Jimin wakes up feeling swirly. His head is spinning and his stomach is full of butterflies. The kind that make you wanna throw up.

For a solid few sleepy minutes, all he can think of is Yoongi. His good older brother. The way his blond hair sticks to his forehead when it’s wet. The way his breaths are shorter when he’s tired. How his chest looks from underneath the t-shirt he wears to bed. He knows Yoongi so well. Every move he makes is familiar to him. His gruff voice, his smell…

The light is far too bright in his eyes. It triggers a headache, pulsing right behind his left eye. He wakes up a little more as he rolls over to bury his face in the pillow, a stiff groan getting swallowed by the fabric.

For a second he’s confused about how warm he feels.

And then last night comes back in a rush of blurry images and a hot blush.

He doesn’t remember what he wanted to tell Yoongi.

He’s to occupied with the regret. Regret like poison, making him want to jump off a mountain if it meant last night never happened.

Because, what the actual hell? And what was that he was just feeling?

This is Yoongi he’s thinking about. His hyung who used to make fun of Jimin for his interest in dancing, and look at him as if he was the most unfortunate being on the planet.

Jimin’s upbringing wasn’t the best. His mother was almost never there, too busy with her own struggles. When his sister went missing, Jimin completely fell apart too. And Taehyung was the one who helped him back on track (even though they were only 12 at the time and obviously had video games to tend to). Yoongi was never there. Not once.

And now Jimin knows why. Or at least suspects why.

Yoongi has probably always assumed Jimin liked boys. And after what he said about Jeongguk the other day, Jimin made his mind up. Yoongi’s homophobic.

How, how on earth can Jimin ever associate that kind of person with warmth? With vanilla? With brotherhood?

Jimin felt nice just now. And that makes him angry. Boiling, in fact.

-----

Yoongi eats his toast in silence, not offering as much as a ‘good morning’ in Jimin’s direction as the latter makes his tea.

Yoongi’s tired. More so than usual.

He couldn’t sleep last night, not with Jimin’s soft hands and intoxicating innocence he had to violate Yoongi with at two in the morning.

It’s raining outside. Only just. A few drops hit the window, the air looking humid and heavy on the other side of the glass.

Jimin clears his throat. It makes Yoongi’s chest flutter, hearing his younger brother’s bad habit ring through the tense air.

He wants to say something.

Because Jimin looks angry. And he doesn’t want Jimin to leave again. At least not until Yoongi leaves for work.

Yoongi is a really ty older brother. He’s seriously the worst. Obviously, Jimin thinks so too.

When they were younger, it was torture. Because Jimin was always gorgeous and Yoongi was always a hormonal, mess. Yoongi came up with the brilliant plan of making the younger hate him in order to hide his actual desires. And it worked.

What Yoongi hadn’t counted on, however, was that keeping that distance from Jimin only made other feelings bloom. The lust, the longing, the fantasies. It made Yoongi feel disgusting. Because seriously, Jimin is his brother, even if they were never technically related. And then the hate came. Seeing Jimin with others. Whether it was girls or boys, it always made him envious. And that . Because Jimin hated Yoongi. Never looked at Yoongi. And that was because Yoongi had made it that way.

Jimin was and is a broken boy. Seeing as much as a pout on those full lips is pure agony to Yoongi, especially when it’s Yoongi’s own fault. But now a days Yoongi can’t help being nasty. He can’t help the slurs threatening to spill out of his mouth when he sees Jimin with Taehyung or any of his other friends.

What a depressing person I am, Yoongi thinks as he casts a look in Jimin’s direction. He’s sitting in front of him now, sipping his hot tea. His bed hair falls in front of his eyes, squinted and puffy from sleep.

He’s so adorable it hurts.

“Where do people like you even get alcohol?” he asks, no longer bearing the silence.  

“People like me?” Jimin repeats in his thick morning voice, not looking up from the table.

“Minors.”

“Taehyung’s father’s whisky cupboard,” Jimin says, matter-of-factly.

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