Jimin grips the sleeve of Yoongi's shirt as if it's his last line of defence. Yoongi looks at the younger sadly, their eyes convey conversations too heavy to be said out loud; for if they were, the words would collapse in on themselves and leave marks-scars-too large, too deep, too painful to hide. Mouths stay shut. Hearts stay whole. Yoongi's gaze shimmers with an unspoken apology and, even deeper, through tangled vines of golden brown, a promise. I promise I won't let him hurt you. And what a terrifyingly raw promise that is.

However, getting hurt is not what Jimin is afraid of. It's not the reason why his shoulders, tense and taut, stretch so far back that one mere accidental graze and he's catapulting forward, full speed ahead. Or the reason why his pearly white teeth grind down against each other and cramp his jaw painfully. Like nails on a chalkboard, high pitched and violent. His brain pounds with the desperate plea for its release. And it's certainly not the reason why his eyebrows are angled southward, scrunching his face as if it's a piece of loose paper begging not to be thrown out but, despite that, will still meet the bitter end laying still next to a trash can, for the person who had tossed it to its death had missed. And no matter how forcefully you unfold and smooth the paper out, the wrinkles will always remain. Permanent reminders of the inevitability of death.

No, getting hurt is definitely not what Jimin's afraid of.

What he is afraid of? What's eating at his conscience like a mouse nibbling upon a trail of cheese, unaware of the trap that lies ahead. Awaiting its demise. Awaiting its betrayal. Like the bad habit of a nervous man; biting down on his nails as if it's the only anchor to his sanity, chewing away at and wearing down the brittle appendages until they are but gross, stubby little things. Like an impatient child who has just been gifted a cherry red lollipop. Her teeth are braced but sharp and forcefully crush the sweet apart - jarring and unthoughtful. Crunch crunch crunch until there is only a chewed-up stick left as evidence. What Jimin is afraid of is losing the man he cares the most about.

What Jimin is afraid of is losing Yoongi.

How hopelessly romantic is that?

Yoongi takes a steeling breath, he feels it fill his lungs with oxygen like a balloon pumped of helium before deflating back to normal size. "We can do this." He says, more for himself than for Jimin but the pinkette still appreciates the comment. He raises a shaky fist and knocks. Once. Twice.

"Come in!"

The glazed glass door is pushed open with a crooked-y creek. Stepping into the room is like stepping into another world. A world full of stuffy, thick, suffocating smoke. At his desk sits Yoongi's father, Min Do-yun. And, surprisingly enough, beside him sits Yoongi's mother, Min Chunja.

"Son...I'm glad you're here. Take a seat, if you will." He seems unusually anxious. Yoongi and Jimin stalk their way into the room, footsteps gentle and cautious, as if walking upon eggshells. There are two chairs on the opposite side of Do-yun's desk, Yoongi takes the leftmost one, Jimin takes the rightmost one. "Park Jimin. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Min Do-yun, Yoongi's father." Do-yun extends his hand across the wood and Jimin hesitantly takes it, they shake stiffly. "The pleasure is all mine..." The pinkette says with a small, forced smile.

"Alright. What do you want?" Yoongi asks curtly, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. Do-yun takes a deep breath. "Well, me and your mother here have been talking.." He cocks his head to the side, gesturing toward her. Chunja nods politely, Jimin nods back. "And... Well..." He exhales heavily. "Ah, how do I say this?" Do-yun furrows his eyebrows and pursues his lips together, as if he can't quite explain the flavour of words he's longing to bite into. As if it's at the tip of his tongue but refuses to fall any farther past that. As if he's phrasing and rephrasing his sentences because he actually cares what Yoongi will say. It is a unique sight, and a horrifying one at that.

Chunja decides to step in. "If you'd allow us to talk your ears off for a moment, I'd like to tell you a story." Now it's Yoongi's turn to furrow his eyebrows, confusion a planted seed beginning to blossom under fertile soil. Jimin takes Yoongi's hand under the table where his parents can't see and squeezes it softly, a gentle reminder that he's here for him. "Go on." The black-haired man finally says. Chunja smiles, her red lips pop brightly and make her teeth look blindingly white.

