Yoongi was the broken cry of “hallelujah” that slipped past a sinner’s lips the moment they gave up, gave in to the pull of each sweet temptation. Torn jeans, threadbare shirts, foul mouth, cold glare – delinquent. He was the sort of mystery that edged along the darkest corners of the night, waiting for the moment you were vulnerable to slip a knife between the slats of your ribs; smiling in the face of your pain. There were a hundred stories about Yoongi: He had been born out of wedlock; his mother cried every morning she looked at him because she was so ashamed to have given birth to him; he had started a local gang before just killing the other members off – preferring to be alone; he dealt drugs on the side, just for the fun of it. Jimin’s father, the local preacher, had once said that Yoongi was proof that God’s punishments were swift in the face of sin; if Yoongi’s mother had been a proper, God-fearing young woman, she would not have been punished with such a son. But something about that seemed wrong to Jimin: It didn’t sound anything like the loving Heavenly Father he had been raised to believe in.

So, he had taken to watching the older boy closely. Two years his senior, Yoongi was on the cusp of graduation when Jimin found his mere fascination escalating into something more. He noticed how Yoongi was always alone, even when standing in the middle of the crowd. The older boy would stand with his shoulders hunched and head down, never looking people in the eye as he tried to avoid so much as brushing against anyone else. And at lunch he would be tucked out in the yard in front of the school, curled up against the trunk of the old apple tree as he scribbled furiously in a worn notebook. Jimin never saw him eat lunch. Even though the administration had declared Yoongi eligible for free meals, since his family was so poor, the lunch workers didn’t seem to think the gruff young man deserved the niceties of greasy pizza and stale peanut butter bars; they refused to serve him. They had morals, they claimed. Then there were the names Yoongi got called – most of them things Jimin would never dare repeat lest his father wash his mouth out with soap or make Jimin do community service in recompense. The kids Jimin hung out with, kids from his congregation, felt no shame in belittling Yoongi or calling the older boy’s mother a or trying to pick fights with him; he was from the wrong side of the tracks, they’d say, so it was alright. He deserved it. But that didn’t sit right with Jimin either. God had commanded them to love everyone – didn’t that include Yoongi?

The more Jimin watched Yoongi, the more he came to realize that the older boy was not at all like everyone described. He was quiet and gruff, sure, but nothing he did seemed particularly malicious. At first, Jimin pitied him. How would it feel to have the whole world against you? To realize that even the kids you grew up with would happily throw stones at you, just because you weren’t like them? Then, Jimin admired Yoongi. The senior was never one to lash out or hurt others intentionally; that had to take a lot of self-control. And then, one day after Jimin finished with cheer practice, the preacher’s son learned for himself just how good Yoongi was. He remembered the way –

Jimin laughed at himself. Who would have thought that even after all these years, his mind would still find its way to Min Yoongi? After the older boy had disappeared ten years ago, Jimin had done everything he could to forget him, but sometimes he would see a beanie or a pair of combat boots or hear the heavy thrum of a rap beat…It’d all come rushing back. And just like always, Jimin would allow himself a moment or two to think of his first love before forcing his thoughts back to the present.

And the present that day meant stopping past a café just down the street from Jimin’s new job working at an accounting firm.

Pushing open the door, Jimin was awash in nostalgia; it felt as though he were sitting at his parents’ house on a Saturday morning, his mother just pulling out the cinnamon rolls as the coffee machine beeped in the background because the little cafe smelt so much like home. A tiny little smile tugged his lips. Loosening his tie a little, the young accountant stepped up to the counter and let his gaze rove the space. It was a pretty little café, with elegant cream wallpaper broken up with soft pale pink stripes every few inches. The tables were all white and delicate – wood – with various pastel cushions breaking up the monochrome of it. Jimin thought it look like a box of macaroons: soft, sweet, and innocent. He just hoped the place was as good as his coworkers claimed and that it didn’t turn out to be some ridiculous prank, like a maid café or something.

“Can I help you?” a bright voice asked, drawing Jimin’s attention back to the barista. Jimin gaped. The man was handsome. No, that probably was not a strong enough word, but any coherent thought had fled his mind at the sight of the brunette. He was all broad shoulders, soft eyes, and full lips pulled into a sweet smile; Jimin immediately knew he would come back just to stare at that face every day.

“Uh.” Jimin blinked. “Coffee?” he hazarded.

The beauty laughed, his whole body jerking in time with the nasal sound. “We serve that,” he assured Jimin. “What kind? Just black?”

“What do you recommend?” Jimin managed to say, thankfully without tripping over the words. “This is my first time here.”

Eye lighting up, the barista leaned his elbows on the counter and grinned at Jimin. “If that’s the case, then you have to try Suga’s Peppermint Bliss. It’s a new flavor we’ve added to the menu recently, and it’s to die for. It’s expresso with peppermint, dark chocolate, and milk with whipped cream on top. I can even add Andies mints to the top – it’s even better that way!”

