had to deal with a few years ago.

“You’re Min Yoongi from Young Nation, right?” Jimin asks, suddenly looking unsure. His cheeks puff out in uncertainty, and Yoongi briefly thinks it makes him look especially childlike before he forces himself to turn to the real matter at hand.

“How the do you know that?” Yoongi asks carefully, moving his hand to discreetly grip the door handle in case he needs to make a quick exit.

“Oh, , I guess that was weird for me to say,” Jimin mumbles, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he swerves around a fallen tree in the middle of the road. “I guess most people just know you as Suga, right? Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off as creepy, I swear.”

“Yeah, but how did you know my real name?” Yoongi frowns, furrowing his brow in confusion.

There’s a reason no one knows the name Min Yoongi. Young Nation had been famous—back in the day—for being an enigma, a mystery, the only group in the country to never make their faces known. They had released selective MVs, carefully orchestrated to only display outlines or silhouettes, caricatures instead of real features. When it had come to live performances they had worn masks, plain black and glossy. Yoongi still has his, a little worse for the wear and tucked away in his bedroom.

Their fans had hypothesized that maybe they were ugly, or disfigured, or just the results of bad plastic surgery. Yoongi had even heard one theory that they were secretly triplets. The real reason for hiding their appearances was far simpler than anyone could have imagined, really. Namjoon, drunk as they often were during their predebut days, had idly suggested masks as a way for people to focus on the music, not their faces. Hoseok and Yoongi, back when they were too young and not sober enough to think about the repercussions, had agreed.

And that had left Yoongi here, thoroughly retired and without an ounce of recognition. (They had hidden themselves well, perhaps too well.) That’s why Yoongi’s so surprised when Jimin looks at Yoongi and somehow sees Suga.

“You probably don’t remember,” Jimin admits, laughing sheepishly. “It was a long time ago, but I was a backup dancer for a few of Young Nation’s performances. Not your regular tour group,” he adds quickly, probably noticing Yoongi squinting his eyes as he tries to remember. “I just helped out on some of your TV promotions. That’s how I remember you. You didn’t practice with the masks on.”

“You remember my face?” Yoongi wonders out loud, looking at Jimin sideways. It’s strange to think that this is the first time anybody has ever recognized Yoongi. He doesn’t know how to act.

“It’s not easy to forget,” Jimin nods, glancing at Yoongi for only a moment before turning his attention back to the road. They’re back in Seoul proper now, and Yoongi recognizes the streets as ones close to his district. He also can’t help but notice as Jimin’s cheeks blush pink, strangely attractive on him. “I was a big fan, you know. Still am.”

“Oh,” Yoongi mumbles, and he feels dumb since he can’t think of anything better to say. “Um, thanks.”

Jimin just chuckles again at that, suddenly putting the truck into park, and Yoongi looks around and realizes that they’re in the parking lot of a car shop.

“This place is pretty good,” Jimin says confidently, unbuckling his seat belt and hopping down from his seat. “And by pretty good I mean they won’t charge you a ton of money just for giving you a jump on your bike.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to reply that money obviously isn’t much of an issue for him, and then thinks better of himself and shuts it again. He’s glad that spending several years with Hoseok has taught him at least a little bit of tact.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to it,” Jimin continues, obviously unfazed at how one-sided the conversation is as he works to unload the motorcycle. “Maybe I’ll see you later, huh, Suga-nim?”

Jimin winks at him before getting back into his truck, and Yoongi barely has time to think about how bizarre this entire situation is before Jimin’s driving away.

He tries not to think about how nice it was to finally be recognized as someone more than just plain old Min Yoongi.

-

Working as a composer and lyricist is a lot more work than Yoongi had expected.

He wonders if he really is some sort of masochist, working in a profession so closely related with his old one. It stings a little to write songs for rookie idols and then wonder how his own voice would sound recording the lines instead, to walk by the sound booths and remember back when he used to stand inside of them instead of sitting outside.

It helps that Namjoon’s stuck doing the same thing.

