It’s seven in the morning on a Saturday and Yoongi’s all dressed up – thick padded jacket on top of a cotton sweater with a knitted scarf neatly wrapped around his neck, courtesy of his boyfriend.

It’s seven in the morning on a Saturday and Yoongi hasn’t had enough sleep – six hours is barely enough when he’s been working his off for three nights straight because Goddamn stupid Namjoon and his stupid deadlines and Yoongi’s sometimes inconvenient passion for what he does that keeps him up and running, even when all he wants to do is crumble in bed and cuddle with his boyfriend (and maybe slide his cold hands and cold feet under the weight of said boyfriend to keep himself warm, like a chick to a hen). 

It’s seven in the morning on a Saturday and Yoongi’s standing in front of their porch with a rake being haphazardly shoved into his hands by his boyfriend (who, despite it being seven in the morning on a Saturday, still manages to look completely ethereal and otherworldly; it’s not fair that Yoongi feels like a ing troll that’s been run over by the bus thrice while his boyfriend, the complete ing idiot who fearlessly wakes Yoongi at six in the ing morning on a Saturday for this, is looking like an unruffled bunny on a nice Spring afternoon, except that it’s Autumn and not Spring but that’s not the point – forget that Yoongi loves his boyfriend immensely, forget that said boyfriend is smiling, ing beaming at him like he’s put all the stars in the sky, forget everything because it’s ing seven in the morning on a Saturday and Yoongi just wants to ing sleep, ).

“Jimin,” Yoongi finally finds his voice, rough and soft at the same time with traces of sleep still laced in it, as he silently, if not a little intrigued, watches his boyfriend lock the door after them, “what the are we doing and why the are we holding rakes at, God, seven in the morning?”

How Jimin got a hold of a rake – two rakes at that – is something that’s way beyond him.

“Hyung, remember how you promised me that we’ll do something after you’ve finished your work?”

Yoongi starts to maybe (vaguely) remember Jimin crawling into his lap sometime after twelve at midnight two days ago, whimpering softly with his lips pressed against the slope of Yoongi’s neck that it took him everything not to shut off his computer and throw Jimin onto their bed and give the boy a piece of his mind.

“Hyung, pay attention to me,” Jimin had complained into his neck, pushing the heavy set of headphones off his head and honestly, if it had been somebody else, he’d long chewed their heads off; but it was Jimin (his Jimin, his baby, the love of his life) and no matter how annoyingly clingy he got especially at night, Yoongi couldn’t deny him. Except. Except with Namjoon’s voice in his head constantly (disturbingly) reminding him of his looming deadline, Yoongi had decided to be a Responsible Adult for once and shook his head, unfocused eyes blinking at the screen.

“You know I can’t, Jiminie,” Jimin had let out another soft cry, wiggling in his lap, “Namjoon’s been on my with this and I have to get it done in two days. I’m sorry, baby.”

Jimin had pouted at him, had worn those glassy doe-eyes and he knew he was ed then.

“Okay, fine. Fine, I know, it’s your work, you love it, and I support you hundred percent, etcetera, etcetera, but,” Yoongi had already said yes before Jimin had even finished his sentence, “but you have to promise me that we’ll go out after you’re done with it!”

Jimin looks back at him with this stupid knowing smirk plastered on his lips, has probably already guessed that he did forget – and he knows Yoongi dislikes it when he gets too smug when he’s right.

“No, I haven’t, psh,” Yoongi huffs, gripping the rake with one hand and reaching for Jimin’s hand with the other, as a sign of some sort of resignation (he knows he can’t win against Jimin, has never tried to anyway). “It’s just, it’s seven in the morning, Jimin.”                                                                        

Jimin merely rolls his eyes when the whine slips past the elder’s lips, already used to him being a strong advocate of sleeping in, and takes his hand after he pockets the keys. Jimin interlaces their fingers and tugs on his hand as he skips down the steps, pulling him along behind. Yoongi willingly lets himself to be led, albeit wearing a slight pout. 

“I know, it’s the perfect time to go to the park and play,” Jimin exclaims, fingers tightening around Yoongi’s and pink dusting his cheeks in his excitement. 

Yoongi snorts and draws Jimin to his side, sauntering down the sidewalk littered with leaves of warm colors – oranges, reds, and browns – more curious than anything now that his drowsiness has finally subsided and really, when Park Jimin’s is radiating with this much energy, it’s kinda hard to stay grumpy and annoyed (something Yoongi’s learned within the first year of being with him; and he’s been with Jimin for six years now). “Play? What are we, seven year olds?”

“We could be, if you’d just leave that attitude of yours back at home and let me lead, you know,” Jimin wrinkles his nose, displaying his dissatisfaction with Yoongi’s cynicism. 

