Jimin suddenly jerks awake to the angry churn of his roiling stomach, lurching out of the warm bed and nearly tripping over his own two feet in his urgency to stagger towards the adjoining bathroom door.

The world outside is still and quiet, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon. It can't be more than six in the morning. But none of that really matters as Jimin clutches his hands over his mouth, shoulder glancing off the side of the doorway in his haste to rush to the toilet.

"Ow ," he curses, brain still fogged with the last remnants of sleep. Jimin hisses at the door while rubbing the sore spot on his shoulder, other hand groping along the wall blindly in search of the light switch.

And click.

Blink.

Blink blink.

"What?"

Jimin blinks in utter confusion, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his fists until spots of purple light explode behind his lids because he isn't sure if he's still dreaming or not.

Since when did his bathroom have all these nice suits lined up along the walls?

Organized by color and style?

He barely has three? For special occasions? Like maybe weddings? Or funerals? Family portrait day?

Jimin frowns, temporarily forgetting about the wriggling snakes in his belly in light of his current bewilderment.

This isn't his bathroom.

There isn't even a toilet.

The thought slowly takes root in his muddled mind, the gears in his brain slowly starting to turn as the fog of sleepiness begins to lift.

Warning bells begin to sound the alarm.

Red lights begin to flash.

And green, and blue.

And music slowly begins to stream into his inner ears.

Technicolor beams of light displayed above the masses, the pounding bass shaking the very foundations of the building as sweat slicked bodies sway from side to side against each other, nobody caring too much for personal space in their lovely drunken haze.

A firm chest pressed flush behind him.

A brush of warm, soft lips to his neck.

A deep, lilting voice whispered into his ear.

Gentle hands all over his body, and his hands all over someone else.

A steady flush begins to spread across Jimin's cheeks at the memory, feet rooted to the plush black carpet that he now realizes is not his.

Jimin takes a quick glace down his body, all the way down to his toes in examination. That can't be right. No. but to his horror, he is completely .

Jimin jerks his head back up, eyelids screwed shut and fists clenched beside him.

He’s afraid to turn around.

He’s afraid to turn around, only for his eyes to land upon the consequences of his actions.

The shame of his guilty conscience catches a bitter lump in his throat, only made more bitter by the aftertaste of alcohol still lingering from merely a few hours before.

Jimin isn't ready to deal with this. A one night stand just isn't something he normally does. His head is pounding, and his stomach is churning, and the stress of all this knowledge has his breaths beginning to stutter, heartbeat racing out of control.

And without a second thought, Jimin bolts.

Grabbing onto whatever articles of clothing he can recognize as his own and haphazardly jamming them on, not caring as to whether a sleeve is going onto his leg or a pant leg onto his arm, Jimin scampers like a frightened rabbit out of the luxurious penthouse suite that is definitely not his, not even chancing a brief glance in case the other party should wake.

Socks balled in his hands, Jimin doesn't even bother to put them on before shoving his bare feet into his shoes and rushing out the door.

There just isn't any time for that kind of nicety.

The burn in Jimin's cheeks grows increasingly hotter as he waits for a taxi at the corner of the street, every ache in his lower body multiplying his embarrassment as he mentally flagellates himself for allowing this to happen.

The entire cab ride home, Jimin tries to backtrack through the course of events that had led him to where he is now.

Receiving the happy phone call that he'd secured the job position.

Finally.

His roommate Taehyung insisting they go out and celebrate.

That traitor.

Getting ready and going out to the clubs.

Bad idea.

Jimin honestly doesn't remember getting that drunk. And if he is clearly able recall the taste of his stranger's lips, the smell of his cologne (another wave of heat burning his already so red cheeks), then obviously he wasn't completely trashed.

Just on the other side of buzzed, drunk enough for his judgment to be impaired.

The sky outside is now a watercolor canvas of purples and yellows and orange, the sun now rising up out of the clouds.

Jimin slides lower down his seat, attempting to make himself invisible from all the morning risers now up and about, going about their day, so sure that they are all staring at him and pointing fingers to judge.

Jimin doesn't feel safe from prying eyes until he is finally tucked away behind the sanctity of his own apartment, dropping his socks and slamming the door shut as he shuffles in like a zombie.

He thanks whatever deity that had kept the curtains closed, relishing in the dim lighting and allowing his oversensitive eyes to rest.

