Chapter Text
Jimin was relatively certain he was going to throw up, eyes locked onto Yoongi’s and so mortified that he couldn’t even make himself move for long enough to cover his shame, his breathing so shallow that he started to feel dizzy with it.
He had no idea what had possessed him to do this here and now, when he could have just as easily grabbed his clothes and retreated to his room and taken his time in the comfort of a shower or lying against soft sheets. Anything but this. Anything but Yoongi staring at him as he stood bare as the day he was born with his hand tight around himself on the edge of completion but with too much paralysing fear to move.
Fear. That was what it always came back to. This whole trip, short as it may have been so far had been ruled by it, and he was furious with himself for it. He was done with it. He needed to accelerate; the inevitable crash be damned.
“Either kiss me or leave.”
Yoongi choked on thin air, eyes wide at the demand. “You… what?”
“You heard me. Kiss me or get out.”
He had no idea what he was doing. No idea what had possessed him to even ask for it, but he was too worked up to care. He needed something. Anything. He didn’t care if that was being fucked against a wall or left to a fantasy of it, the seconds stretching for a lifetime as he waited for a response and tightening his hand just slightly, body jolting with the action, wanting and not wanting and terrified, but he felt alive.
Yoongi’s hands twitched beside him for a split second before there was a flurry of movement and then-
He was gone.
Jimin dropped back against the wall, alone and angry and tears started to roll down his face, frustrated by his want and hurt by the rejection. He had accelerated. Hard.
This was the crash.
~*~
Yoongi couldn’t stop pacing. Couldn’t shake the image of Jimin standing there out of his head.
He could have just stepped inside. He could have kissed him. Part of him wanted to; Jimin was beautiful. But panic had hit him so hard that he had run with nothing but the towel around his waist and the key card to his room and now he had no idea what to do.
Should he go back and see if Jimin was still there? Try and talk to him? What would he even say if he did?
I’m sorry I ran. I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you.
I like you more than I think I should.
It was ridiculous.
He flopped down onto the bed, arm folded over his face, trying to figure out the next step. They were both here until the end of the week, he couldn’t just leave things as they were. At the very least, he needed to make sure that Jimin was alright.
He flipped so fast. One minute he was upset and embarrassed, the next they were enjoying playful banter, then he looked like the world was crumbling around him.
And then Yoongi had opened that damn door. If he could just rewind time twenty minutes, he would have dressed, and waited, and gone with Jimin to lunch with a promise that he wouldn’t tease him for his fears. He would have shown him a song or two and waved off whatever he had to say about them.
He was disturbed from the thought by an odd sound; a kind of scraping that had him sitting up, eyes roaming over the room, trying to identify what he had heard, his gaze finally falling on a flash of white by the door and he wandered toward it.
A sheet of paper folded and plain. A note, perhaps?
He reached for it, carrying it back to the desk, filled with curiosity as he settled into the chair and opened it up, reading over the contents.
A list of things I don’t want to be scared of anymore.
- Heights / flying
- The sea / ocean
- Spiders / snakes
- Needles / hospitals
- Love
- Myself
Keep the drink. PJM.
It was short. Concise. It made Yoongi’s heart ache. The first few were perfectly normal, everyday phobias that most of the population could say they shared. But love? Himself? What did Jimin have to be afraid of when it came to himself?
And then there was the sign off. Keep the drink.
He needed to make a choice and he needed to make it now. Jimin was declaring a separation between them, and he wasn’t ready for it.
He scrambled through the draws, finding a battered notebook and tore out a page. It felt incredibly high school to pass notes, but if it kept them talking, then it would have to do for now.
~*~
Jimin watched as the paper slipped under the door in front of him, half tempted to open it and beg Yoongi for forgiveness for how he had acted, but he couldn’t face him. Not yet. He had gone too far, and then exposed too much, and a part of him wanted to rebook his flight and disappear in the middle of the night and hope that he never saw Min Yoongi ever again.
But he didn’t want it to be over.
It had only been a few days, but he felt like a different person. He wanted to be here. He wanted to do more. He wanted Yoongi to be there to see it.
He swept up the scruffy sheet, eyes roaming over the clearly rushed scrawling, half expecting a message to say that he was crazy. But that wasn’t what was staring back at him.