“Alright, fine, I’m sorry,” Yoongi grins and,  his boyfriend’s so cute, that he can’t help but to press a kiss on his temple, leaning the side of his head against Jimin’s, chortling loudly when the boy protests with an exasperated sigh and, “Ah, hyung! I can’t walk properly, don’t lean too much.”

The place that has been in Jimin’s mind turns out to be an inconspicuous park squeezed between an almost deserted parking lot and a 24/7 convenience store just twenty minutes away from their house (twenty minutes spent with Yoongi pestering Jimin about how his legs are about to Give Up and it’s too early for Death to take him and he’s going to Die Soon and Jimin’s all to blame, and Jimin bribing Yoongi with kisses to shut him up – they both know Yoongi’s just doing it for the kisses anyway).

It’s not the smallest park Yoongi’s ever seen, but it’s still not what he’s expected. When he turns back at Jimin, he’s met with the same blinding smile he can never get enough of.

Yoongi raises a brow bemusedly and crosses his arms (rake in one hand and all) as soon as Jimin lets go of his hand, “What are we gonna do here?”

“Play, duh. Hyung, haven’t you been listening!” Jimin has the guts to giggle and tweak his nose like he’s the kid in this relationship, and walks into the direction of the park, leaving him behind.

Yoongi stays put on the spot but grumbles after his boyfriend when he doesn’t look back. “The things you do for love…”

“Ah!” Yoongi glances over to where Jimin appears like he’s found utopia and strides to his side. “This is perfect.”

Yoongi lets his eyes scan the place that is, apparently, ‘perfect’ and is thoroughly confused when all he sees are… small piles of leaves… and more leaves.

Then it clicks. 

“Please don’t tell me we’re gonna be doing what I think we’re about to do.” Yoongi’s voice is filled with dread as he stares at his boyfriend in horror; jaw dropping when he merely gets a mischievous grin in return. 

“That’s exactly what we’re gonna be doing, hyung.”

“It’s gonna be fun, hyung, really!” Jimin grabs Yoongi’s wrist before he can spin on his heels and dart his way back down to their house.

“Ugh.” Yoongi doesn’t resist the younger’s gentle grip, but makes his displeasure known by out loud, embarrassingly enough that the tips of Jimin’s ears turn red even when they’re mostly the only ones in the park, and Yoongi almost feels better (almost).

“Stop that, hyung. Trust me, Taehyung told me –”

“Taehyung, I should’ve known that would –”

“Hyung, listen to me, it’s gonna be fun!” Jimin finally whines in exasperation, stomps his foot down and gives Yoongi that withering look that has him caving in within half a second and it’s unfair. (It’s unfair that Yoongi loves Jimin so much and it’s just unfair.)

“Fine. But if I die, if I break my back, I’ll be haunting you and your future boyfriend and you’ll never hear the end of it from me. 

Jimin presses his lips against Yoongi’s jaw with a silly smile and noses his cheek for a second, “You’re not gonna die, you won’t be haunting me, Iwon’t have a future boyfriend that’s not you, and that’s okay, hyung, I don’t ever want to hear the end from you.”

“Ugh.” 

It’s really unfair.

 Somehow, like always, Jimin has managed to rope Yoongi into doing what he wants to be done. Why it still surprises Yoongi (that he’ll do just about anything Jimin tells him to with a kiss or two and sometimes, most of the times, without even the promise of one) is sarcastically comical and slightly depressing.

Within thirty minutes (that did not go by without complaints, overdramatized grunts, kisses sneaked between raking the damn leaves into a big pile, and more complaints), they’ve managed to make a big heap of leaves that Jimin approves of and Yoongi drops the rake with an exaggerated sigh. “Finally.”

Jimin discards his rake beside Yoongi’s and steps to Yoongi’s side, hands on his hips in a triumphant pose, and looks at the pile – their pile – of golden leaves proudly. “It looks perfect!” 

He nudges Yoongi’s shoulder with a wicked grin and nods towards the aforementioned pile, “Hyung, you wanna go first?”

“No way, you go first,” And Yoongi won’t admit to it – not now, not ever – but he only hesitates because he doesn’t even know how to jump in a pile of leaves and, quite frankly, he’s scared he’ll look like an .

“Okay, hyung,” Jimin shrugs a shoulder nonchalantly, before running towards the pile and cannonballing. Yoongi pulls his phone out and takes a couple of photos because yep, his boyfriend is the most ing adorable thing in the whole universe (even a golden retriever can’t rival that).

Jimin hoots from where he lies, hair and skin peppered with leaves, and beams at Yoongi. Yoongi’s grin is swiped from his face when Jimin announces, “your turn, hyung! But oh, we gotta rake the pile back into place!”