Jimin is on a one-line train of thought, making a beeline for the bathroom when a voice in the darkness startles him out of his almost trancelike stupor.

"You were out late last night," Taehyung's voice is heard from somewhere on the other side of the couch. And Jimin bites back the blood curdling shriek that threatens to tear out of his throat. Instead, he stumbles into the wall, knees giving out and slowly sliding down to the floor.

Taehyung’s face pops up over the back of the couch, an amused smile curving the corners of his lips. And Jimin can’t even muster the strength to glare at him because he’s just so damn exhausted, not to mention his stomach is still flipping and turning like a typhoon.

“You,” Jimin croaks in accusation, his abused vocal cords straining to form proper syllables.

“Me,” Taehyung drapes himself over the back of the couch, still smiling so damn smug. And Jimin wishes he had the energy to walk over there and smack it off his face. But he doesn’t. So he opts, instead, for fixing him with the dirtiest look he can muster.

“So where were you last night?” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows provocatively.

“Why were you sleeping on the couch?” Jimin counters back, evading the question.

“Ordered pizza,” Taehyung shrugs, glancing over his shoulder to check something out of Jimin’s line of sight. Taehyung disappears behind the other side of the couch, and Jimin stares at the backside as Taehyung rustles with something he assumes is on the coffee table.

“Cool, there’s leftovers,” Taehyung reappears with a slice of cold pizza clamped between his lips.

Jimin rolls his eyes, gently tapping the back of his head on the wall. Whoops, bad idea.

“Ow,” Jimin slowly sinks to the ground, curling into a fetal position and cheek pressed into the carpet.

“So where did you go after the club?” Taehyung asks again, chewing on a large chunk of pizza. “I lost you after that last tequila shot.”

“How much did we drink last night?” Jimin groans, the walls beginning to spin around him.

“I don’t know, but you’re avoiding the question,” Taehyung says in between chews. And the sound of Taehyung eating makes Jimin feeling even queasier.

“Don’t leave me hanging. Give me details,” Taehyung insists, and Jimin finally explodes.

“I woke up in some random apartment okay?! It was a really nice apartment in the really nice part of town and there were people walking their expensive dogs in their expensive tracksuits and I can’t really remember how I got there but I’m pretty damn sure he was really hot and the was hot and everything was so damn hot and I don’t know how it happened okay?! Now will you let it go?!”

Jimin immediately regrets his decision because now his head is pounding tenfold, and his ears are starting to buzz.

A stark silence rings loudly in the room, and Jimin finds himself wishing an earthquake would wipe out the apartment and bury him alive.

Jimin cracks his eyes open, unaware that he’d shut them in the first place. He glances at his roommate across the brightening living room, Taehyung’s pizza frozen halfway to his mouth.

He drops the pizza, and Jimin watches from his rotated view as it falls to the carpet with a thud.

“Tae, the carpet,” Jimin whimpers. “Grease stains. Deposit check.”

“YOU GOT LAID,” Taehyung shouts, vaulting over the back of the couch and bounding across the living room like an Olympic runner to where Jimin is attempting to melt into the carpet and become one with the floor. “YOU GOT LAID! BRUH!”

“Oh my god, go away,” Jimin curls in on himself as Taehyung pounces onto his incapacitated form.

“Finally,” Taehyung shakes Jimin’s body, and Jimin can feel his bones rattle. “It’s about time.”

“Oh my god, Tae stop,” Jimin whines, flailing his arms in an attempt to bat his cursed roommate away.

“How was it? Was he good? When was the last time you even got some? Is that a hicky?” Taehyung all but rips Jimin’s shirt collar off as he stares at a large purpling bruise blossoming in between Jimin’s shoulder and collarbone.

“TAE,” Jimin squeals, before staggering onto his feet and catapulting for the bathroom as he loses whatever he had in his stomach into the toilet bowl.

Ugh, why is life?

--

Throughout the course of his final week of unemployment, Jimin slowly files away his weekend tryst as an unfortunate and distant memory, the excitement and jittering nerves of a new job drowning out all other thoughts from the forefront of his mind.

And before he knows it, D-Day has finally come.

“Tae! Have you seen my socks?!” Jimin hops around his room with one foot sticking in the wrong side of his black slacks, hands otherwise occupied with blow drying his hair, the chord slowly wrapping around his one leg supporting his weight.

“Did you check your drawer?” Taehyung pops his head in through the door, a piece of toast clamped in his mouth.