This was the one; the song Seokjin liked. The one that had given him courage. The lyrics were far from what he had been expecting.
It was blindingly apparent that Seokjin had taken what he needed from it and carried the rest. They weren’t just words; they were a heart on a page. They were a fierce declaration. Anger. Fear. Hope.
They were Yoongi, but not as Jimin knew him.
He folded the paper up carefully, looking around the room. He had intended to spend the rest of the day right where he was, ordering room service and avoiding seeing anyone, but he was already restless. He stayed so he could do more. Be more. He could curl up in bed at home.
He concluded that perhaps now was the perfect time to take a cab into town, have a look around for a few things that would make him more comfortable out in the snow, and then he could spend the evening doing some research on what was available and go back in the morning to make his purchases.
It would give him the space he needed, and he could show Yoongi that he wasn’t just some dumb airhead that stripped naked and demanded attention in changing rooms.
His cheeks burned at the thought, made all the worse as his feet slipped into shoes that were not his own and he pulled on the blue coat, surrounded by a smell that was already too familiar and he almost ripped it right back off his body.
But he couldn’t; he needed it. It felt like the armour he needed to go forward. It was almost pathetic how much it felt like safety. How much it felt like arms around him telling him that he wasn’t going to fall.
He grabbed his bag before he could second guess himself, throwing his key card, wallet and phone inside, peering out into the hall and emerging once he saw the coast was clear. He was going to do something, and when he got back, he would do so with coffee, and croissants, and hope that Yoongi was willing to forget about the disaster of the morning.
~*~
The town he had passed on the way to the resort was small, and quaint; most of the stores independently run and their keepers friendly. The language barrier was a little tricky, but he knew enough English to get by as many of the locals seemed to be fairly fluent; no doubt as a result of seeing so many tourists.
He wandered for a long while, the sun starting to set as he reached the end of the final street, fingers growing sore from the bags he carried. He hadn’t bought much, but the cold was seeping into them, and he looked around for somewhere to warm up and order a cab back when his eyes fell on a small store that sparked his curiosity.
The exterior was painted in black gloss, lettering above the door in a pretty golden font that he assumed was a name. What he did recognise was the word ‘tattoo’.
He wandered toward the window, close enough to peer inside but without being too noticeable, his mind on the note that had been burning a hole in his pocket all afternoon.
He fished it out, gloves and chilled fingertips making unfolding it difficult. So many of the words felt true. Felt like a story he wanted to carry. Would remind him, for the rest of his life, that this serendipitous trip had motivated him to do more than he ever had done before. He still had more to do, but he was proud.
He stared down at the paper in his hands, reading the words over and over again, sucking in a lungful of the freezing air before stepping into the shop, his eyes meeting those of a woman perched comfortably across a small leather sofa just inside the door. “I want a tattoo,” he declared before he could talk himself out of it.
“You’re in the right place. What are you after?”
Jimin swallowed hard, eyes travelling over the walls again, the twisting, beautiful artworks that hung there; that people had imprinted on their skin for the rest of their lives. He had never wanted one, and it had nothing to do with his fear of needles; he just never felt strongly enough about anything to carry it with him for the rest of his life. Until now.
It’s not easy but engrave it on your chest.
“Never Mind.”
The artist blinked at him and Jimin realised how what he had said sounded. “Those are the words I want. Right here,” he went on, pointing to one side of his chest. He was terrified but some part of him knew he wouldn’t regret it. That he would see it, every day, and it would remind him to live.
The artist smiled at him, indicating a door to the right. “No problem. Come on through and we’ll pick a font, and size and get you all set up. First time?”
Jimin smiled nervously. “Yeah. I have a thing about needles so forgive me if I start crying,” he replied, half mocking himself, but the artist just smiled all the wider, opening up a folder full of different lettering.
“We can take breaks if you need them, not to worry. The way the guns are set up you never actually see the needle though, so it’s not the same as doing a blood draw; it just feels scratchy,” she explained. “Now, are we thinking simple? Scrolling?”
Jimin looked down at the pages, chewing at his lip, nothing quite fitting the larger idea of the song trapped inside his mind. “Do you have anything more…” he trailed off, looking for the right word but unable to summon it, finally settling on the closest thing he could think of that didn’t sound wrong. “Torn?”