The accountant nodded a little. “Sure! That – that sounds good. Maybe a cinnamon roll too? To go.” He fished out his wallet and soon found himself sitting at a table near the window, waiting for his drink.

Pulling out his phone, Jimin checked his emails – nothing new – before opening the group chat he shared with his friends from college. His lips twitched. Taehyung and Hobi were (yet again) arguing over who was supposed to host movie night, and both of them wanted to host. It really was just a matter of time until the two just moved in together, and then they’d never have to fight over it again. But, in the meantime, Jimin typed in a quick “How about my place this week?” before closing the app. At least if they came over to his place, neither of his friends would be pouty about it. Besides, Namjoon was far more likely to emerge from his room if they had company over, and it was good for the music producer to see real humans on occasion.

“Here you are,” a raspy, low voice suddenly sounded out, interrupting Jimin’s thoughts. A tall mug and a little plate with his cinnamon roll were set on the table in front of him.

“Oh! Thank yo –“ His eyes went wide as he looked up into the familiar dark gaze of – “Min Yoongi?”

The man blinked, straightening up to his full height in surprise. “Yeah?”

“I’m Park Jimin! We went to school together, though you probably don’t recognize me because my hair is orange and –“ He stopped at the sight of the slight smile curling its way onto Yoongi’s thin lips. “Heh. Sorry. I talk too much.”

“It’s alright.” Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, which was surprisingly not stuffed under a beanie. Jimin had never seen Yoongi without a beanie, even in the summer. “I remember you. Preacher’s kid.” Jimin’s heart sank a little. If Yoongi only remembered him as the preacher’s son, that probably didn’t bode well; his father had not been particularly Christian towards the neighborhood bad boy. “Never thought I’d see anyone from Twin Oaks out here. You move to the city recently?” The man slid his hands into the pockets of his pants, a neat pair of black skinnies.

“Oh, no. I, uh, went to university here. Been here, gosh, six years now? No, seven.” Jimin laughed a little, eyes crinkling up into semi-circles. “It’s been a long time. Just started a job at an accounting firm after finishing with my master’s, so I guess I’ll be here even longer.”

“That so?” Yoongi’s lips at last turned into a full smile, parting enough for Jimin to see the edges of his teeth. “Congratulations on the new job.”

“Oh.” A flush rose across the apples of Jimin’s cheeks. “Thanks. Uh, you work here?” He took in the way Yoongi was dressed and blinked. The man certainly did not look like he belonged in the pretty pastel café, and certainly not as a server. If anything, Yoongi looked like he belonged in an art studio or hanging out with Namjoon’s friends: combat boots, plaid shirt, a long earring dangling from one lobe. Jimin was even willing to bet there was a smudge of eyeliner along his lash line.

The low, warm sound of Yoongi’s laughter startled Jimin from his staring. His blush darkened. “I’m the ‘Suga’ in Suga & Jin’s. My partner took your order.”

Something in Jimin’s heart fell at the word ‘partner.’ Of course Yoongi would come to the city and find himself a gorgeous, gorgeous man to love. It was practically a fairytale ending for the poor townie; practically Cinderella. “Oh. Wow. That’s…really amazing.”

Yoongi shrugged. “I guess so. It’s kind of funny, running into you like this. If Jin’s boyfriend weren’t sick, we wouldn’t have run into you. Kookie’s usually the one serving orders.”

And Jimin’s heart was suddenly up in his throat. “Boyfriend?” he squeaked.

The older man’s eyes narrowed a little. “Yeah. His boyfriend.” There was something in his tone of voice that seemed to ask ‘you got a problem with that?’ And then Jimin remembered, there was no way Yoongi could know.

“I just thought he was your boyfriend,” Jimin murmured. “Since you called him your partner.” He glanced up at Yoongi through his eyelashes. “Was going to say he was lucky to have you.”

That made the aggression practically bleed from Yoongi’s body as his shoulder relaxed and the frown slipped away. “Oh. Nah. We tried that in college and realized it was a bad idea.” He shrugged a little. “We’re much better at being business partners than boyfriends.”

“At least you’re good business partners?” Jimin tried a little laugh, but it sounded flat and tinny in his ears. “Um, so…what you been up to all these years? It kind of feels like seeing a ghost running into you.”

There was a stretch of silence as Yoongi considered the accountant, his dark gaze thoughtful. “You really want to know?” Jimin nodded slowly. Reaching into his pocket, Yoongi pulled out a pen and snagged Jimin’s receipt. “Come to this address at six-thirty tonight. We can talk then. I’ve got to go back to work, and you should eat your cinnamon roll before it cools.”