“I took it out earlier,” Jimin raises his voice above the roar of the blow dryer, turning around to face Taehyung. “It’s the only pair of black s-“

Crash.

With a loud thump, Jimin finds himself flat on his back on the floor, the blow dryer now unplugged and lying limp in his hand.

“Ow, not today, please,” Jimin internally begs to whatever higher power is listening to his pitiful cries for a relatively painless day.

Please, just this one day. So he doesn’t make a bad impression on his first day of work.

“Here, I found your socks,” Taehyung digs out Jimin’s socks from somewhere in between his still rumpled sheets.

Quietly, Taehyung helps him fix his hair, while Jimin places his legs in the proper sides.

“Thanks,” Jimin smiles weakly as Taehyung places the blow dryer down on his dresser. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably be lost out there in the big bad world, floundering like a fish out of water,” Taehyung smiles back warmly, shoving the remaining quarter piece of now stale toast into Jimin’s mouth.

Jimin chokes on the dry bit of bread, swallowing it down thickly as he watches Taehyung head out of the room.

With a cough, he clears his throat, giving himself a final onceover in the mirror above his dresser.

“No mistakes,” Jimin gives himself a small pep talk. “You’ll do great. Let’s go!”

“Hey Jimin, it’s already seven thirty-five,” Taehyung’s voice travels across from the other side of the apartment. “Shouldn’t you be heading out already?”

“Oh crap!”

--

Jimin manages to stumble in through the grand double entrance with three minutes to spare, dashing like a madman with his briefcase flying behind him.

“Excuse me, pardon me, sorry sir!” Jimin shoots apologies left and right as he weaves in through the crowd of morning rush, the sound of light conversation and clacking heels murmuring around him as Jimin pushes himself as fast as he can go towards the elevators.

Breathing heavily and clutching at the stitch in his side, he lines up near the back of the queue, trying to remember what floor he’s supposed to stop at, and which way he needs to go.

Once again regaining his composure, Jimin straightens up, brushing out the wrinkles from his suit. He takes a glance at his reflection in the golden elevator doors, internally lamenting the train wreck of a style his hair has become in his rush to make it on time.

What a waste of half an hour of his morning.

The elevator pings, and Jimin manages to squeeze in with first group of men and women, all dressed in various degrees of professional business attire.

Eyes flittering from left to right, Jimin settles in between a woman who smells very strongly of some floral perfume and a man towering above him by a head and a half. Jimin tries to make himself as small as possible as the doors smoothly slide shut.

Jimin taps his foot out of nervous habit, only realizing he’s doing so when the woman beside him clears in irritation.

“Sorry,” he whispers, glancing down at the toes of his shoes. His fingers wrap tightly around the handle of his briefcase placed before him, waiting nervously as little by little, people begin to maneuver their way out of the elevator.

And finally, he reaches his designated floor, hesitation stalling his steps for a brief second before squaring his shoulders and stepping out into a long hallway stretching out on either side.

The metal doors slide shut behind him, and the elevator begins to whir on up.

With a shaky sigh, Jimin takes the left end of the hall, feet shuffling along the rich carpet as he drags himself, feigning confidence he doesn’t actually possess.

Jimin finally turns the corner and comes upon a large room divided by rows and rows of cubicles, already filled with fellow employees busy at work. He passes along the edge of the office space, coming upon a wooden door labeled ‘Kim Seokjin, Head of Department.’

Fixing his most winning smile on his face, Jimin taps three times on the door.

“Hold on a second,” he hears a muffled voice, sounding somewhat frazzled. Jimin hazards a guess that he’s speaking into a telephone. “Come in!”

Whispering a final word of encouragement to himself, Jimin turns the knob and enters the room.

--

By the time noon rolls around, Jimin’s brain is already fit to burst, piles upon piles of new information ready to dribble out through his ears.

“Hey new guy,” one of his seniors calls from a few cubicles down. “Be a doll and run down to the café for me, yeah? Grab me a vanilla soy latte will you?”

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his cheek into the cool surface of his desk space and adamantly ignoring the falsetto voice calling his name.

“New guy? New guy?”

He has a name. It’s Park Jimin. Ugh.

“Hey,” Jimin hears a happy, much more friendly voice. And a warm hand gently squeezes his shoulder.

Jimin glances up, finally opening his eyes.

“You’re name is Jimin, right?”