"Well, this is the story of Min Yeongsuk. He was... A difficult man." Do-yun opens his mouth as if he's about to cut in but Chunja places a hand on his shoulder and he gets the message, keeping his lips sealed shut. "He was a stickler for rules and regulations and loved to enforce those things on his only son. He had a firm hand and an unwavering mind and he was also painfully old-fashioned. Yeongsuk was a sick man and sometimes downright cruel. However, his child could not see how evil his father truly was even when he finally past away. He died four years after you were born, Yoongi-ah. He was your grandfather." Yoongi raises an eyebrow, as if to say "and what about it?" Chunja laughs nervously. "What I'm saying is, Yeongsuk shaped not only your father's but mine also. He made us believe that the only way to parent was his way. And even after his death, we still couldn't let go of his ideals. And for that, we are truly, deeply sorry."

The room is silent for a while as Yoongi process his mother's words. The air is cold, chillingly so and Jimin is starting to wish he had brought his oversized jacket. "So you want me to forgive you." Yoongi doesn't pose it like a question, Chunja feels her eyebrows knit together. "Well, that's not why w-"

"I've been a despicable man who has never and will never be worthy of your forgiveness. I know that, I've known that. However recently I've made a realization. After my father died I felt a wave of relief wash over me like a hot shower, finally ridding that man's horrible grasp on me. It baffles me how I couldn't see the parallels with my own son. I don't want you to feel that way about me, it makes me sick just thinking about it honestly. I'm not asking for your forgiveness, I'm asking you to give me a chance to redeem myself, to mend what I have broken." Jimin looks over to Yoongi, his eyes are wide and glassy. The pinkette grasps his hand tighter.

"I'm letting you go. You won't have to take over this company or fly out to America...But..." Do-yun makes eye contact with his son, he looks as if he's about to cry. "But please don't cut us out. Please let us try to rebuild our relationship..."

Yoongi doesn't know what to say. But perhaps the tears rolling down his face do all the talking. They're hot against his cheeks. "You're... You're right in saying that I can't forgive you... At least not yet. But.. It's a start.." Yoongi wipes his face with his sleeve. "Thank you.." The last part comes out as a whisper.

"There's no need to thank us.." Chunja smiles, although her eyes are also blurry, like foggy glass. "And Park Jimin." She turns her attention to the pinkette who has, up to this point, been completely silent. "Take care of our Yoongi, alright?" He nods frantically and that makes Yoongi smile, cheeks flush like a cluster of roses.

"I don't think we have to worry about this one, Chunja. He seems alright." Do-yun says, making Jimin smile as well; dark night, moon eyes.

–

"Let go of me!"

"Never!!!"

Jungkook leaps up from his seat and engulfs Yoongi in an air-restrictive bear hug as Namjoon laughs, deep but relieved. Taehyung shakes Jimin excitedly whilst Seokjin and Hoseok stay sitting on the couch and watch the scene unfold before them. Jungkook had invited everyone over so that they could all hear the news together.

Is Yoongi staying or leaving?

He's not leaving, we won't let him! Shout Jungkook and Namjoon in unison with determined looks on their faces. Taehyung, perched on the redhead's lap, waves his phone in the air, distant-intimidating-bigshot-lawyer-father on speed dial.

"I'm not leaving!" Yoongi had said after bursting through the door, a beaming Jimin following close behind. Phew. No need to tie him down to ensure he can't be taken. And even though that was solely Jungkooks idea, Namjoon wouldn't be opposed to giving a hand. I'll help too! Seokjin had chimed in. Me too! Hoseok chirps. How many people do you need to hold down such a tiny man? Taehyung asks with his blank-faced sarcasm, earning himself a pat on the back from a giggling Jungkook. Thankfully, such drastic measures will not need to be taken after all. Namjoon decides to join the hug and that has Yoongi complaining even louder. "Someone get these giants off me!" He cries but still hugs back even harder. Never one to admit his own relief, at least not to an audience. Jimin giggles at his boyfriend's predicament.