Jimin’s gaze fell to the table. “Oh, I asked for this to go.”

Yoongi paused in his steps and looked over his shoulder at Jimin. “Eat it before it gets cold, kid. You’ll have plenty of time to waste your life at a desk.”

---

The last rays of afternoon sun – the remnant of the summer day – fell through the stained glass window in soft purples and golds and reds to stretch across the battered surface of the old piano. Seated on the bench, Yoongi looked nearly angelic with the light pouring over his shoulders as he played; his slim fingers teased out a tune nearly as heavenly as the scene presented to Jimin when he slipped into the old chapel. It was nothing like the glistening, pristine parish Preacher Park ran back home; it was a place that looked lived in, from the named etched into the pews to the way the pulpit shone from decades of hands running along its edges during a sermon. A little choir, if it could even be called that, sung enthusiastically along with Yoongi’s playing. None of them seemed to be particularly on key, but the amount of joy they poured into every note made up for it. And Yoongi looked practically incandescent with a wide, gummy smile on and a twinkle in his eyes. Jimin hadn’t known it was possible for the man to look like that, so happy and relaxed. Moving further into the church, the accountant took a seat on a pew a few rows back from the choir and simply listened while their practiced.

A few minutes later, the last notes of the piano fell into the hush and every eye turned to rest on Jimin. Yoongi quickly closed the lid of the piano and tried to reach the younger man’s side before the choir director, a cheerfully smiling African American woman, got to Jimin. “Why hello there,” the woman said, reaching Jimin before Yoongi could so much as get down the steps. “You a friend of our Yoongi’s?”

Jimin blinked up at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Aw, bless it, you are just the cutest thing. I’m so happy he invited you to come!” The woman swept Jimin into a hug and chuckled. “He brought Jin once, but he never invited anyone else to come after that. Claims we are a nuisance or some such.”

Appearing at their side, Yoongi gave the woman a pointed look. She simply raised an eyebrow at him and left one of her arms curled around Jimin’s shoulders. “Stella, I ain’t going to introduce him until you let go.” The woman – Stella – rolled her eyes a little and finally let Jimin go. “Sorry about that. I forgot to warn you about how affectionate they get around here.” The accountant watched in awe as the woman wrapped her arm around Yoongi, drawing him into her side. Ten years ago, Yoongi would never have let someone touch him like that, let alone let them hold him. “Stella, this is my friend Jimin. Jimin, this is Stella. She’s our choir director.”

“And the best thing that happened to your sorry self,” Stella added, grinning at Yoongi.

“And the best thing that happened to my sorry self,” he repeated dutifully.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” Jimin held out his hand in an offering to shake, and Stella clucked her tongue at him.

“Yoongi, we’ve got to work on this one. Offering to shake hands. Honestly, do I look like the president?” Stella gave Jimin’s head a fond pat. “It’s nice to meet you, Jimin. Wait… Jimin? You mean the Ji – “

“Say, Jimin,” Yoongi cut in, awkwardly glaring up at Stella. “Um. You came.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted you to see this place. I thought…it might help you get to know me better. Or something.”

Jimin nodded slowly, not quite understanding what was going on. “An old church would help me get to know you better?”

Stella looked between them, a knowing look on her beautiful features. “I’ll let you two catch up. I’ve got to pass out assignments for the dialogue. Only nine days until the bazaar, and we got to get the program ready!” The woman paused. "You should introduce him to Miss Marianne. I think he'd like that."

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Yoongi managed to look anywhere but at Jimin. “Come on,” he mumbled, starting down the aisle. Without a word, the man lead Jimin over to a small side door, which he unlocked with a key from his pocket, before climbing up a rickety little staircase. “This is Miss Marianne.”

Miss Marianne, it turned out, was a beautiful old pipe organ tucked onto a balcony overlooking the church. Walking over to the instrument, Yoongi traced a hand lovingly down the casing. “I helped restore her,” he admitted. “I’ve always been handy, and I talked an old organ repairman into teaching me how to do the upkeep. Jin and I held fundraisers at the café to help pay for the parts. So, everyone in the church teases me about her – calls her my best girl.”

“She’s beautiful,” Jimin breathed. “Way better than that electronic keyboard they use back home.”

Yoongi snorted. “Y’all have an organ. Why don’t you ever use it?”

Jimin shrugged. “Since my gran got arthritis, nobody can play it. So we use the keyboard.”

“… Want to hear her?”

The accountant’s eyes lit up. “Really? Won’t that bother the choir?”

“Nah. Stella has them so busy they’d not notice if the Second Coming happened. Come on, sit down and slide in.” Yoongi helped Jimin onto the bench. “Watch the pedals. There you go.” Once they were seated side-by-side, Yoongi turned the organ on. “You got a favorite?”

Laughing, the younger man shook his head. “Not really. What do you like to play?”

