According to Yoongi the night is still young which Jimin would love to argue is completely untrue and that Min Yoongi must live by a different biological clock from the rest of the planet because it is three in the morning and Jimin is fighting a losing battle against his heavy eyelids and the comfy sofa that curves in all the right places around his shoulder blades.

“Go to sleep Jimin,” Yoongi says gruffly over his shoulder, one ear of the headphone half slipped off. He must be psychic to see Jimin’s half-hidden yawn because he doesn’t even look, doesn’t even pause in the way he clicks viciously at the mouse. Somehow that makes it all the more infuriating.

Jimin pinches hard the skin at the crease of his elbow and shakes his head roughly. “I’m fine hyung,” he mumbles and tries to pretend his speech is not heavily saturated with sleep.

Yoongi gives a short sigh and turns on his spinning chair. He frowns at Jimin from beneath the pair of thick framed glasses that he finally consented to wearing sometime last month when Seokjin’s scolding at his constant squinting got too much for him to bear. He still complains about it from time to time but ever since Jimin had pointed out that their glasses matched and isn’t that cute hyung?  he had somewhat  quietened down on the matter. Not first without a well-meaning (light) smack to the back of Jimin’s head first and a lot of grumbling about brats who talk too much under his breath.

He doesn’t mean any of it, Jimin knows that well enough. They’ve played this game, the two of them, for so long that Jimin knows Yoongi like the back of his hand. Jimin scolds Yoongi and Yoongi scolds him in return. That’s always been the way they interact, a teasing slow circular dance around one another, prodding and poking and the occasional fond glance when they think the other is not looking.

“Don’t be so stubborn Jimin. Go back to the dorm. You’re practically falling asleep on the sofa,” Yoongi says sternly. He nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a knuckle and it’s almost embarrassing how much Jimin likes that little habit of his.  

But no. He’s a man on a mission and he won’t give up that easily.

“I said I’m not sleeping until you do hyung,” Jimin sniffs, arms crossed, face half turned away.

He hears rather than sees Yoongi exhale in minute frustration. “Fine,” Yoongi says shortly, turning round again and slipping the headphones back atop his head. “Stay there as long as you want then.”

And so the dance continues.

Jimin knows this part so well he could dance it with his eyes closed. The step forwards and the slip of hands, the half step back and the outstretch of fingers that glides a brush above the other’s.

Jimin childishly sticks out his tongue towards Yoongi’s back. “Yeah well then I will,” he says challenging even though he knows Yoongi can’t hear him through the heavy beats that thump through the headphones, his ear snugly covered again by the black fabric.

Jimin sits back and crosses his arms, straightens his back. He opens his eyes wide and tries to burn a hole in the back of Yoongi’s head. His job is to make Yoongi sleep and no matter what he says, Jimin is going to succeed.

Yoongi of course ignores him completely, his attention wholly focused on the monitor. A click there, a tap here, a click-clack again and in Jimin’s mind it sort of becomes a rhythm. There is a black canvas and every time Yoongi’s finger comes down on the keyboard or on the mouse it leaves a faint white imprint on the empty score. The white fades with time, but Yoongi’s finger comes down again, this time in a different spot and with a different pressure and in his mind it’s become this landscape of faint fingerprint stars, just like the kind he used to make back in preschool during art class with his index finger and a paint pot.

Without realizing it he’s slumped over on the couch, his head nestled on the arm of the ratty old thing, the lullaby of Yoongi’s tapping and the overlay of his gentle breathing a song that sends Jimin into a kind of light sleep where he is somewhat conscious of Yoongi’s presence despite being asleep.

It is around half four the morning that Yoongi snaps out of his music reverie and remembers that he is not the only one in the studio. He doesn’t recall hearing the distinctive sound of the heavy soundproof door opening and closing which means either he’s been too immersed in music or Jimin is still here.

He turns, tilting his body over the back of his wheeled chair, sharp tongue at the ready to send Jimin home. That kid is too stubborn for his own good sometimes. What comes out instead is a tiny “oh”.

Jimin hates it when they take photos of him sleeping but really, they can’t help it. Jimin awake is a dizzying myriad of expressions. There are the cutesy ones where he scrunches up his eyes and flashes his teeth in a broad grin for the official bithit photos and the fans far too professional lenses. There are also the coy smirks and slips of the tongue for the photoshoots and the stages. Then there are the photos of when Jimin is asleep. Yoongi loves those the best. His face is all smooth planes and soft angles. They make Yoongi’s fingers itch to trace them, the bridge of his nose, the underside of his bottom lip, the smooth arch of his eyelids. It’s something that Yoongi would never confess to another living person of wanting to do, Jimin least of all, but Jimin has always made Yoongi think things he would never tell another soul.

It’s this dance of theirs, soft and unspoken. Yoongi doesn’t know how it started or how it will end. All he knows is that he’s a terrible dancer, tripped up his dance partner back in middle school and no one let him forget about it until graduation let him escape, yet here he is, somehow managing to make it work with Jimin. There’s something about Jimin that makes it so easy for him to slip into sync, to fall into step after step of this little dance of theirs.