Yoongi can tell that the younger man misses the idol life too, misses being able to get on a stage and rap their own lyrics and feel the thrill of the fans seep under their skin and into their bones. They won’t get that back, Yoongi knows, and he’s glad that at least Namjoon joins him in trying to find something that can compare.

“I’m totally stuck on this verse,” Namjoon groans, flopping backwards onto the lone couch in their cramped, shared office. He’s clutching his laptop to his chest, and Yoongi snorts at the overdramatic display. Namjoon has two modes of functioning, dead serious and completely ridiculous, and Yoongi’s guessing he’s stuck in the latter currently.

“You’ll think of something,” Yoongi mutters, swiveling his chair around so he can turn back to his own work. He’s writing a chorus, and he hates writing choruses because they have to be catchy yet meaningful, easy to remember yet deep. It’s a lot of pressure, and he hates pressure.

“I think I’m finally going stir-crazy, hyung,” Namjoon mutters, shutting his laptop and placing it on the coffee table. Yoongi stops himself from biting out ‘you were born stir-crazy’ and instead sighs, admitting defeat and shutting out of his document. The mood’s just not right to write lyrics, and if he stays cooped up in their office any longer he’ll end up throwing his computer out the window.

“How about we go to a café?” Yoongi suggests, rubbing at his face. He’s tired, and a nice warm cup of coffee is sounding better by the minute.

“I think I’ll just take a quick nap,” Namjoon admits, looking up at Yoongi sheepishly. Yoongi would be annoyed, but the younger man just looks so exhausted that Yoongi can’t help but think that maybe a nap would do him so good. Neither of them sleep much anymore, and Yoongi can see that it’s taking its toll on Namjoon.

“But if you end up going out, mind getting me a coffee?”

“Sure,” Yoongi replies quietly, turning the lights off in consideration as he grabs his worn leather jacket and slings it over one of his shoulders before heading out.

It’s lucky that their entertainment building is located in a hub of the city; Yoongi never has to look far to find food. He settles for a small coffee shop, one that’s known for its soft scones and low prices. He orders himself an Americano, hoping that the bitterness might help him focus his mind a little better.

The peace and quiet doesn’t last for long, sadly, and Yoongi scowls into his mug as a group of five or so men come bursting through the front door, all loudly calling out orders. A red-haired man slowly brings up the rear, and Yoongi looks up sharply as he recognizes Park Jimin. Well, Yoongi certainly wasn’t expecting that.

One of the men turns and manages to spot Yoongi sitting in his corner booth and waves an arm, and Yoongi practically grimaces as he recognizes the face of Jeon Jungkook, one of the more-experienced soloists from his company. He’s accompanied by a group of backup dancers, by the looks of their comfortable outfits, and Yoongi watches curiously as Jimin orders a drink and stretches out his arms.

“Hey, Gloss!” Another one calls out, and Yoongi mentally sighs as the entire group, all clutching their coffee cups and talking excitedly, head over to meet him. He really doesn’t need this right now, and he quickly tries to think of the fastest way to escape the situation.

“Hello,” Yoongi offers when they crowd around him, eagerly glancing at his laptop in hopes of catching some new lyrics. Yoongi glowers silently, and it’s enough to get them to back away a bit. In his peripheral vision he can see Jimin laughing, and it sours his mood even more because he really doesn’t need anyone laughing at him when he’s already having a tough enough time trying to focus on his writing.

Luckily the dancers seem to notice his bad mood and it doesn’t take them too long before they’re all already bidding him farewell—mostly all of them, at least. Jimin stays back, saying a quick farewell to Jungkook before dropping into the wooden seat across from Yoongi.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Jimin says, smiling the big dumb grin that Yoongi is already becoming too familiar with. “Gloss, was it?”

“It’s my composer name,” Yoongi mutters, taking a long swig of his coffee and struggling to not make a face at the bitterness because Jimin’s watching him. “What were you doing with those guys anyway?”

“Oh, I work with them. I joined the company as a backup dancer around—two years ago?” Jimin says, squinting his eyes as he tries to recall the date. “Although I’ve never seen you around before, but I guess I don’t really leave the practice rooms much. Gloss, huh?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Yoongi snaps, tightening his grip around his coffee mug reflexively. He doesn’t mean to be rude, at least not to Jimin when the poor guy hasn’t done anything wrong, but he can’t help but feel defensive over his alias. Gloss means a lot to him, just as Suga once did.