Yoongi’s pretty sure he’s gone delusional from all the physical work when he hears his back crying. (Not really, he’s just a drama queen.)

“Ow, ,” Yoongi yelps as his hits the ground first, the leaves not cushioning his fall one bit. He can distinctly hear Jimin guffawing in the background and he makes a mental note to pinch the kid later or something. He regrets deciding to fall into the pile a la trust fall style, because no, that had definitely not been the best and safest option like how he initially thought it would be, and his (probably) bruising is evidence enough.

“That was not as fun as how they make it look like in the movies,” Yoongi breathes when Jimin finally lies on the grass beside him. The younger takes Yoongi’s arm and pulls it around his shoulder as he squirms his way closer to his side, fitting perfectly around him like a puzzle piece.

“Hyung, nothing ever looks like how they make it in movies.” Jimin retorts wisely, interlocking their fingers over his shoulder lazily with a cheeky smile. 

“Stop being annoyingly smart, Park Jimin,” Yoongi groans, mouthing at the side of Jimin’s head and not caring at all when he gets hair on his tongue (though Jimin might’ve yelled “Gross, hyung, don’t eat my hair!” when he felt it). “Did you find that fun, at least?”

“Honestly?” Jimin whispers, craning his neck to peek at him through his fringe with shining eyes, “not really. It hurt a lot, and I’ll probably never trust Taehyung again.” 

Yoongi shakes his head with a small grin playing on his lips, glancing down at Jimin with a pointed look in his eyes, “you always say that but end up doing with Taehyung three days later.”

Jimin simply laughs and says nothing more, tickling his ear with that delightful voice of his that always manages to make Yoongi’s heart skip a beat.

“We have to get up, hyung,” Jimin breaks the silence after a long, comfortable pause, though he makes no effort to move. Instead, he curls an arm over Yoongi’s stomach, shifts to lie on his side, and promptly leans his cheek over his chest. Yoongi hums in response and only pulls Jimin closer, hand cupping his shoulder protectively, hugging him to his chest.

“I know.”

The sun is warm against his face and the reassuring pressure of Jimin’s palm over his hip is refreshing.

 Yoongi lets his eyes shut close.

Yoongi doesn’t even know he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up, feeling groggy with his back hurting like , and when he opens his eyes all he sees is orange. The orange sky, his boyfriend’s bright orange hair and, well, his boyfriend looking down at him with a stupid smile on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jimin chirps, dipping his head to plant a kiss on Yoongi’s forehead with a devilish giggle.

“That giggle is not nothing, if I haven’t learned anything but one thing about you for the past six years, Park Jimin,” Yoongi props himself up on his elbows, agonizingly slow, and that’s when a leaf falls onto his lap and Jimin’s peal of laughter rings loud and clear in the park (which, after Yoongi becomes conscious enough to look around, is now particularly empty).

“What?”

 “Sorry, hyung,” Jimin reaches a hand out to take something out of Yoongi’s hair and pulls back with a dead leaf pinched between his thumb and index finger, “you were just so asleep and I was so bored and.”

Yoongi a brow and combs a hand through his hair, catching bits of dried leaves between his fingers. “You… decorated my hair with leaves?”

 “Yep! And I was about to sacrifice you to the gods, too,” Jimin holds up his phone and there, on the screen, is an image of Yoongi that looks like it had just been taken minutes ago – with him lying on his back dead to the world, circled in what seemed like leaves, bright and orange, similar to the ritual circles he’s seen in cheap horror movies (that Jimin forces him into watching together on weekends, that also usually ends with Jimin hiding his face in Yoongi’s lap and Yoongi being a fortunate witness to a scared and screaming Jimin; it’s ing cute, if not stupid).

“Did Kim Taehyung convince you to put me in a sacrifice circle?”

“Um, maybe.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Jimin laughs with his mouth pressed against Yoongi’s, with his fingers tangled in Yoongi’s hair in a (half-assed) attempt to brush the remaining bits of leaves off (he knows he’s forgiven when Yoongi grips his hips and kisses back).

Yoongi honestly doesn’t mind if he walks down the road with dead Mother nature particles in his hair, goddamn it, as long as he walks down that road with Jimin’s hand in his.

(“Jimin, get off my lap. I really need to stand up now, I think my ’s numb from the tiny rocks that’s been poking me from hours ago.”

“Can we make out when we get home then?”

“You say that now, but I remember you were ready to sacrifice me to who-knows-what-gods earlier.”

“I said I was sorry! Taehyung’s a real good manipulator and you know I’m weak.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jimin stands up and offer his hands to Yoongi, who pulls himself up with the help of Jimin. “And I’m weak, too, so yes. We can make out when we get home.”

Yoongi walks down the road with Jimin’s hand in his.)