What they have is something Yoongi can’t describe with words, only with music. It’s a soft drum beat as the bass, some violin, a gentle trickle of the piano. Before Yoongi even realizes what he’s doing his hand is outstretched and half way to cupping Jimin’s cheek. He has to rein himself in, reminding himself of who he is and where he is. They’re young but they’re not immortal. In an industry like theirs, labels are plastered far too easily and pulling them off always hurts like a .

Yoongi retracts his hand before he can do anything worse, lets it drop to side. Instead he turns himself around, props his chest up against the back of the chair and straddles the seat. There may be a lot of things that he cannot do, but this is not one of them.

He brings one hand to chin, his elbow balancing atop the chair’s back and he sits like that, taking a moment to just watch over Jimin.

He’s been pushing himself too hard lately, always, always striving for improvement. Sleep is often the sacrificial lamb. There are bruises under his eyes and that large bruise on his cheek. It will take a good few days before it fades completely.

Yoongi is not one to talk but he worries. Jimin thinks he is young and therefore infinite. Yoongi knows better than anyone else how easily it is to crash and fall when you’re speeding ahead that fast.

And yet no matter how far he goes, Jimin always stops to look back for him. He’s always like this to Yoongi: hyung let me hear your song, hyung it’s bed time, hyung have you eaten?   

Jimin ought to be worrying about himself and yet all he does is worry about Yoongi. Yoongi only wishes he could be as vocal in return. But he’s just not made that way. Yoongi knows he’s never been good at expressing his feelings unless it’s through song. Even then he’s never been the eloquent type. His wordplay is violent; his delivery harsh. His every fibre is used to living life on the grit and grind.

Yoongi lets his eyes rake over Jimin. His hair is getting long again, his fringe brushing against his eyebrows; it’ll need a trim soon enough. His lips look dry as well. They’ve been in and out of air-conditioned buildings and dry airport walkways that it’s no wonder they’ve gone a bit rough and ridged. He’ll have to tell Seokjin to lend Jimin some balm later or something before it starts to crack and hurt. 

The little dance the two of them share is so one-sided in Yoongi’s opinion. It’s always Jimin catching him before he falls and pulling him back, spinning him around until he finds his balance. When he turns away, distracted by Taehyung or Jungkook or even Seokjin brandishing meat between chopsticks, only then does Yoongi stop and realize how lonely it is without Jimin by his side, how much he wants to reach forwards and pull him right back.

But he can’t. Not publicly at least.

The only moments he can have are those like this, the times where he sits and watches and wonders what more he could do for Jimin.

Just like that he slips, the lines between wakefulness and not blurring, and his eyelids slowly falling. His body is unmoved, his hand still propping up his chin and his body still folded over the back of the chair. But his lips part and head hangs down heavy, jerking upwards every so often by pure reflex, the only saving grace that he does not fall right off the chair.

And that is how Jimin finds him an hour later when he wakes, body bent bowl over the chair.

At first he doesn’t see him, the sleep in his eyes making his vision blurry. Remnants of a dream of dancing white stars flickers on the back of his eyelids every time he closes his eyes to blink. Three blinks later his vision clears and there he makes out a black chair and the black monitor behind it, the program in sleep mode.

He yawns and stretches and uprights himself. Then it all comes back.

“Oh, ,” Jimin curses, forgetting the manners Seokjin has drilled into him momentarily. He fell asleep after all. He’s never going to hear the end of it from Yoongi now. Yoongi who…

Jimin looks again, this time properly upright on the sofa, and there is Yoongi, legs straddling the chair and spine arched in a way that would have Seokjin a heart attack with how bad his form is. Every so often his head bobs downwards slowly, only to jerk back up a heartbeat later.

Jimin should really wake him up and usher him to bed or something, but there’s something endearing about the way he sits and sleeps that makes Jimin want to preserve this moment for just a while longer.

Yoongi’s head droops again and his glasses threaten to drop off the edge of his nose. It has Jimin laughing as quietly as he can.

He gets up and off the couch as quietly as he can, thankful for once that it’s all plush and not springs. The carpet below cushions the sound of his feet as he pads forwards and leans down to tug the glasses off of him. Yoongi mumbles a tiny protest but Jimin wins the fight without waking him. He folds them up and settles them down next to the keyboard.

“-imin?” Yoongi suddenly murmurs.

Jimin freezes, feeling very much like a criminal caught in a floodlight. He turns. Yoongi’s lips are parted but his eyes are still closed.

“Hyung?” Jimin whispers because for some reason it feels forbidden to speak any louder. He wonders if Yoongi is awake or simply sleep talking.

He doubles back and leans in close, his breath ghosting over Yoongi’s cheek. It makes his bangs sway back and forth minutely and if it wasn’t nearly half five in the morning and Yoongi asleep on a chair then Jimin knows he could play this game for hours. “Let’s go back hyung,” he says quietly. “You should sleep properly on a bed.”

“’m not sleeping,” Yoongi mumbles back, eyes still closed.

“At least move to the couch,” Jimin tries to bargain.

“Am on the couch,” Yoongi says and Jimin thinks he’s really, really out of it. It’s endearing, really.