“Nothing,” Jimin says, lips pulling up at the corner. “Just—Yoongi, Gloss. It’s not very creative, when you think about it. Like Suga being short for shooting guard, that too.”

Yoongi pretends he can’t hear the slight dig at his stage name, and focuses on the more interesting implication behind Jimin’s words. “Oh, you know what Suga meant? You really must have been a fan, then.”

“Ah,” Jimin starts, going red. Yoongi stares at him and wonders briefly how a fully grown man can still have baby fat clinging to his cheeks. “I guess you could say I was a fan. Sort of. A little.”

“Oh, I see,” Yoongi replies, a smug grin spreading over his face as he realizes that Jimin wasn’t just sort of a fan, but was in fact a big fan. “You must have really liked our stuff, huh? That’s nice to know.”

“Self-flattery isn’t attractive,” Jimin sniffs, down some of his obnoxiously sweet-looking coffee. Whipped cream gets stuck to the edge of his lips and Yoongi forces himself to look out the window. He really, really doesn’t need this right now.

“I bet you were a fan of Suga, hmm?” And it feels weird to refer to his past self in the third person, it really does, but Yoongi would feel even stranger if he referred to himself as Suga. Not when he hasn’t been Suga in four years.

“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t,” Jimin replies, ears bright red as he practically submerges himself in his macchiato. “Anyway, none of the other dancers called you by your name. Do you really just go by Gloss?”

Yoongi regards Jimin coolly, deciding how much of himself he’s going to reveal. He’s not sure why he’s even telling Jimin anything at all, really, but Jimin’s eyes are earnest and genuine and sometimes Yoongi forgets how nice it is to talk to someone other than Namjoon. He really needs to get out more.

“I mean,” Yoongi starts, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I spent so long as Suga that I really didn’t ever live as myself, you know? And it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I’d feel weird if I returned to my own name now, which is why I picked another alias. That’s it, really.”

“That makes sense,” Jimin nods, finally wiping the smudge of whipped cream off his lip. “I bet it was hard, trying to stay away from the music industry. Hard to imagine that people could leave, right?”

And Yoongi can’t help but nod, can’t help but feel relieved that there’s someone else in the world that finally gets it. Jimin flashes him one last bright smile before looking down at his watch.

“, I need to get back to practice. All the young rookie groups don’t take very many breaks. It’s hard like old guys like me to keep up,” Jimin laughs, getting up to toss out his empty cup. Yoongi feels like protesting because there’s no way that Jimin—what with his bright eyes and round cheeks and easy smile—could be considered old. (And if he is, then Yoongi absolutely does not want to think about what that makes him.)

“Maybe I’ll see you around, hyung,” Jimin offers by way of goodbye, nodding. “Here, give me your phone.”

Dumbly, Yoongi slides his phone over and watches as Jimin hastily types in his number, and looks down when Jimin hands it back to see that he had a new contact named Park Jiminie.

“Come out of your fancy offices and drop by the practice rooms sometime, okay?” Jimin asks, winking playfully as Yoongi gapes at him.

And then he’s gone, and Yoongi doesn’t even have time to protest that his dingy little office is most definitely not fancy before all he sees is Jimin’s back exiting the shop.

Suddenly, Yoongi’s Americano doesn’t taste so bitter anymore.

-

“Hyung,” Namjoon whines, tugging his beanie down firmly over his ears, “why are we down here again? I was just making progress on a new piece.”

“I just figured we needed some fresh air,” Yoongi mumbles awkwardly, stepping out of the elevator and into the basement. He doesn’t come down here often, not when it’s only used for dance studios and crowded practice rooms that are usually assigned to trainees.

“Did you eat something weird?” Namjoon asks in confusion, furrowing his brows. “You’re the last person to ever suggest fresh air. In fact, I’m pretty sure that if I didn’t drag you home yesterday, you would have slept at the office overnight.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi mutters, frowning at the younger. “Maybe I’ve changed, okay?”

