“So what’s up with this new gig you mentioned?” Taehyung rested his hand on his cheek in anticipation.

Jungkook’s face appeared as he leaned across the table. Through a mouthful of food, he managed to get out, “New gig?”

“It’s not much,” Jimin smiled, “Just a recital thing. With a piano.”

The light-haired man hummed with surprise. “I didn’t know you could play pian—”

He never finished; Taehyung’s words were cut off by a high-pitched squealing. Jimin knew who it was as soon as Jungkook spat his food out on accident. “Park Jimin!” the voice called, “How are you today? Wow wow, I thought Yoongi was lying when he said you went to school here. This is so exciting!”

Jimin glanced back at his friends, who both had their mouths open while Taehyung emitted little shocked squeaks. “I’m good, Hoseok. How have you been?”

Hoseok knelt down to reach Jimin’s chair height and swung an arm around his shoulders. “I am just wonderful. Are these friends? Introduce me!”

Neither of them talked for a while, but finally Jungkook was able to stutter out, “I-I’m…I’m Jeon Jungkook.”

“And I’m…Ah, sorry, I forgot.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “That’s Kim Taehyung. Jungkook’s in the dance program, too.”

Hoseok was beaming at the prospect of making new friends. “That’s so cool! I’m Jung Hoseok, and it is so nice to meet you guys! Jimin is super sweet and adorable, so I’d bet anything his friends are just lovely.” He paused for a moment, as if not sure if he should say the next part. He turned to Jimin. “Speaking of you being adorable, Yoongi says you’re a really good dancer. Like, he wouldn’t stop talking about you and complimenting you. And he never compliments anyone! I’m officially jealous.” Hoseok pouted, then winked. “I think he likes you.” The sing-song tone almost made Jimin blush.

He looked back at his friends again, both of which looked increasingly curious and mildly star-stuck. "Yoongi’s really cool, but I wouldn’t even call us friends.”

Hoseok’s laugh was obnoxious and theatrical. “Ah, don’t lie to me, Park Jimin. I hope you come over every day to dance and spend time with Yoongi. He needs people like you.” It made Jimin wonder about Yoongi. To Jimin, he was gentle and acted confident. But it was obvious he hid behind a cigarette and a veil of smoke. Hoseok continued, “Anyway, that’s all I came over here to say. I’ve gotta jet, but you’re welcome over any time, Park Jimin! Bye-bye!” He blew a loud kiss at their table and Jimin wondered how someone like him had ended up living with Yoongi.

They watched Hoseok leave, and it was Taehyung who spoke up first. “Was that—Man, I can’t even talk. You know Jung Hoseok and you never mentioned it to us?”

“Relax, guys, I’ve only talked to him once. He’s just really friendly.”

Jungkook blinked a few times. “And how do you know him again?”

“I know his room-mate. He’s the one Hoseok was talking about.” Jimin didn’t feel like getting into specifics.

“Wait a sec,” Jungkook shook his head rapidly as if snapping out of a trance. “He was talking? I didn’t even pay attention.”

Taehyung reached across the table and gave Jungkook a high-five. “Join the club. Honestly, I just saw he had really nice teeth.”

Sometimes he loved his friends, and sometimes he wondered why he had friends. As Jimin got up to leave, Jungkook caught him by the wrist and called, “Make sure you get me his autograph!”

---

They’d chosen Erik Satie’s “Gymnopédie No. 1”. The pick was a combined effort, but Jimin knew Yoongi had wanted to play that song since before he even asked Jimin. It was a classic and Jimin found there was so much he could do with it.

The showcase was in two weeks, more than enough time for Yoongi and Jimin to make something work. And they did; Jimin exchanged contact information with Yoongi and every night he’d walk to Yoongi’s apartment, claiming it was a “study session with Tae and Kookie”. He’d go straight up to the studio, and sometimes just press his ear against the door before entering so he could hear the wonderful sound of Yoongi’s keyboard.

Whenever Yoongi played the song, he insisted on having his back towards Jimin. The man claimed it was easier to play like that, more focusing, and Jimin trusted him. They’d recorded it on video, so Yoongi could watch the performance after and say, “I like it” or “I hate it” (and he always liked it).