"Y'know what this calls for?" Seokjin says, reaching for his bag. Everyone fixes their gazes on him as he pulls out a bottle of alcohol. And then another. And then another. "Ta-da!" The eldest says, obviously proud of himself. "Hyung, you brought alcohol with you?" Namjoon asks, a little incredulous. "Of course I did! You get drunk when you're sad and when you're happy. I knew we'd need this no matter what happened."

Silence.

"I'll go get the glasses!" Jungkook says, dashing to the kitchen.

–

The dizziness from the alcohol paired with the stress from worrying about their friend seems to have resulted in a total knockout. Hoseok, resident sad drunk that he is, sleeps upside down on the couch, long legs hanging off the backrest. Namjoon and Seokjin, model couple that they are, have fallen asleep with their arms wrapped around each other lovingly. Jungkook and Taehyung, chaotic duo that they are, snore loudly lying on top of each other – with half of their bodies on the couch and half of their bodies on the floor.

Yoongi and Jimin had, with a fiery flicker of eye contact, made a silent pack not to get too drunk tonight. Tipsy? Maybe. So they had not passed out. Yet. Yoongi tips his head back to gulp down the last bit of drink still clinging to the bottom of his glass and then places it on the table. He sighs and leans back onto the couch, insinuating that he was finished drinking for the night. "Petal?" He asks in a partial whisper. "Hm?" Jimin hums, still having half a glass up to his lips. "You wanna go to my room?" The younger can immediately see through to the deeper meaning of the elder's words. "Yes, please."

So Jimin quickly downs the rest of his drink and then they stumble down the hallway, leaving the others to sleep their drunkness away. Yoongi enlaces his fingers with Jimin's with one hand and pushes open the wooden door to his room with the other.

Upon entering, Yoongi flips on the light and watches as bright amber floods the room. He shuts the door and takes Jimins other hand as well. Kissing comes as second nature now and Jimin loves the way their lips mould together as if they are one. Yoongi steps forward and Jimin feels his back press lightly against the wall. The younger detangles their hands and uses them instead to grasp the elder's shoulders. The is getting a bit heated now so Jimin tries to pull away but Yoongi doesn't let him, scattering butterfly kisses across the other's jaw and neck.

"I'm so happy you're not leaving.." Jimin sighs happily.

"Me too, petal...I love you." Yoongi moves back to look his boyfriend in the eyes.

"Love you more."

"Mhmm...that's not possible. I love you more."

"Uhh yes, it very much is. I love you more."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!!"

Yoongi looks at Jimin lit under the warm yellow lighting of the bedroom. He's glowing golden with a very serious look on his pretty face. His cheeks are dusted pink no doubt from the alcohol and his eyes are molten chocolate, thick and rich and sizzling swirls of sweetness. Milky highlights shimmer at the corner of his iris and Yoongi cannot help but feel very lucky all of a sudden.

"Okay fine. You win." The black-haired man says. "See? Even you know I'm the best." The pinkette replies, half-jokingly.

Yoongi wonders whether he would've let Jimin win so easily if he was still the bitter, hateful man he once was. Min Yoongi was stuck at second place the minute Park Jimin had walked through the doors and for that, Yoongi despised Jimin. But now, shimmering silver and glittering gold don't seem all that different from one another, even feeling the weight of the medal around his neck is privilege enough. Like it had melted into liquid and he had mistakenly taken a sip, the realization tastes bitter going down but the sugary aftertaste has got him downing more without hesitation. Yoongi thinks he's been vaguely aware of this thought for some time, maybe it materialized the night at the bridge with the fireworks or maybe it's been there since Jimin had sat sideways on a swing and asked to be friends with a sad, sad boy.

Second place doesn't seem all that bad when the person who wears the gold medal is someone he adores. Someone like Park Jimin.

Yoongi takes Jimin's hand and places it over his heart, it beats steadily. "Thank you." The pinkettes contagious smile never falters. "For what?" He asks.

It's as if everything has fallen into place, everything has clicked. Yoongi looks at the man in front of him and his heart explodes at the thought of spending the rest of his life with him. Suddenly, a blurry flash hinders his eyesight. He sees the two of them living together, somewhere far away, a peaceful paradise. This is his forever. Jimin is my forever. He thinks.

"For renting the building Across the street from mine."

–

The End.