Namjoon only snorts in reply, and Yoongi ignores him in favor of walking down the long, dimly-lit hallway. He really hasn’t been down here in four years, not since the last time he’s ever danced in one of the studios. Seeing it again brings a stifling wave of nostalgia that fills up his lungs, makes him wish he could be seventeen again and discover this place all over again.

“God, it’s really been a while, huh?” Namjoon says softly, looking around. Yoongi doesn’t trust his voice to not give away his feelings and settles for a nod instead, looking around.

A few giggling kids, trainees by the look of them, wander down the hallway, falling into a respectful silence as they pass the two composers. It’s strange how out of place Yoongi suddenly feels, like an outsider looking in instead of someone who had spent eight years practically living in these practice rooms.

“Oh, hyung!”

The loud voice is familiar to Yoongi, and he turns to see Jimin walking out of the doorway of one of the dance studios. The towel draped around his neck doesn’t do much to disguise the fact that Jimin’s practically dripping with sweat, and Yoongi can’t help but smile back as the dancer flashes him a breathless grin.

“Wow, I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Jimin admits, wiping at his face.  Yoongi’s not sure whether the statement is more insulting or endearing.

He can see Namjoon looking confused beside him, and suddenly realizes that it would probably be a good idea to introduce the two. “Oh, Namjoon, this is Jimin, he works here as a dancer. Jimin, this is—”

“Kim Namjoon,” Jimin practically squeaks, sticking a hand out. “Oh my god, sorry for being weird, but I’m a huge fan.”

Namjoon looks confused at being recognizes but still takes Jimin’s hand good-naturedly, and Yoongi marvels at his ability to ignore the sweat.

“You know me?” Namjoon asks, obviously as intrigued as Yoongi was when he first met Jimin.

“Oh, ,” Jimin says quickly, pulling his hand back and laughing. “I performed alongside Young Nation a few times in the past, so I learned your faces pretty quickly. I didn’t realize you two were still working at the company as composers.”

“You weren’t this excited to meet me,” Yoongi mutters, hating how petulant his voice sounds.

Jimin grins, “If you wanted me to fawn over you, hyung, you could have just asked.”

Yoongi has trouble maintaining his frown when Jimin laughs so prettily, and tries not to notice Namjoon’s incredulous stare when Jimin reaches out and nudges Yoongi’s shoulder playfully. He knows Namjoon’s probably just shocked at the fact that Yoongi is apparently friends with someone other than Namjoon himself. Honestly, Yoongi’s a little shocked too, but there’s something about Park Jimin that makes it so easy to be around with him.

Another dancer pops his head out of the room, barely spares Namjoon and Yoongi a glance, and hurriedly says, “Yo Jiminie, we’re on again.”

“Guess that’s my cue to leave,” Jimin says, mopping at his neck with his towel. “Sorry I couldn’t stay and chat more, but we have to be at SBS by twelve tomorrow and we still don’t have this routine down, so I guess we’re running on crunch time. But you two could stay and watch, if you like? I mean, I know you’ve seen it all before.”

“We’ll stay,” Yoongi says, mouth moving before his brain even registers what it’s doing. “If that’s okay.”

“Sure,” Jimin agrees, sending Yoongi a grateful smile before disappearing back into the practice room.

Yoongi forces himself to ignore Namjoon’s confused face as he pulls the younger man behind him as he strides into the room, settling on a folding chair in the corner and ignoring the questioning looks of the performers as Jimin goes to huddle with the other dancers.

Yoongi recognizes the two young idols in the center of the room. A hiphop duo, they’re admittedly far better at dancing than Yoongi and Namjoon ever were. Yoongi feels the familiar pang of jealousy fill him as he watches their dance begin.

And then Jimin walks up, starts dancing, and Yoongi doesn’t even have time to feel jealous anymore because he’s too busy being awestruck. Jimin stands out, even in his position as the background dancer, and Yoongi belatedly curses the entertainment industry for not having signed Jimin on as an idol because Yoongi thinks Jimin would look even more breathtaking in the spotlight.