Jimin is met with a brightly smiling face, and he can’t help but smile back.

“Yeah,” Jimin replies, straightening out in his chair. “AKA new guy.”

“Don’t mind her,” smiling guy laughs, patting Jimin on the back. “She calls that to every new member in the department. My name is Hoseok, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jimin accepts his coworker’s proffered hand, smiling shyly.

“You know she’s not going to stop until she gets her vanilla soy latte,” Hoseok shrugs with an easy grin. “I can accompany you to the café if you’d like. It’s just downstairs.”

“Please,” Jimin rises from his chair, stretching out the kinks in his back.

“Oh there you are! New guy, vanilla soy latte! Thank you!”

Jimin sighs, and Hoseok pats him on the shoulder sympathetically.

“And an Americano please! I want it iced!”

“Mocha latte!”

“Caramel Macchiato! No Whip!”

Jimin wrinkles his nose, already bursting brain trying to remember the requested beverages.

“You’re so cute,” Hoseok taps Jimin on the forehead with his finger. “Come on, let’s go.”

“But I don’t-“ Jimin pouts, ready to go into mental breakdown mode just within the first day of work.

“That’s okay,” Hoseok throws a casual arm over Jimin’s shoulder. “I got it.”

And with that, Jimin is automatically steered out of the office.

--

“How do you even remember all of that?” Jimin asks in awe, watching as Hoseok orders the list of drinks at the register.

“Good memory,” Hoseok winks, tapping his finger on his temple.

“Well, bummer,” Jimin sighs, staring up at the ceiling.

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Hoseok smiles kindly, handing his card to the cashier. "It only lasts until the next new guy comes along."

“Oh wait,” Jimin reaches out his own, trying to hand it to the confused cashier. But Hoseok blocks his attempt.

The girl at the cashier stares at the two of them with bemusement.

“I got it,” Hoseok forces Jimin to shove his card back in his wallet. “Don’t want to scare you away just after one day.”

“Thank you,” Jimin stuffs his wallet into his back pocket, the two of them stepping off to the side to allow the other patrons to order their drinks.

Hoseok continues to make small talk as the barista prepares their orders, placing pristine white cup after another into brown holders of four.

“Number four thirty eight, your order is ready,” the barista calls. And Hoseok and Jimin take hold of a holder in each hand, turning back to head towards the elevators when suddenly, everyone in the main lobby halts mid-step in whatever activity they are doing, almost perfectly in sync.

The cultlike effect is eerie, in Jimin's opinion.

The entire room goes silent, every single employee turning towards the grand double doors respectfully.

“What’s going on,” Jimin whispers, eyes wide and leaning in to Hoseok’s side.

“Min Yoongi, the big boss around here,” Hoseok points his chin towards the door where a procession of black suits begins to file into the hall, creating a pathway leading towards the elevators followed by a group of very polished, official looking people cutting through the open space.

“Over there, at the back,” Hoseok informs again, nodding subtly. And Jimin peers through the line of black suits curiously.

Everything looks so very synchronized, Jimin ponders as he watches in wonder. So this is his employer.

Min Yoongi.

From afar, Jimin thinks his boss is rather attractive, shock of black hair sweeping over slanted eyes followed by pouty lips, pale, flawless skin rounded out with a set of full cheeks that give him an almost boyish look.

Min Yoongi seems to carry himself with an air of confidence that Jimin could never hope to possess, shoulders straight and head held high, designer suit tailored perfectly to hang off his frame so sinfully, walking with resolution, purpose.

Wow, Jimin silently admires, a shimmery haze sparkling around his vision when his boss suddenly turns his head, and their gazes meet, and Jimin is stuck, trapped by those alluring orbs.

There is a brief flicker of recognition in Min Yoongi’s eyes, and Jimin is attacked by an onslaught of memories, gentle fingers caressing up his thigh, mingled breaths panting in his ear, feeling so damn good that he wants to cry, waking up in a room that is clearly not his own.

Min Yoongi’s lips fall open, and Jimin really wishes the ground below would open up and swallow him whole.

Damn it.

For the love of all that is holy.

Jimin promptly drops his coffee holders and makes a run for it.

--

“Taehyung why,” Jimin cries in distress, crouching in the maintenance closet with his cellphone cradled to his ear. “Why is my life like this?”