Jimin straightens and sidles around the back of the chair. He’s grateful that the chair has wheels because as much as he works out lifting weights, he’s not sure he could carry Yoongi to the couch without dropping him.

He gently scoots the chair closer to the couch, turning it when it the back of the seat kisses the edge of the cushion. Yoongi mutters something under his breath and his elbow slips but Jimin catches his head before he falls, his hand curling around the back of Yoongi’s neck to support him.

Gently he maneuvers his other hand around Yoongi’s waist to push him off the chair and onto the couch. Then Jimin kicks the chair away and lifts Yoongi’s limp legs over. Yoongi gives a tiny grumble but then turns and snuggles up against the back of the couch.

Jimin can’t help the small smile on his face. “Sleep well hyung,” he says and moves to turn off the lamp light and then leave. He’s technically succeeded in his mission. He’ll get Yoongi back on it tomorrow.

But before his hand can reach the switch he feels something tug on the leg of his jeans. Yoongi’s hand clasps the material tightly.

“Stay,” Yoongi mumbles, one eye barely open.

Jimin hesitates and Yoongi sees it.

“Stay,” he says again, more commandingly, and swipes at the space next to him on the couch. It will be a tight squeeze but Jimin knows that this will be the only chance he’ll ever get to cuddle with a sleepy and sappy Min Yoongi.

It’s not a difficult choice.

He reaches over and flicks off the light, kicks off his shoes, and then shoves Yoongi ever so slightly in towards to back of the sofa so that he can squeeze into the remaining gap. It’s a tight squeeze and for half a moment he think he’s just going to fall right off the couch, but then Yoongi groans and shifts and his arms come around Jimin, one looping round the back of his head and the other slung over his waist.

Jimin is squashed right up into Yoongi’s chest and all he can smell is the soft scent of Yoongi shirt that is old and worn and washed too many times.

This is a dance that the two of them know so well. It’s a kind of love they share, one that has no easy label or definition.

Jimin loves Yoongi in a way that he knows surpasses the boundaries of brotherly love. It’s not the way he loves his fans or his parents, not even the other members. Sometimes he’s not even sure if he can simply encapsulate it as love. It’s something more. It’s a step forwards and the outstretch of a hand, it’s the gliding of fingers down an arm and the curling of a hand about the back of another’s neck. It’s the simple moments where they can lie together, their breaths slowly mingling and coming into sync. Jimin will inhale just as Yoongi finishes his exhale. His breath will brush against the crown of Jimin’s head, warm and wistful and Jimin’s heart will feel so full as he exhales and nuzzles into closer to Yoongi.

Love is never a one way street and Jimin knows that Yoongi loves him in his own way. It may not be that obvious to others but Jimin knows that is just because Yoongi’s love is not just bound by words.

He cares through actions and expressions. His whole body is tuned to loving another. It’s definitely not the most obvious of affections but Jimin can see it. It’s when he half spins away, distracted by something else in the corner of the room and then Yoongi will be there, calming and ever present like the eye of a storm, his gaze always tracking after Jimin. He’s all rough edges and harsh Daegu tongue, but beneath it he’s the softest, sweetest person Jimin has ever met.

He’s also the person right now trying to suffocate him as the arm he has wrapped around the back of Jimin’s neck tugs him in closer, pressing his face into into his worn out t-shirt.

“Hyung,” he mumbles into the black fabric. “Can’t breathe.”

“Sleep then,” is all he gets in reply from Yoongi and when Yoongi’s breathing evens, he knows Yoongi is back deep into sleep and Jimin has no choice but to give in to Yoongi’s asphyxiating hold and sleep.

This dance of theirs is a strange little dance, with no rhyme or rhythm that Jimin can discern. At times it is violent, a storm in the distance, and Jimin wonders if it will ever work out. But it’s a dance – a duet – and there will always, always be that electric moment where they touch.

Jimin lives for those moments, the times when his lullaby is the rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest, the dance the twitch of his fingers along Jimin’s spine.

He knows that no one else can know about these moments. They are to stay in the dark, under starless skies and away from prying eyes. He also knows that fully awake, Yoongi would never allow Jimin to be this close. But for now the night is young and so are they.

The constant and the varied intermingle and slowly they pull Jimin down into sleep once again.

In the morning Jimin knows they’ll wake up to Seokjin’s angry-worried call and have to stumble sleepily back to dorms for coffee, shower and then schedule. Throughout the day Jimin will always find himself looking for Yoongi, reaching out for him but getting pulled away by Hoseok who has a new dance video to show him or Namjoon with his weird revelations. He knows Yoongi will retract into himself, shy away from reaching back out to Jimin. By nightfall they’ll slip back into routine, Yoongi locked away in the studio and Jimin there trying to get him to come home and sleep.

The dance is in no way perfect. It is flawed and it is unbalanced and Jimin has no idea how much longer they can make it work for. But for now he’ll treasure these tiny  moments bundled up in the warmth of Yoongi’s breath and the comfort of his arms, live for the tim ewhen their hands and hearts connect. 

The rest, as they say, can wait until morning.