He told himself he was just having a casual night out with Namjoon, he need it, he was tired of being isolated on his apartment, that now seemed too big for him, trying to compose, trying not to think, trying to sleep, trying.

Of course, his plan was not going to a club to watch oiled strippers, and yes, they were beautiful but Yoongi just wanted his double whiskey sour and then go back to his apartment and do his usual round of overthinking, and finally, if he was lucky enough, let himself be consumed by sleep and dream of the sun that once was always shining for him but one double whiskey sour turned into a few more and he just lets himself go; he’s still better at drinking than stopping, unfortunately.

Therefore, he’s thinking about Jimin again, after the fifth whiskey, he stared to remember how much he enjoyed Namjoon’s drunken rant about philosophic stuff that made him laugh so hard he would rest his face on Yoongi’s shoulder and ask him to make Namjoon stop. But now Jimin is far away, where he’s not able to just lean in and whisper sweet drunken nothings into his neck, where Yoongi’s camera lens is not able to capture the sweet smile, the sparkling eyes, the apple of his lips, where Yoongi’s hand is not able to wrap around the curve of his thigh. Where Yoongi is not able to reach.

And then it’s where it feels like it’s too much, so he just mumbles an excuse to Namjoon, who is busy rating about constellations and their whispers through the night to a small group of random strangers they met earlier that night, and he just stands up and gets out of the bar, a cigarette on his hand and ready to navigate through the night even when it’s still raining.

He’s just a few blocks away from the bar when he realizes that he has no idea how to get home, his mind is clouded and the alcohol on his blood is as heavy as he feels, so he finds himself walking by the same street that so many nights lead him to his real home, where the sun used to shine, where he spend so many drunken nights warming up on a dark room, where he used to feel at peace.

The sidewalks are glittering from the pouring rain, and somehow it reminds him of how beautiful Jimin is.

He has no idea how much it takes him to get there but somehow he is looking at the same window he spent so many nights looking through, writing, thinking, and smoking. Standing outside the apartment he told himself was going to avoid. Home. But now all the lights are off, he must sleeping, Yoongi guesses, it’s almost 2:00 A.M. and he never belonged to the moon, he will always be part of the sun. Unlike him who found comfort on the night, Jimin was always guarded by the day.

He throws a few pebbles but no one opens the window.

Please, let me in.

He pulls out his phone, and tries to dial the number, the numbers are a blur on his vision but he knows it by heart; could mark it even in the dark or blindfolded, so he just presses call and waits for him to answer. It goes to the voicemail right away. And Yoongi just sighs, unsure of what to do next.

This is Jimin, if you are not in a hurry leave a message –then voicemail Jimin giggles and Yoongi wants to cry.

He lets the silence fill the message.

I’m sorry, he wants to say, this is me throwing pebbles at your window, please let me in.

After what seem like hours he finds his tongue and is able to speak.

Jimin, this is me, um- I-I –he takes a deep breath- listen, you have been strong much longer than I’ve been good and I know in the morning when you hear this message you’ll think I just did it because I was drunk, and maybe it’s because I am that I am able to tell you all of this, I’m sorry it took me so long to realize the mess I was making, how I let my work be my first priority, and I know you usually praise how good my lyrics are, and tell me how good I am with words, but I’m really not, I should have told you how much I love to curl in the sweet expanse of your neck after a long day, or just every day. –he takes another deep breath as his voice cracks- I want to make you coffee even if I’m not a morning person as you are, I want to make you laugh, and -I also want you to be with someone who is worthy of you he wanted to say, but instead- make myself into the person who is worthy of you. You deserve it. Jimin, you are the choke of my whiskey, you are the blank ink on my pages, you are the whole of heart, and you are the last voice I want to hear before I shuffle off this mortal show I call life. There will never be another one like you and I hope it’s written on my tombstone, I want my love for you to be how I’m remembered.

Then he hangs up, still looking at the window and waiting to see if there’s any signal, anything. He thinks that maybe, it’s too late. Someone like Jimin could have the world on his hand if he wanted, capable of captivating anyone.

Even when it’s been a week since Jimin went away, with an ocean of sorrow on his eyes, a suitcase in hand and Yoongi’s heart on the other, he is sure that Jimin could do better than Yoongi who is night, ty meals, sleepy eyes and half-finished cigarettes. And maybe Park Jimin is destined to bigger things, but Yoongi just wants to be his.

I already am.

After what seems like years for him, his phones buzzes on his pocket and the screen lights with a message.

Jimin: Come back home.

Yoongi lets his tears fall free.