Sometimes they’d take breaks and those were the times Jimin enjoyed the most. He thought it was fun to just lie on the studio floor like a starfish and listen to Yoongi play scales or slow melodies. And Yoongi would say, “Mind if I head out for a smoke real quick?” Jimin did mind, but he said it was okay anyway.

Jimin didn’t follow him on those times. At that point, the adrenaline of dancing had already set in and all Jimin wanted to do was stay still. Once, he’d fallen asleep. He dozed off just listening to the bubble of the water tank, the hum of the lights, the sound of people walking downstairs. He didn’t hear when Yoongi came back, and the man didn’t wake him. Instead, Jimin woke to find Yoongi sitting at a piano and a towel covering his arms like a blanket. The pianist turned his head as if to check on Jimin, like he’d done it before. “Not getting enough sleep lately?”

Jimin rubbed his eyes. “Is there such a thing as ‘enough sleep’?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi chuckled and stood up. “It’s late. I’ll walk you back to your place if you want.”

He’d never offered before. Jimin wanted to say no; what if Namjoon saw something? He just couldn’t bring himself to decline the offer. “Oh. Sure.”

So Jimin grabbed his bag and followed Yoongi blindly out of his apartment. Yoongi only lived in the next complex over; it wasn’t a far walk. He led Yoongi in silence, and when they arrived at the base of Jimin’s apartment building, Yoongi laughed. “Right over there is where I come to smoke. What did you do, just step outside and call it ‘going for a walk?’ You live so close.”

“It’s just for fresh air,” Jimin’s voice was shy. The night was cool, more than usual, and Jimin wondered why he hadn’t noticed it on his way there. A quick glance down at his arms confirmed that Jimin had forgotten his jacket. “Oh, I think I left my jacket in the studio. Do you want me to get it now or…?”

“Nah, it’s alright. I’ll find it.”

Jimin let him inside the building and up a set of stairs. He lowered his voice in case anyone was sleeping. “My room’s just a few doors down from here. Thanks. For walking me over, I mean.” And Jimin almost laughed, because he was suddenly reminded of his very first date ever in junior high, where he’d walked the young girl back to her front door. He sighed. “Bye.”

Yoongi was going to say something, and stopped himself. In the end, all he said was, “See ya.”

---

When Jimin got out of the bathroom, Namjoon was standing there just holding his jacket. Jimin smiled; it was his favorite jacket, but it was the same one he’d left at—

Oh no.

“Who was that?” Namjoon’s face read, ‘Anything you say right now can and will be held against you.’

So Jimin played dumb. “Who was who?”

Namjoon sighed. “This guy just showed up two minutes ago with your jacket, asking if you lived here.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Well, I told him yes.” Namjoon handed Jimin the jacket. “And then he asked to talk to you and I said you were ting.” Jimin hated his room-mate. “So who is he and why did he have your jacket?”

Jimin laughed nervously, but nothing was funny. “He’s an acquaintance,” And then came the lie: “He has the same jacket as me and he took mine yesterday on accident.”

He tried to make a break for it, but he wasn’t faster than Namjoon’s brain. “Woah, wait a sec. Since when did you start calling people your ‘acquaintance’? You call everyone your ‘friend’. And why does it smell like—” Namjoon thought for a moment, then his jaw dropped. “Smoke. Oh my God. Are you…Are you sleeping with him?”

“No. I’m not.” It was true, but the answer came too quickly and bitterly.

Namjoon smirked and picked up his laptop. “He was good looking.” He said, like Jimin didn’t know that already. “If I didn’t have Jin…” He shot a wink at Jimin.

Jimin left the room. The whole apartment was usually at sub-zero temperatures, but Jimin felt overheated. When he was alone, he brought the jacket to his face and just felt it. More than smoke, it smelled like Yoongi. And Jimin wanted to say something (anything) to Namjoon, but the words wouldn’t surface and the shame wouldn’t disappear.