Jimin is really starting to wonder if he’d done something terribly wrong in his past life, maybe committed some kind of mortal sin to deserve this kind of karmic injustice at every turn of his existence.

“Tae, what do I do?” Jimin wails in a whisper, trying to keep the noise level to a minimum.

“Wait, so let me get this straight,” Taehyung’s voice crackles through the receiver. “The man you slept with, and the man who’s supposed to be your boss, is one and the same?”

A cross between a choke and a whimper gurgles in the back of Jimin’s throat. He side-eyes a bottle of cleaning product and wonders just how much damage it would do if he poured it down his ear. If only it could wipe out his memories.

“You slept with your boss,” Taehyung reaffirms, and Jimin fights back the urge to chuck his phone.

“You’re not helping,” Jimin whines, banging his forehead into the dirty yellow custodial cart.

“This is gold,” Taehyung laughs, and Jimin wishes he could shove his hand through the receiver and strangle his no-good, useless lump of a roommate.

“Sorry, I can’t really help you there bud,” Taehyung says apologetically, trying to stifle his laughter.

“My life is ruined,” Jimin moans in despair, falling onto his rear and rubbing his face with his hand.

“Look, I have to get back to my kids,” Taehyung’s voice seems to pull away from the phone, shouting out to his art class, most likely. “And I’m pretty sure you need to get back to work too,” Taehyung’s voice returns to normal volume, and Jimin mutters under his breath.

“For all you know.”

“You know,” Taehyung sighs, loud voices echoing in the background. “What’s wrong with talking to him? You can actually get to know him. Who knows? Maybe you’ll like him, and he’ll like you?”

“Tae, I can’t,” Jimin whimpers at the mere thought. Who is he to even think he has a chance with a man like Min Yoongi? So powerful and smart? CEO and top of the conglomerate food chain? His employer?

And then you have Jimin, living off of unemployment, taking it day by day, surviving off of buttered toast and cup noodles, still sleeping in his Pikachu pajamas.

Right, the contrast there is just so striking.

“Look, fine,” Taehyung’s voice suddenly turns serious. And startled, Jimin straightens his back, paying attention. “I know this isn’t something you’d anticipated. But this is your new job now, and you can’t just quit because you slept with the boss. I’m pretty sure you’ll barely even have the opportunity to run into him. He’s really high up right? The boss? And you just started, right?”

“Right,” Jimin mumbles, picking at the hem of his suit jacket.

“So what are the chances you’ll even have direct contact with him?”

“Slim to none,” Jimin replies, slowly allowing Taehyung’s logic to take root in his mind.

“So, what’s the problem here?” Taehyung asks in a no-nonsense tone. And Jimin finds himself feeling a lot more reassured than he’d felt in the past two hours.

“Nothing,” Jimin responds a bit more confidently, already pulling himself up to his feet.

“Okay then! Get going!” Taehyung cheers, and Jimin internally celebrates with him.

Hanging up his phone, and feeling a million times better than he’d felt in the last twenty-four hours, Jimin confidently walks out of the maintenance closet with an extra spring to his step.

But with every step he takes, that extra spring slows down into a drag. And Jimin peers warily around every corner before turning, just in case.

Jimin goes about the rest of his day in a state of constant hysteria, paranoia and panic seizing his muscles and locking his limbs into immobility.

“Hey, you okay?” Hoseok places a gentle hand on Jimin’s shoulder, finding the distracted young man in the copy room, hands clutching onto the copy machine as if his life depends on it. And Jimin’s body spasms as if an electric current had just run through his veins.

“Woah, relax,” Hoseok takes a step back, hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Huh? What?” Jimin blinks in confusion, eyes blank as if he’s somewhere far, far away.

“You know, there’s only fifteen more minutes until we get off work,” Hoseok frowns in concern, waving a hand before Jimin’s face. “Why don’t you just take off early?”

“What?” Jimin asks again, and Hoseok carefully guides him out of the copy room back towards his cubicle.

Hoseok quietly helps Jimin gather his belongings. Rather, Hoseok packs all of Jimin’s things into his briefcase while Jimin sits on his chair and stares blankly at his computer monitor.

“Stressful first day, huh?” Hoseok pats Jimin on the back as he helps him back onto his feet. “I’ll walk you down.”

Jimin nods gratefully, allowing Hoseok to usher him back down the elevators and to the main lobby.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Hoseok asks again for the tenth time as Jimin slides into the backseat of a hailed taxi.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Jimin smiles weakly, shaking hands buckling his seatbelt. “Thank you so much for all your help today.”

