Nine years.

Nine years, two months, and not a single word.

You'd think that maybe, after the passing of so much time, Yoongi would be over something as meaningless and short-lived as what he shared in high school with some who had, in the end, made him feel incredibly naive.

But it seems that, as per usual, he's mistaken.

When he sees Jimin again for the first time, with his warm eyes and a suit that looks weird on him only because he looks so serious and professional, even after all those years, there's still that foolish something inside of him that twists. Something in his heart that just aches.

Nothing was supposed to come out of this night. It was supposed to be a break from himself. And his few friends, if he's being honest. Seokjin has been talking his ear off lately about breakups and drama and celebrities, and he couldn't bring himself to care about any of it if he tried.

God, if he'd known this would be the outcome of trying to escape relationship-building with his coworkers and the fact that his apartment is freezing this time of year, he probably would've just stayed home. Froze his off, willingly.

Because right now, sitting at this bar in a club on Friday night, (he hates clubs, hates them, but the drinks here are ic) his eardrums violated by the sound of some -faced guy belting Uptown Funk nearby, he can't help but be surprised - and just a little horrified - to see Jimin's face.

Moments roll by, moments in which Yoongi swears he's eighteen again, young and full of hurt and not ready to forgive.

And when the blonde's eyes finally do meet Yoongi's, he looks shocked, biting his lip, looking down at his hands and fidgeting with them like a lying witness in court.

Seems they were both very unprepared to see each other. Especially here, in this place, in this instant.

So in the following, terrifying seconds, when Jimin finds it in himself to stand up and approach him, shuffling towards the empty seat at his side, Yoongi stiffens in both surprise and dread, lowering his head so his black bangs fall in front of his face.

There's nothing he wants less than to talk to him right now.

Unfortunately, there's not much he can do about that. Jimin's just a talker. Always has been.

"Hey," he hears the smooth voice say from beside him. It's just loud enough to be understood over the music and chatter.

He damn near cringes as the sound meets his ears, words from the past hanging and spinning over his head like a mobile. He should've just left fifteen seconds ago, because now, he's fresh out of options that don't involve social interaction. With Jimin. "Hey," he mutters, void of emotion as he takes a swig of his drink, as if this whole situation doesn't bother him.

It really shouldn't. So many years have passed, he should be over that whole mess by now, but what can he say? He's always been petulant, just like Jimin's always been talkative.

"Haven't seen you in a while," the blonde man next to him points out like it's ing news to Yoongi. "You look-"

"Like ?" he offers, borderline dropping his empty glass on the bar-top, which makes a loud clanking sound. Some chick a couple seats away raises her eyebrows at him. He ignores her.

"I was gonna say tired," Jimin tells him, running his left hand over the surface of the bar. "But yeah. You do look like ," he finishes, using the same hand to give him a pat of consolation on the back.

Yoongi shrinks under the touch, and Jimin pulls his hand away awkwardly. "Thanks. It's in style right now," Yoongi says, swirling around small drops of liquid in his glass as he watches Jimin's left hand return to the bar top.

"Gotcha," Jimin replies in amusement, but the little curve of his lips goes unnoticed by Yoongi, who's busy staring. Starting to pick up on the fact that for some reason, Jimin hasn't taken his right hand out of his pocket at all. It looks a little awkward. Uncomfortable, even, but he doesn't budge.

"Got something sacred in your pocket there?" he questions, nodding towards the hidden hand.

Jimin follows the gesture with his eyes, and he quickly understands what Yoongi means. His only response is a shrug of his shoulders, indifferent as ever.

Yoongi's not sure if he buys that. His eyebrows furrow deeply towards the middle of his forehead. "Park Jimin, if you've got your hands on your ing manhood, I will cut you."

Jimin's eyes widen more than Yoongi thinks he's ever seen them widen before. It would be some sort of milestone, if Yoongi cared. "God, no," Jimin huffs back, trying to hide his mortification. "You really think I'd...?"

Yoongi snorts. "Oh, right. I forgot. You're like, totally straight."

"Yoongi," Jimin interjects, sighing, "This isn't high school anymore. Can we just forget about that?"

Yoongi chuckles, and it's bitter, like the flavor of the drink lingering in his throat. "Repress it all you want, ladies man. Doesn't change how ed it was."