---

 He started having dreams the next night. Not the bizarre kinds of dreams that Jimin could laugh about in the morning, or the nightmarish ones that had him waking in a cold sweat; this was a different type of dream altogether. They were too real, too tangible, like Jimin didn’t doubt their potential even though he’d never thought about it while awake.

The dreams always began with the touch of a hand on his back and a low voice in his ear. He swore the voice was real because he’d heard it so many times while awake. ‘Jimin…’ It sounded too beautiful to be his name, too desperate. And in his dream, Jimin would lean back into the voice and smell smoke and see a red dot in the distance. Rise, move in, swing down, repeat. He stopped watching the red dot and started watching the fingers suspending it in the air (And Jimin wondered when he’d started doing that in real life, too), and then there was Yoongi’s face.

Jimin would hug him in the dreams, embrace him, just hold him like he never actually had. And Yoongi would whisper things in his ear—filthy things nobody had ever said to Jimin before—things that drove Jimin crazy and made his breath hot. ‘You have no idea what I want to do to you,’ ‘I want you all to myself tonight,’ ‘Show me how much you need me, Jimin,’.

He dreamed of Yoongi dropping that damn cigarette on the ground and he dreamed of Yoongi’s pale skin and his large hands. He dreamed of Yoongi’s lips and teeth on his throat and his chest and everywhere, he dreamed of what it would feel like to be under Yoongi and let the man ruin him. It was dirty and raw and exciting and there were no consequences. It was the kind of dream he’d wake up from and hope Namjoon hadn’t heard him moan in his sleep. The kind of dream he’d look in the mirror after, just to see if his body was painted with bruises and marks like it had been the night before. The kind of dream he’d have to do something about, too early in the day, even though he hated morning showers. And when he headed over to practice at Yoongi’s apartment hours later, Jimin was never able to look him in the eye.

There was this guilt. And it was the worst kind of guilt because everything was an accident. He thought the more disgusted he felt, the less he’d dream, but it got far worse. Jimin would notice something little about the man, like how he stuck out his tongue when he concentrated, and that night a vision of Yoongi would be at his thighs and his stomach. He asked Yoongi once, “Have you had weird dreams lately?”

And Yoongi just shrugged and said, “I don’t know, not any more than usual.”

Jimin didn’t know what to do. It was one thing to be having dreams about his almost-friend, and another to be having them about a male. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t stop thinking about Yoongi. Namjoon told him once that dreams were unconscious desires manifested, and a part of Jimin hoped it wasn’t true (Another part of Jimin, however, knew it was.) They were just dreams. They didn’t mean anything.

So Jimin passed it off as a fluke.

---

Yoongi’s arms were cold on Jimin’s fingers, and he flinched every time Jimin made contact with his skin. “This is third position,” Jimin corrected Yoongi’s elbows and shoulders. “Make your feet look like mine.”

“This is bull, that’s what,” Yoongi mumbles as he tried to copy Jimin’s stance. “All the times I’ve seen you dance, you’ve never done this stupid posing thing.”

“I’ve never heard you play scales in the middle of a concerto,” Jimin countered.

Yoongi didn’t say anything until Jimin removed his hands. “Seriously, I look like a mannequin in some trendy teen clothing store.”

Jimin laughed, “Just without the trendy teen clothes. Now do first position and let’s see if you remember.”

His scowl was admirable. “Hell no I don’t remember.” Yoongi dropped his arms in surrender and straightened out his feet. “When we were in junior high, Hoseok told me the only dance I’d ever need was the typical slow dance. I found out that was a ing lie because someone asked me about the Macarena last week and I looked so stupid.”

“I can teach you both of those,” Jimin smiled at him.

Yoongi said it quietly, “Well I don’t really care about the Macarena.”

So Jimin stepped closer to Yoongi and locked his hands behind the man’s neck. It wasn’t weird; he danced like that with Taehyung all the time, when they were tired and in the mood to joke around. But when he felt a pressure on the small of his back, Yoongi’s hands holding him steady, everything shifted. The air became dense. There was no music, but Jimin could imagine some emotional, guitar-heavy song in his head. He’d never noticed before how they were the same height. Together they rocked back and forth, slowly moving across the studio floor.