They don’t stay for long, not when there are meetings and consultations and obligations waiting for them upstairs, so Yoongi discreetly nods goodbye to Jimin during their next break from dancing and slips outside.

“You have got it so bad, hyung,” Namjoon bursts out into laughter as soon as they’re both safe in the elevator, leaning over to clutch at his sides. “Oh my god, I haven’t seen you like this in years.”

“What the are you talking about?” Yoongi scowls, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. He’s not exactly sure what Namjoon means, but something about the younger’s predatory grin makes him feel like he’s being attacked.

“You have a thing for that one dancer,” Namjoon says gleefully, jamming a finger into Yoongi’s shoulder. “Jimin, right? I mean, I guess he’s cute.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Yoongi says, flustered at the sudden accusation that Min Yoongi could like anyone. “I just met him a couple weeks ago, I don’t even really know him.”

Namjoon leaves it at that, and Yoongi’s glad to get a little peace of mind by the time he needs to return to work. He doesn’t need to think about Namjoon’s dumb assumptions when he already has his hands full with trying to keep up with his job, and he definitely doesn’t need Park Jimin to be as distracting as he is either.

But then he gets home and sees that he has a text saying ‘hyung thanks for cheering me on at practice today XD it’s nice to see that even someone like me can have a fan’ and wonders if maybe being distracted isn’t as bad as he thought.

When he gets the follow up text ‘quick q would you maybe wanna possibly get dinner with me later hyung?  no pressure it’s all good if you don’t wanna uhhhh’ Yoongi decides that if all distractions were more like Park Jimin, he’d actually welcome them.

-

It’s a little unnerving how normal Yoongi feels when he spends time with Jimin.

Their first dinner together—it’s not a date, it’s not—takes place at a small mom-and-pop restaurant that Jimin’s apparently a regular at. Jimin insists they go there because they apparently serve the best cheap jjajangmyeon in town, hyung, and Yoongi figures that the food must be good if it gets Jimin this excited.

When they get to the door, Jimin turns around and anxiously assures Yoongi that he’ll pay for the meal, and the sight of his endearingly earnest eyes is enough to make Yoongi give up on protesting. Realistically, Yoongi could afford to take them to much fancier places, maybe some quality Chinese places in Gangnam, maybe even get Jimin to dress up—but disregarding Jimin’s suggestion just to go to a more expensive restaurant would honestly just feel like he was flaunting his money, and Yoongi would hate to do that to Jimin.

Plus, the noodles are good, and Jimin’s tinged-pink face is even better.

It takes a span of exactly eight days for Jimin to become Yoongi’s friend, not that he’s counting or anything. Yoongi’s not really sure how it happens, but one day Yoongi pulls out his sad sack lunch that he had hastily prepared earlier that morning and thinks it would be so much better if he could share it with Jimin. It’s a weird feeling, but he kind of enjoys it.

Their second meal together takes place at the office.  Yoongi’s editing some lyrics he’s about to send off to a producer when he looks up from his laptop to see a disheveled-looking Jimin poking his head in the door, looking around in wonder.

When Yoongi coughs lightly, Jimin’s face colors red and he clumsily steps inside and sits in Namjoon’s empty chair, beaming. It turns out that Jimin had tried cooking something the previous night, and by ‘something’ he means a full four-course picnic that he had wanted to share with Yoongi at work.

And normally, Yoongi has a strict rule about no food in his office—his equipment is quality, and quality is expensive—but when Jimin starts pulling Tupperware out of his old, ripped backpack (“It’s the same one I used in school, hyung, isn’t that cool?”), Yoongi just doesn’t have the heart to stop him.

Also, Jimin had packed a fully-checkered picnic basket ‘to keep the outdoor vibe,’ and Yoongi would be lying if he said he didn’t think it was cute.

They end up eating together at least once a week, mostly lunches in Yoongi’s cramped office or a quick snack at the nearest ttokbokki stand after Jimin’s late practices. Jimin usually provides the food if he can, stating that it’s his responsibility to make sure Yoongi doesn’t starve at least one day a week. Yoongi protests, but secretly he likes Jimin’s company, maybe a little too much.