“No worries,” Hoseok smiles back, shutting the door. “Go get some rest. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jimin’s voice quivers. “Tomorrow.”

The entire taxi ride home, Jimin brainstorms all the different excuses he can use to take the rest of the week off. He contemplates the many pros and cons of quitting or staying with this job. And ultimately, Jimin decides he really needs this job.

“Really, I didn’t even see him at all after,” Jimin mutters to himself with a nod. “And I probably won’t see him again. Yeah! It’ll be fine!”

“Uh, excuse me? We have arrived,” the cabby glances through the rearview mirror with an odd look.

“Oh, sorry!” Jimin quickly pulls out his wallet, handing the driver his cab fare and climbing out of the car.

“So, how was your first day?” Taehyung asks, glancing up from the stack of art projects he’s reviewing as Jimin kicks off his shoes and plops down on the couch beside him.

Without a word, Jimin lays his head on Taehyung’s lap, curling into a fetal position as Taehyung softly scratches his scalp.

It soothes his frayed nerves and soul.

“It was okay,” Jimin belatedly replies after a short stretch of comfortable silence. “After that event that shall never again be spoken of, everything was fine. The work is kind of confusing, but there are some really nice coworkers. I think it’ll be okay.”

“That’s good,” Taehyung nods, head tilted as he gazes at a splatterwork of various colors with no rhyme nor reason. “I’m glad everything worked out fine.”

And as Jimin drifts away into a short nap, he slowly repeats to himself that everything will be fine.

Seriously, what are the chances they’ll ever cross paths again?

None!

So, there is nothing to worry about.

Everything will be peaches.

--

One week of work, and no smoking hot boss man in sight.

Not once.

And with every passing day, Jimin easily settles into the routine of his work, making a few more friends in the office and starting to really get the hang of everything going on.

Peaches.

--

Right.

But karma never seemed to like him very much, did it?

Nope.

Why does he even try?

--

Jimin bemoans the sight of his bed ruffled mop of hair reflected by the side of the building, running as fast as he can while simultaneous carding his fingers through his unkempt hair in an attempt to tame it.

But this only further aggravates the situation, making his fluff of hair poof even higher, and Jimin gives it up as a lost cause.

Jimin had somehow managed to sleep through all five of his alarms, waking up half an hour behind schedule, which ultimately led to the bird’s nest currently sitting atop his head.

At least he had enough time to wash up before making a run for it like all hell were chasing behind him.

The main lobby is completely empty save for the security guard, who’s shooting him a patronizing look as Jimin flies through the hall, no apologies necessary this time because there’s no one there.

He’s so late.

And so dead.

Jimin is wheezing and bent double as he skids to a halt in front of the elevators, glaring at his watch in the hopes that if he stares hard enough, it’ll stop ticking and buy him a bit more time.

His watch reads eight twenty-seven, which means he’s twenty-seven minutes late. That's twice already in the two short weeks of work he’d been here. Fantastic.

This trend has got to stop, Jimin admonishes himself as the red number above the elevator slowly ticks down to one. The inner mechanisms slowly whir to a halt. And Jimin straightens himself out as the golden doors slide open.

Jimin is about to step inside the empty lift, when he suddenly comes to the realization that the elevator, in fact, is not empty.

So not empty.

Boss Min Yoongi standing before him in all his personally tailored, power suited glory, a mild look of surprise gracing his otherwise stoic features.

Jimin’s survival instincts tell him to bolt, and his body automatically pivots to make a break for it in the opposite direction.

To hell with work, Jimin decides, dropping his briefcase. He can find employment elsewhere. His only intention now is to get as far away as possible.

Run.

But Jimin barely makes it a step and a half away from the elevator when a hand curls around his upper arm, the break in momentum forcing him to come to a jarring stop and lose his balance.

Jimin screws his eyes shut, waiting for a fall that never comes.

Cracking his eyes open one at a time, Jimin briefly gets a glance of the elevator doors sliding shut, and he notices that he’s on the wrong side of those metal doors.

Damn it.

Jimin also notices that, at this moment in time, there is a strong arm wrapped around his waist, preventing his fall. And his hands are resting on a very firm, very familiar chest.

.