The artist lifted the folder from the table, flicking through the pages of fonts but looking dissatisfied with each one. “Give me a few minutes…” she said, discarding the folder on her desk and pulling a few pens and a sheet of paper from a draw instead, working wildly over the page until a few letters were complete, tweaking each one of them until she was apparently satisfied and holding it out to Jimin. “Something like this?”
The letters were scratchy, jagged, raw. “Yes. That’s perfect.”
A few minutes later, he was naked from the waist up, a printed version glowing purple against his skin as he looked in a mirror, taking a single long deep breath. Was this weird? It was probably weird. Yoongi would think it was weird.
“Too big?” the artist enquired, worried by the hesitation. “I can resize it and adjust the placement as many times as you want, or we can start over if it’s not what you pictured.”
It was big, but that was what he wanted. Something bold. A statement.
He liked it. Not everything was about Min Yoongi. “It’s good. Perfect.”
“Sure?” she checked again and Jimin nodded. “Okay, hop up on the seat for me and let’s get this show on the road.”
If he didn’t like it later… never mind.
~*~
Hours. It had been hours.
Yoongi had knocked on Jimin’s door around half an hour after sliding the lyrics underneath it, with no idea what he was going to say but wanting to try and smooth away the tension. Perhaps suggest they get the drink regardless.
He had tried a few times, getting no answer and eventually started to wander the resort, checking the pool and saunas, the gym and café, even the restaurant and bar, but he was nowhere to be found.
His feet eventually carried him to the front desk, asking if anyone had seen his ‘friend’ head out, giving Jimin’s description and the woman had smiled at him. “You mean Mr Park? He took a cab a little while ago, but it wasn’t one of ours so I’m afraid I don’t know where he was headed.”
He smiled, playing off his worry. “Good memory. You mind if I hang out down here a while and wait for him?”
“Of course. The check in area can get a little noisy, but the seating’s comfortable,” she smiled, directing him toward the area. “I can ask someone to fetch you a drink, if you’d like?”
“Oh, thank you, no. I’ll be alright for now.”
He was starting to regret saying no. He was getting tired and hungry, but after so long, he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to be exactly where he was. He could wait.
“You look lost, kitty.”
Yoongi sighed. He was in no mood for Seokjin, but he also wasn’t willing to leave the lobby until Jimin had come back. He had no idea what would happen when he did, but something needed to happen. Perhaps he could offer an apology dinner for running off like a scared rabbit.
“Oh dear,” Seokjin murmured, taking up the seat beside Yoongi, hand rested gently on his arm. For as wild as the man could be, there was a softness to him when it was needed, and while Yoongi didn’t want to talk about everything that had gone on, he was grateful for the calming company. “Jimin?”
He nodded, eyes still on the door. It had been so long, and he was starting to feel like he was losing his mind. For all he knew, Jimin had already left and wouldn’t be coming back at all. And what then? Chase him back to the airport? All the way back to Seoul?
And for what? He had no idea what he wanted to say. No idea why he wanted to say anything at all. But everything felt wrong. Unfinished.
“Never seen you go down so hard. You see something special in him.”
He did. He couldn’t explain what or why, but he did think Jimin was special. Which was insane. They had known each other three days. Just three.
“He sees it in you, too. Sees what you can’t see in yourself.”
Yoongi frowned. “There’s nothing special about me.”
Seokjin hummed. “He probably thinks the same thing. Doesn’t make it true.” He rubbed a hand across Yoongi’s back, pulling back up and stretching out, continuing his wander toward the doors but not before looking back over his shoulder. “Perhaps someone should tell him how special he is.”
~*~
It was dark out by the time Jimin wandered back into the lobby of the resort, ribs sore and cold to the bone, wanting for nothing more than a hot bath but he couldn’t have one, not for a few days at least. He would have to settle for a hot chocolate and a duvet in front of the TV.
“Mr Park?”
Jimin paused, looking back over his shoulder at the man who had called his name as he stepped out from behind the check in desk. “Sorry to bother you sir, I was asked to look out for you and pass along a message.”
“Oh, sure. What is it?”
The man smiled, looking past Jimin. “Mr Kim, he wanted me to tell you to wake Mr Min when you got back and tell him to go to bed.”