"Okay, how about this. I'll buy you a drink," Jimin offers. "Anything you want."

Finally, Yoongi steals a glance over at his face, allowing himself to think that Jimin looks much more mature than he used to. The chubbiness in his cheeks has vanished, replaced with handsome, sharp features, and though his eyes are still nothing short of breathtaking, they seem more dismal, dark. He's probably imagining it.

"I don't need you to buy me ," he rejects, looking away again.

"Oh, come on," Jimin protests in genuine disappointment, flashing him the closest thing to a pout he's done in a while. Probably years. "I'm trying to be nice, you ."

"Mhm. And I'm trying to get drunk."

"I know. So let me help you, man," Jimin insists, about to wave the bartender down to order whatever it may be, but his efforts are cut off.

"Don't call me man," Yoongi almost groans. "We're not friends."

"Maybe not now," Jimin admits. "But listen, I know you better than anyone. I know that you're super into music, and love hot tea but you refuse to tell anyone because it sounds girly. You always use up the hot water before anyone else in the house can use it-"

"Oh, you-" Yoongi cuts in, but Jimin continues.

"And I know that you hate it when your mom calls you Yoongi bear, and that I'd be a pretty rad friend," Jimin finishes, like he's so insightful. Yoongi really should smack him. "Oh yeah, and also, you act tough, but you bruise like a fruit, which is another nickname you hate."

That little comment does anything but help his frustration. "Oh my god," Yoongi huffs, rubbing his face with the heels of his hands. "Don't even start telling gay jokes."

"You made a joke about my not thirty seconds ago," Jimin points out.

"That wasn't a joke. That was an accusation," Yoongi refutes, rolling his eyes because Jimin is stupid, which means not much has changed.

The accused sits beside him in his overly sophisticated suit, silent. Watching the lights, tapping his finger on his thigh. Yoongi knows he isn't an easy one to crack, and he wonders if Jimin even cares to spend the effort anymore. He wonders if he wants him to.

No. No, I don't.

"Well," Jimin says, pulling his hand out of his pocket, "If it makes you feel better, I was only holding this," he tells Yoongi, holding his palm out to reveal a toy car.

It's blue, tiny, and scratched to hell and back. Yoongi doesn't stop frowning. He's got a lot of questions. Questions like, why do you still have that? Why do you have it with you right now? Have you had it this whole time? But he doesn't vocalize any of them. What comes out of his mouth is, "I don't know what that's supposed to mean to me."

Jimin shrugs, placing the car back in his pocket. "It means whatever you want it to."

"It means to me that you read a lot of John Green and had a lot of beer."

"Maybe I did, peach."

Peach. Peach. Yoongi turns his head in disbelief. "What'd you call me?"

Jimin shrugs again. "Peach."

Yoongi can't believe this. Jimin has to be trying to be aggravating right now, there's no way he could be doing this by sheer coincidence. "Don't call me that," he mutters.

"I'll call you what I want," Jimin tells him. "Peach," he tacks on again, a little quieter now.

"Shhh," Yoongi hushes, putting a hand over Jimin's mouth, which makes him start to giggle. It's appalling. Definitely appalling to Yoongi in every way. He doesn't even know why he got within six inches of Jimin, let alone touched him.

"Don't tell me what to do," the blonde laughs back, running his tongue over Yoongi's palm, which immediately makes him jerk away, grimacing.

"The ? Did you just my hand?" he gripes, wiping the saliva off on his jeans. "You have no idea where it could've been."

At this point, Jimin's just laughing at him. Which, for whatever reason, eggs him on. "No, seriously. I could've let my dog peanut butter off of my hand. I could've had my fingers knuckle-deep in someone's ," he lists off, like this means a lot to him.

Jimin shakes his head, not sure why he's even laughing. ". Are you sure you aren't drunk yet?" he yells to override the volume of the bass in this room.

Yoongi gives him a simple nod. "As sure as I am about you holding your under there," he says, pointing again at Jimin's hidden hand, shoved right back into his pocket like before.

It doesn't really occur to Jimin until after he's given Yoongi a playful punch in the shoulder that tomorrow morning, there will probably be a bruise.

____

a/n
it begins

sdjkfhs i'm so excited that i'm posting this after all these months! hopefully y'all like it so far. yoongi is so salty in this chapter lmao it's glorious

tell me what you think so far in the comments c: