Yoongi was dying. He was certain of it. His chest was heaving (he couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen to his lungs), his legs burned (he wished they would just fall off), and the world had been reduced to a technicolor glow (when did hell become so colorful?).

“Yoongi, you’re being ridiculous. You aren’t dying. You’re doing fine,” Jimin shot over his shoulder, feigning exasperation but failing miserably because he couldn’t quite wipe the grin off his face (Or perhaps Yoongi was in heaven. Jimin was angelic, even drenched in sweat and colorful powder as he was).

“I didn’t even say anything!” Yoongi managed to gasp out, wiping sweat and powder from his eyes. Who the hell thought this torture was fun?

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.” Jimin rolled his eyes, “Come on, this is only a 5K, and it’s a color run. This is supposed to be fun. Besides, you’re the one that suggested it,” Jimin teased, though he did slow to a light jog, which Yoongi gratefully matched. The latter’s only response came in the form of a low grunt.

Yoongi was unable to comprehend how Jimin wasn’t as utterly out of breath as he was. Well. Mostly. Okay, maybe he could understand, but he hadn’t been expecting this run to be so difficult, because Jimin did this all the time (which would, perhaps, explain the whole difference in breathing and why Yoongi was pretty sure his left lung would be sore tomorrow). Jimin made it look so easy. And yeah, okay, maybe it had been Yoongi’s idea. It was a color run! It was their second anniversary, and he had been racking his brain to think of something to make his boyfriend happy, and Jimin had been begging him to do something like this with him for ages, and when he saw the flyer for the run actually on their anniversary, he thought… well he just thought maybe Jimin would like it. Would light up like he did when he was delighted and surprised and excited. And damnit, he had, which made it really darn difficult for Yoongi to regret this, even though he really wanted to (okay, maybe both lungs would be sore. And his right nostril).

A light bump against his shoulder pulled Yoongi from his reverie, and he looked up at the man jogging beside him. Jimin. Of course this was worth it. Of course he could never regret it. Because Jimin was disgustingly sweaty (his bangs were sticking to his forehead in the most unflattering way), and covered in ridiculous amounts of powder (the colors had melded to form a sort of purplish, brownish, pukey color, in some places), and frankly it wasn’t the most attractive look. But it was beautiful. Because Jimin was smiling. Jimin was smiling, and his eyes were disappearing behind his cheeks, as they were so prone to doing, and it was their anniversary, and this man had been his for two whole years now. And yeah, maybe breathing , and his legs burned from the exertion, but Jimin had been encouraging him the entire way, and had even slowed down for him. Jimin who ran miles every morning. Jimin who hated slowing down because it offset his pace. And Yoongi suddenly had the overwhelming desire to pull him close and ask him to be his for the rest of forever.

Naturally, that was right around when he got pegged by a fistful of powder to the face. Spluttering and coughing, Yoongi gratefully accepted the tiny dixie cup of water handed to him at the ‘Rehydration Station!’ before swiping at Jimin, who had stuttered to a halt, bent over laughing and gasping for air at his poor boyfriend who was now dying from colorful powder straight to the lungs (would no one give the poor things a break?).

"You’re the worst, you know that?” Yoongi gasped, trying his best to glare. Jimin just did that dumb thing where he smiled and caused Yoongi’s heart to almost stop beating (today would kill him. Min Yoongi was going to die. From a color run), and swept Yoongi into his arms, nuzzling his nose. Yoongi scrunched his own at the sight of the putrid color now all over the other’s face, the colors mixing in that unflattering way. “And gross. You’re definitely gross. You just mixed our sweat, and all those horrific colors, and now it’s on both of our faces, and you’re gross.”

“Oh please, you love it. You’re more disgustingly cute than even I am, anyway” Jimin smirked and let go, once again turning to jog forward.

“What, no I’m not!” Yoongi protested, genuinely affronted by such an accusation. Min Yoongi was not cute. Or disgusting (Well maybe a little, if he looked anything like Jimin currently did).

“Are you kidding me? A color run? You hate running. And you even actually ran for pretty much the whole thing. We’re on the last stretch, you know. If that isn’t cutely romantic and only because you totally love and adore and would do anything for me, then I don’t know what is,” Jimin teased, picking up speed slightly to pull just out of Yoongi’s reach. “Gross!”

“Stop going faster you punk, I need to pummel you for that!” Yoongi chased after him, unwilling to allow such an attack on his person.

“Heck no! Catch up, slow poke!” Jimin taunted over his shoulder, increasing his speed even more.

“Park Jimin, I swear to god, when I catch you-”

"What, you’ll cover me in grossly cute and romantic kisses, and make this awful mess even worse?”

“YES,” Yoongi exclaimed, running straight into him and bowling them both over in a heap of color, and sweat, and now tiny bits of grass. He hadn’t realized they were at the end of the race (he belatedly realized that Jimin’s taunting had probably been for the sole purpose of getting him to sprint to the finish line) until Jimin slowed down. Yoongi, however, simply kept going, tackling Jimin off to the side and into the tangled mess that they were now.

“God, you’re gross,” Jimin smiled up at him. If this lump of sweaty, color streaked sweetness wasn’t the most wonderfully, disgustingly cute thing in the whole wide world, Yoongi didn’t know what was. So, naturally, he did the thing one ought to do when they have a lump of nauseating cuteness pinned beneath them. He kissed him. And it was gross. Perfect. But gross.