It’s late and raining outside when Yoongi comes across Jimin standing alone in the lobby of the company building, staring out the window. His hair and clothes are wet, and Yoongi stifles a smile when he sees Jimin trying to clean water droplets off his glasses.

“Guessing you got caught in the storm?” Yoongi asks, startling the younger enough to make him jolt.

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin replies grumpily, slipping his glasses back onto his face. “I got caught up in practice today, and by the time we were done it was already pouring. I tried going outside to see how bad it was, but… that clearly didn’t turn out well.”

“I can drive you home,” Yoongi offers immediately, mentally slapping himself for seeming too enthusiastic. Jimin’s eyes light up at the offer, and Yoongi takes a moment to think about how pretty they look before telling himself to man up.

He’s glad he took his car and not his motorcycle to work today—partially because he doesn’t want to ride a motorcycle in the rain, and partially because he doesn’t want Jimin to know that he still doesn’t really know how to ride a motorcycle.

Jimin doesn’t say anything about Yoongi’s car, but Yoongi catches the younger admiring the sleek interior when he thinks Yoongi’s not looking. Somehow, Yoongi’s reminded of the fact that they started out as idol and fan. Jimin is maybe the best thing to have come from Young Nation, Yoongi figures, even if they only met four years after it disbanded.

“Well, this is it,” Jimin murmurs as Yoongi stops in front of an older apartment building a few blocks away from the office. There’s a good twenty foot walk between the car and the front door and it’s still raining buckets, so Yoongi figures it’s only basic common courtesy that makes him take off his baggy sweatshirt and drape it over Jimin’s head to offer him some protection from the rain. The streetlights throw an orange cast over Jimin’s face, but Yoongi can still tell when his features darken with blush.

“Thanks for dropping me off, hyung,” Jimin says, looking at Yoongi for maybe a few moments too long. Yoongi’s eyes flicker down to Jimin’s lips, watching as Jimin runs his tongue over them nervously. Yoongi briefly wonders what it would be like to be in a cheesy movie and go in for a goodnight kiss.

God, he’s in so deep.

He ends up missing his chance, and maybe it’s just Yoongi’s imagination that makes up the slightly-disappointed look on Jimin’s face as he opens the car door and runs for his apartment. Yoongi catches himself staring out the window longingly, and then chides himself for acting ridiculous as he drives back home.

So Yoongi definitely likes Jimin’s company too much.

-

Somehow, they end up at Jimin’s after their third dinner together. It’s still not a date, but Yoongi doesn’t want to deny the strangely warm feeling that bubbles up in his chest when he watches Jimin fumble with his keys and bite his lip in embarrassment. Maybe it would be better if it was a date.

“Listen,” Jimin starts hesitantly, blocking the doorway and turning to face Yoongi. “My roommates might be home right now, and they’re kind of weird. I’m sorry in advance if they say something weird.”

“You live with roommates?” Yoongi asks, genuinely curious. He’d never be able to handle living with others. He prefers to deal with no messes other than his own, and he enjoys the silence of his apartment. But he can see how Jimin would enjoy living with others, since he’s just that type.

“Yeah,” Jimin nods slowly, stepping inside. The interior of his apartment building is only slightly less shabby than its exterior, and Yoongi keeps a wide distance from the peeling corners of the elevator.

“They’re friends from home,” Jimin explains, rubbing at the back of his head nervously.  “They’re really friendly, actually, but sometimes they’re dumb as hell and super embarrassing.” Jimin shoots Yoongi an uncertain look before getting out of the elevator, heading down the hall to the farthest apartment.

“I’m sure they’re not that bad,” Yoongi says, laying a reassuring hand on Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin leans back into his touch, and Yoongi presses unnecessarily close to Jimin’s back as he opens his door, enjoying the contact.

“Jimin’s back!” A loud voice sounds as soon as they open the door, and Yoongi coughs as he smells the scent of something burning. He can hear the persistent beeping of a smoke detector sounding from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Jimin!”

Yoongi watches as a tall, lanky man sprints toward them, carrying a frying pan blackened with some sort of food Yoongi can’t recognize anymore.