Jimin quickly removes his hands from Yoongi’s chest, much as if he’d been burned. And unable to find a place to put them, Jimin opts for awkwardly holding his hands up between them like a shield. Nervous eyes skitter around the confined space of the elevator, resolutely avoiding Yoongi’s burning gaze until there’s nowhere left to look.

“Um, hi,” Jimin finishes lamely with an awkward cough.

“Hi,” Yoongi replies, the corner of his lip quirking up in amusement.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin very subtly tries to wiggle away. But Yoongi’s hold is firm, keeping Jimin pinned against his chest. “Small world, ha ha.”

“Mm, yeah. Small world,” Yoongi nods, still smiling. And Jimin has this sudden urge to that plump lower lip. Which, in turn, causes a nice healthy flush to spread across his already pink tinged cheeks.

 “Uh,” Jimin his lip, throat going dry. “Do you mind?” he glances down at the arm wrapped around him.

“Yeah, I do, actually,” Yoongi replies coolly. And Jimin’s attention is snapped back up, startled.

“This thing? It’s got to stop,” Yoongi continues, further throwing Jimin into confusion. His mind is already so bewildered by Yoongi’s mere proximity, that intoxicating smell of his cologne muddling his thoughts. It’s not fair, Jimin internally laments the loss of his coherency.

“Stop what, I don’t get it?” Jimin breathes, eyes going cross eyed as Yoongi leans in closer.

Jimin can almost count the individual lashes framing Yoongi’s gentle eyes.

“This running thing you have going on,” Yoongi whispers back, warm breath ghosting over Jimin’s trembling lips. “Not giving me a chance to talk to you.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Jimin struggles between the urge to push away and run or potentially latch on and never let go.

“Why would I want to do what?” Yoongi asks with a frown, pressing in even impossibly closer. So close that Jimin wonders if they haven’t fused together.

“Why would you want to talk to me?” Jimin soldiers on, not giving up on his argument, whatever that is. He doesn’t even really remember anymore. The only important thing right now is that this gorgeous man is so, so very close to him. And Jimin just really wants to kiss him.

Everything else fades away into the background.

“I think you’re cute,” Yoongi relaxes into an easy smile, their lips barely touching. “And I’d really like to get to know you.”

“Huh,” the tension in Jimin’s body deflates, body going entirely boneless.

“And you’re probably the best lay I’ve ever had.”

Forgoing all pretenses now, Jimin throws his body forward, arms wrapping around Yoongi’s neck as their lips come crashing together, so soft and warm, just like Jimin had dreamed in the deepest darkest hours of the night.

Jimin melts into the kiss, fingers curling into the soft locks of hair at the base of Yoongi’s neck as he attempts to push himself closer, if that’s even possible. He tilts his head to the side, allowing their slotted mouths to mesh better together to deepen the kiss.

Jimin’s head is spinning from a combination of the bruising kiss and lack of oxygen flowing into his lungs, knees buckling and legs threatening to give way. Yoongi staggers forward, pressing Jimin into the elevator wall and propping his knee in between Jimin’s legs to support his weight.

Jimin only clings desperately closer.

When they finally run out of breath, Yoongi pulls away first, Jimin subconsciously following forward. Jimin pouts, unable to do anything about his dissatisfaction because his body refuses to follow through.

“I don’t think this is exactly the best place,” Yoongi comments, voice low and rough. And Jimin can only nod.

“You know, I think we got the order of this all wrong,” Yoongi continues, swiping his fingers through Jimin’s messy fluff of hair, palm coming to rest on Jimin’s heated cheek. “I’d like to take you out to dinner. After work, if you don’t have anything planned.”

“I’d like that,” Jimin smiles, eyes curving into twin crescents.

“Great,” Yoongi leans in to place a chaste kiss on Jimin’s smiling lips.

--

“Jimin has a boyfriend! Jimin has a boyfriend! Jimin has a boyfriend!” Taehyung prances around the living room, waving his arms in the air back and forth, much as if he's partaking in some ritualistic rain dance.

“Shut up!” Jimin shoots him a withering look, aiming the remote control for Taehyung’s head.

Darn, missed.

“Jimin has a boyfriend! Jimin has a boyfriend! Jimin has a boyfriend!”

“Oh my god, how old are you?” Jimin whines, burying his head in between the couch cushions to hide his blazing cheeks.

“Jimin has a boyfriend! Jimin has a boyfriend! Jimin has a boyfriend!”

“TAE!”