“Anything, really. My mom taught me how to play piano when I was little, and I started playing organ once I got here… Practically tore through any sheet music I could get my hands on.” But, his fingers started playing the familiar notes of “Amazing Grace.”

“I didn’t know your mom could play,” Jimin said, eyes trained on Yoongi’s hands.

“Yeah, well, nobody really knew much about her. Or my dad.” The man shrugged. “Or me.” He tipped his head back. “Though, I think you knew more about me than anyone. You didn’t make my life miserable, at least.”

“I never understood why people went after you the way they did,” the accountant admitted. “Didn’t seem really like they were being good Christians.”

“They weren’t being good people,” Yoongi corrected.

“Is that why you left after graduation? To get away?”

Letting out a long breath, Yoongi didn’t answer him for a while. He seemed lost in his thoughts as a faint frown dug its way between his brows. “Something like that. I didn’t have much reason to stay, honestly. Not after my mom died. City seemed like a better place to try and make it.”

The younger man’s eyes went wide. He had never heard that Yoongi’s mother had died; everyone had assumed she had run off with some beau, abandoning her son out of shame. How much else had they gotten wrong about the man beside him? Probably everything, Jimin supposed. 

“When I left Twin Oaks, I hated God. Hated people. Hated myself,” Yoongi continued, his voice soft as his hand stilled on the keys. “I nearly killed myself so many times – I’ve got more scars than a dog in a fighting ring. One night, as I was walking the streets, I heard something. Music. And it made me think of my mother, of the way she’d hold me close and tell me stories about my dad – about how he’d been before he’d died. So I followed it.” There was something in the way Yoongi stared at the organ that made it seem like he was staring through it, off into that distant night. “And it brought me here, to a ratty little church that seemed like it would fall apart if you blew too hard on it. I sat down in the very last pew, and I listened to them sing, sounding like a bag of wet cats being beaten. And do you know what happened?”

He looked over at Jimin, whose eyes were wide. Slowly, the younger man shook his head.

“I cried. They sounded awful, but they were so happy, so exuberant…and I wanted that.” He laughed a little. “Of course, then Stella caught sight of me. Next thing I knew I was wrapped up in blankets and drinking watery coffee. They became my family.” A fond little smile tugged Yoongi’s lips. “The congregation raised money to put me through college – double major, photography and business. And I spent the first few months sleeping on couches or in spare rooms or on the floors of their houses until I could get on my feet. I don’t think I would’ve survived without them.”

Reaching over, Jimin placed his fingers lightly on the back of Yoongi’s hand. “I wish you didn’t have to leave Twin Oaks to find that kind of love, but… I’m glad you did.”

Yoongi laughed a little. “Yeah, me too.” Shaking loose his shoulders, he began to play a campy carnival tune on the organ. “Guess what you said that day was true: God moves in mysterious ways.” There was a teasing lilt to the man’s voice, which made Jimin blush.

“Well it was true! I never would’ve expected the antichrist to be the one to save me from a pack of bullies. You got the worst black eye from those idiots – for me!”

Looking over at Jimin, he winked. “So worth it. The way you fawned over me made me feel like I could’ve taken on another twenty of them. You were just too cute.”

How did Yoongi manage to make him feel like a schoolboy all over again? Honestly, it was the literal rudest thing the man could do. “I was not! I was worried because you were bleeding everywhere!”

“Which was you called me your hero, of course,” Yoongi was practically smirking.

“Well you were! And you were extremely gorgeous, so it was doubly unfair.” Jimin would have died of shame if he had realized he had shouted that loud enough that Stella and the entire choir had heard his declaration.

“I was extremely gorgeous?” Yoongi pouted. “Has my beauty faded so quickly, Jimin?” He even fluttered his eyelashes ridiculously, which made the preacher’s son slap his shoulder. Yoongi laughed. “Don’t worry. I thought you were gorgeous too. If I thought I could’ve gotten away with it, I would’ve asked you out.”

Jimin’s eyes became so wide they were nearly the size of a donation plate. “You would’ve?” Yoongi hummed his agreement. “I would’ve died,” the accountant breathed. “I wouldn’t have been able to believe it. I literally would’ve died. I crushed on you so hard in high school.”

The older man laughed easily, nudging Jimin’s shoulder with his own. “Well, at least somebody liked me!” He let his hands fall into his lap. “I don’t suppose you’d let me make it up to you with dinner Friday night? At six maybe?”

A wide, toothy smile broke across Jimin’s face. “I think I would like that a whole lot, Yoongi. A whole lot.”

From down below, Stella yelled, “Martha, we better get a planning! There’s gonna be a wedding this fall, I feel it in my bones!”

---

-hides face- Not only is it late, I feel like it's awful. I'm sorry it's not particularly good, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway? I guess I'll see y'all next week. orz