“I can’t believe you talked me into a dance lesson,” Yoongi’s voice was low and rough and with no strength behind it. “You little .”

Jimin laughed quietly and brought his head forward until it fell against Yoongi’s shoulder. He smelled like smoke and light cologne. “You’re better at this than first position.”

He felt the hands carefully slide down to his hips and bring them closer. Everything was on fire—Jimin felt it in his head, his throat, and everywhere Yoongi touched him. The fingers at his hips hovered dangerously near the edge of his shirt; Jimin swore he’d die if Yoongi felt the bare skin there. “Hey,” Yoongi exhaled the words into Jimin’s hair, his voice wavering a bit. “Let’s just accept how you’re better at dancing and I’m better at piano.”

Jimin tilted his head and his nose brushed Yoongi’s chin. “I can do that.”

Because he couldn’t take another lesson. It wasn’t just for fun; it was torture. Yoongi was like a magnet and Jimin just wanted to touch him. It was something he couldn’t define. He leaned back and pressed his forehead to Yoongi’s. They had stopped moving and just stood dumbly, listening to invisible music and breathing the same air. Yoongi’s eyes were closed, as if thinking about something too large for Jimin to understand. He gently pat Jimin’s hip and it was a clear message: We need to stop now.

So Jimin unwound his hands from Yoongi’s neck and Yoongi sat down on the piano bench behind them, and they just started practicing again. They didn’t talk about it, didn’t laugh about it, just let everything hang between them. But Jimin still felt it—the hands on his hips and the breath in his hair. He kept it to himself.

---

He was hardly paying attention to the movie. It seemed Namjoon wasn’t either, from the soft glow of his laptop and the occasional mouse click. Jimin figured it was as good a time as any to ask the burning question. “Namjoon?”

“Hm. I’m awake, I swear.”

The words just wouldn’t come out. “How did you…Never mind.”

Namjoon lowered his laptop screen and raised an eyebrow at Jimin. “Well now you have my attention.”

“I was just…No, forget about it. I was gonna ask a question but it’s kind of personal.”

The man tapped his chin lightly. “Now, when did Park Jimin ever care about my privacy?” He smiled. “Ask away.”

Jimin took a deep breath, and then everything exited his mouth at once. “How did you figure out you were gay?”

He didn’t expect Namjoon to laugh. “Firstly, Jimin, I am not gay. You’re making assumptions again; you knew I had girlfriends all throughout high school, and I was genuinely into them. Secondly, it’s just always been there.” They’d both forgotten about the movie. “I remember one time when I was seven, we had this young male teacher, and this girl in my class said, ‘I think our teacher is very handsome,’ and I said, ‘Me too.’ I didn’t even know it was wrong to say that, I was just telling the truth. And one time in high school, I dated a girl simply because I liked her brother. Not my proudest moment.” The two shared a laugh about that. It was almost fun, just hearing stories from Namjoon that Jimin had never heard before. “I never did anything about it or else my parents would have found out. But last year when I met Jin, I couldn’t hide it anymore. Remember that time my mom came over and she expected me to cook for her? Jin’s a food critic, you see, and I posted some complaint or cry for help online, and he replied to me. I clicked on his profile, did a bit of digging, and I just thought, ‘Wow, this is someone I need in my life.’ After we got to know each other, he was the first person I ever told, that I like guys. The rest is history.”

Jimin loved the way Namjoon’s eyes lit up when he talked about Jin. It seemed almost therapeutic for Namjoon, venting to someone about everything he’d kept secret his whole life. But there was a constant mantra in Jimin’s mind during the whole conversation: Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi. And Jimin, on the surface of his brain, craved repulsion. He wanted to hate how every time Namjoon mentioned Jin, Yoongi came to mind.

But Yoongi made him smile. He made Jimin laugh and try new things and think about life in different ways. So Jimin decided that he didn’t care.

Sorry this took a while; my Internet was out. Also, this is gonna be waaaay longer than I expected by the end, over 20k words. I don't really mind though lol.

Gymnopédie No. 1 - Satie