“Taehyung, what did you do?” Jimin sighs, sounding merely disappointed and not horrified. Yoongi watches as he slips his shoes off at the door before walking toward the kitchen, and wonders if this is a common occurrence for him.

“You brought Gloss?” the man, apparently Taehyung, asks curiously, completely ignoring Jimin’s question as he sets the pan down on the dining table. Yoongi removes his shoes and sits cautiously on the arm of the sofa.

“You know me?” Yoongi wonders out loud, narrowing his eyes as he tries to remember if he’s seen Taehyung somewhere before. He’s not the best with faces, but he doesn’t think it would be easy to forget Taehyung’s brightly colored hair.

“Not personally,” Taehyung shrugs, “but I’ve been around the office to recognize some of the bigger names.”

Yoongi tries not to let the sudden pride get to him. “My actual name is Min Yoongi, by the way.”

“Kim Taehyung,” Taehyung offers, nodding a little before turning to see how Jimin’s faring in the kitchen. The beeping’s stopped and the smell of burnt food’s dissipated, so Yoongi figures he must have gotten things straightened out.

“Jimin, I thought you mentioned you had more than one roommate?” Yoongi asks once the younger is back, settled down on the couch beside Yoongi.

“Jungkook must be staying late at the studio again,” Jimin murmurs, leaning back against the couch cushions and closing his eyes. Yoongi takes a moment to process this new information.

“Wait, Jungkook as in Jeon Jungkook? Famous Korean-golden-child soloist Jeon Jungkook?” Yoongi asks, wrinkling his nose a little in surprise. He’d worked with Jungkook before, and had always thought the kid to be the more solemn, serious type. Definitely not the type of person that would want to keep up with energetic, enthusiastic  Jimin. (Then again, a month ago Yoongi wouldn’t have thought himself to be that person either.)

“That’s the one,” Taehyung interjects excitedly, smiling nearly too widely. “He told me he’d be busy for most of the night, actually, since he has his new album coming out in a few weeks. I was actually going to go give him some company. It gets cold in the practice rooms, right? Maybe I’ll warm him up a little.”

Yoongi gapes at the wink Taehyung flashes him, watching as the taller man wraps himself up in a coat and thick scarf.

“Oh, okay,” Jimin murmurs, not bothering to open his eyes. “See you in the morning then.”

“Not if I get lucky!” Taehyung grins, and then he’s out before Yoongi even has a chance to decently process what had just happened.

“Wait,” Yoongi says out loud, trying to organize his thoughts. Jimin turns to look at him, rubbing at his cheek tiredly. Yoongi’s momentarily distracted by how cute he looks, and then shakes himself back to reality.

“Are Taehyung and Jungkook… together?”

Jimin suddenly looks wide awake, staring down at his hands. His gaze hardens, and Yoongi panics a little as he wonders if he’s maybe said the wrong thing. “Is it a problem if they are?”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” Yoongi says quickly, mentally breathing a sigh of relief when Jimin looks up again, not upset anymore. “I have no problems with that at all. I guess I’d be pretty hypocritical if I did, considering things.”

Jimin catches on quickly. “You mean…?”

“I guess so,” Yoongi nods, grimacing at how awkward his voice sounds. He feels like a secondary school student all over again, trying to confess to his crush or something. Except this time, he’s twenty-nine and trying to confess to the hot dancer he had gone home with.

“Oh,” Jimin whispers, looking somehow shocked and confused and bashful all at the same time. “Me too.”

“Oh,” Yoongi repeats, and then he can’t remember much more because his brain short circuits when Jimin suddenly leans forward and kisses the life out of him.

The next morning, Yoongi’s woken up by a very tired Taehyung shouting “oh my god, you guys had on the ing couch?” into his ear, a shocked-looking Jeon Jungkook standing behind his shoulder. Yoongi debates responding, but the feeling of Jimin’s heavy arm slung across his waist and Jimin’s red cheeks burning against his neck convinces Yoongi to roll over and ignore them.

He’ll deal with the consequences later.

-

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-

A/N: Sorry this was a little slow on the build, I promise the second part will have more plot-furthering action and should be up soon!