Jimin frowned, following the man’s gaze until he spotted Yoongi, curled up in one of the armchairs. “How long has he been there?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say for sure, but I’ve been on shift since four, and he’s been there the whole time.”
It was almost nine. Five hours, and probably longer, Yoongi had been in that chair and Jimin could only assume that he was the cause of it, especially as Seokjin had seen fit to leave a message for him. He thanked the attendant, creeping over and crouching in front of Yoongi, biting back a hiss as the action made his clothes rub against his body. “Yoongi? Wake up,” he called softly, not wanting to touch him with his hands being so cold.
Yoongi stirred, not fully waking but enough for his nose to scrunch and eyelashes to flutter for a second before he relaxed back again and Jimin called a little louder, but the same thing happened.
He chewed at his lip for a moment. He wanted to make things right, and up until now, a little teasing had been their ‘thing’. He pulled off his gloves, leaning forward and pressing the frozen pads to the man’s cheek, giggling when he jolted awake, confused and blinking wildly at the touch. “You’re a heavy sleeper.
“Jimin?”
Jimin hummed, straightening himself up. “You’ll ruin your neck sleeping there.”
“I think I already have,” Yoongi complained, tipping his head from side to side and wincing at the ache, though he honestly couldn’t have cared any less about it. Jimin was here. They were talking. It wasn’t awkward.
“Hot shower should do the trick. Come on,” Jimin invited, holding out his hand, just as pleased that for now at least, the conversation was comfortable. The rest could wait, or even better: be ignored and laughed about years later.
Yoongi took his hand, shocked by the cold but dismissing it, far more concerned with the way Jimin flinched as he pulled him up and his hand hovered at his side. “Are you hurt?”
“Not exactly.”
Yoongi’s frown deepened at the response. “What does that even mean? Either you’re hurt or you’re not hurt.”
“I didn’t get hurt, but it’s sore. Don’t worry about it,” he tried to wave off, starting the walk toward the elevator, but Yoongi quickly caught up, pulling softly at his sleeve.
“Did you fall?”
Jimin rolled his eyes, leading Yoongi into the elevator as the doors opened. “No, I didn’t fall. It’s nothing, really,” he insisted as they were delivered to their floor, stepping out into the now familiar corridor. “Go and get your shower before your neck starts to seize up.”
“Please, tell me what happened. I won’t make fun of you, I promise,” Yoongi pleaded, and Jimin couldn’t help thinking how sweet the worry was.
“Oh, I think you will…”
“Try me.”
Jimin hesitated a moment longer before pushing open the door of his room, beckoning Yoongi inside and dropping the coat onto the end of the bed. “I uh… I tackled one of my fears while I was out,” he started, reaching for the hem of his shirt and pausing. “You really promise not to make fun of me?”
“I swear.”
Jimin took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and pulled the shirt up, revealing the wrap that was taped over the tattoo, watching Yoongi with wary eyes. This had the potential to throw them back into the awkwardness. It had the potential to leave Yoongi with another impression of Jimin that made him look insane. “Well?”
Yoongi stepped forward, fingers hovering in front of the words before he seemed to remember himself, pulling his hand back. “Is that real?”
“I sure hope so, if it washes off then I want to know why it stung so much,” Jimin half joked. “At least if it starts hurting too bad, I’m in the perfect place to grab some ice.”
Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head, still completely speechless at the choice of words imprinted on Jimin’s skin. Not just that. The jagged lettering suited the feeling of it, and it was right there on his chest. Permanent. “It looks amazing.”
“You really think so? Or are you just being nice because I made you promise?”
Yoongi’s eyes found Jimin’s, seeing the worry that hung behind them. “I mean it. I couldn’t have written it better myself,” he smiled. “And it suits you. The new you.”
“New me?”
Yoongi smiled wider, closing the space again. “Yeah. The you that’s going to climb a mountain, and then conquer the whole world. But first there’s something I have to know…” he reached out, setting his hand carefully against the space just below the tattoo.
“What is it?”
He sounded ridiculous. Too breathy. Too hopeful. He had to stop. But he didn’t want to. It was insanity; that was the only word for it. Days. It had been just days and yet this man felt like home.
“Will you still get that drink with me?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what comes next.”