maja⁷ 🪷

“Of course,” Yoongi didn’t look at him but rubbed a hand over Jimin’s back, now dressed in Yoongi’s leather jacket, and that comforted Jimin more than anything. “Crybaby.”

Haechan was saying something in his ear that Jimin couldn't hear. To his honor, Yoongi didn’t look like he listened either. He leaned back, legs spread and held out a hand towards Jimin.

He still wore the leather jacket over a t-shirt despite the room being hot. It didn’t make him less attractive. Jimin sulked. “You seemed busy.” “I was just waiting for you to come back. I didn’t want to hang out with them. I’ll always wait for you, you know that.” 𝘖𝘩.

It meant everything to Jimin— Yoongi meant everything to him— and Yoongi had never in their five years insinuated that he felt anything remotely more for him than their arguably weirdly close friendship. Jimin played with his empty glass on the counter. Maybe he should go home.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨.” “𝘕𝘰, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵.” “𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺.” He would nudge Jimin’s chin, shoulders brushing on Yoongi’s old couch. “𝘈𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦.”