6:18 a.m.

Knock

               knock knock.

                                         knock knock knock knock. knock knock knock.

                                                                                 ..... knock

"Open up."

Jimin sighed at the singsong voice of his unwelcome visitor, halting as he steeped his morning cup of tea. An agitated smile budding on his face and tongue in cheek, he shook his head and continued. But the bell rang four times and he knew there was no way to get out of answering. After all, he did have to leave his apartment at some point or another.

In his work slacks and turtleneck, he allowed his house slippers to chafe the hardwood as trotted to the door. He ruffled his hair and braced himself with yet another sigh before unlocking and swinging the thick, white slab of wood open.

And stood at the door, typing away on his phone, was the birthday cake blue boy. Except now, his hair wasn't blue. Instead, he sported freshly dyed tendrils cut closer to his head in a lovely shade of oil slick black-- an undercut that brought out the luster in the metal rings in his ears, the hard lines and angles of his face. He looked mean in an expensive way. A blue Canada Goose replaced his trademark dose of blue, left unzipped to reveal the tee that matched his new shade; many silver rings on his slender white fingers and four more in his ears; highlighter green Nike Air-Force x Off White Lows, the ones Jimin secretly loved but wasn't daring enough to sport; and what were probably designer jeans.

Jimin was impressed. Yoongi, who had only ever left his blue hair unkempt, looked marvelous. He wasn't even trying to look good, taking off that black baseball cap and running a hand through that new hair, so black it didn't sheen but glinted in the sunlight.

He hid it well. That he was actually impressed.

"Hey, Jimin." Yoongi looked up from his phone coolly.

"Min Yoongi, it is 6:15 in the morning. What could you possibly want from me?"

"To suck the life out of you." Yoongi replied coolly. He continued, slicing short the breath about to leave Jimin's mouth. "You know, because I'm a leech. Did you ever Google that thing Bong Joon-ho did with the Oscars he won from Parasite?"

It became apparent in the blankness of his expression that his innuendo went right over his own head so Jimin dropped it.

"No, I didn't care enough to."

"Hm."

"You look like you have a home and people who love you today."

The elder shook his head.

"Nah, I look like I drip like a faucet."

Jimin surveyed the outfit, this time item by item, until he stopped on Yoongi's face.

"I take it back. You look like you have twenty four hours to wear every designer item you own," Jimin snorted.

"You wish you could walk a mile in my Ksubi's."

"I'd walk two in my Gucci loafers just to get away from you."

"Sounds warm. Not warmer than my Goose though."

"Who needs a Goose when you have a Moncler? Not that I don't have both," Jimin bit snidely, fixing his chains in the mirror beside the door in which Yoongi stood.

Yoongi whistled a dull tone.

"My fault, Lavish J."

"I like that nickname," Jimin murmured passively.

Yoongi ambled in and stood behind him, drinking all of Jimin's reflection and body in as he fixed the little details of his outfit and hair. Even in his peripheral, it was painfully obvious why he was looking. Jimin sent a side eye to Yoongi, who only turned away smiling, as mischievous puppies turn away from being lectured after misbehavior.

The apartment was quiet with the memory of the night across the alley. It seemed they were both waiting for him to slip and cross a line he was so carefully tightroping, to see how far he was able to go before he went too far.

"Actually I just wanted to walk with you to the station, if that's alright." He pierced the silence, digging his hands into his pockets. Or at least trying to. His hands slid over the fabric of his jeans, not into them, which made him fluster.

Jimin mulled it over for a minute but in the end he still shook his head. "I don't think so, Oil Rig."

Yoongi clearly wasn't expecting that answer.

"What? Why not?" The elder's brows knit together, tone raised in disbelief.

"Because I just realized I should be weirded out that I never gave you my apartment number. You kind of just figured it out on your own without me telling you, and if it were anyone else, I would probably call the police." Jimin explained wearily, "So why don't you close the door behind you on your way out?"

Yoongi scoffed, "That's common sense. You and me have perfectly aligned windows, meaning that you would have to be in the exact same apartment number as me in your building as I am in mine for us to see eye to eye. Just opposite sides of the hall. It's that simple. And I'm not just anybody."

It was too early in the morning and so Jimin was at a loss for words. The logic checked out, which he wasn't expecting from Min Yoongi, and he was embarrassed. He was usually the snappy one, the one with all the comebacks, the sayer of the last word. He was really, truly befuddled.

Basically, it fucked him up.

Everything about Yoongi fucked him up. His jawline, his sense of humor, his aura, presence, scent, precision. Even his ability to fuck him up fucked him up.

Unbelievable.

"We don't see eye to eye," Jimin replied, his calm unwavering-- but only on the surface.

"Not always, but I'm willing to compromise." Yoongi dangled his foot over the line, smirking, only to retract it. Jimin's heart rushed a beat but his eyes slashed into Yoongi quicker. "Besides, you let me into your house. If you didn't want me here, I wouldn't be here. Can't be all that scared of the big bad wolf."

"Under normal circumstances with regular human beings that would be the case, but you, my friend, are a persistent outlier and not to be counted."

"So tell me you hate me and don't want me here." Yoongi cocked his head.

Now their reflections were both locked on one another. Jimin was the first to pull his gaze away, fix it elsewhere, but he absolutely did not hesitate to speak.

"I hate you," Jimin turned around and setting a path for the kitchen counter where his tea sat-- by now, potent with vanilla chai.

"And? Say the rest and your wish is my command." Yoongi trailed behind. He stopped close but reeled back so that the two of them leaned against opposite counters: Yoongi with his back pressed to one, hands wrapped around the edge; Jimin with his back to Yoongi, focused on sweetening his tea.

Saying nothing.

"Exactly. So shut the fuck up," he heard behind him, followed by the chafe of the puffy coat sleeves as his elder crossed his arms. Desperate to get a jab in, to wipe that stupid smile clean off his face, Jimin finally swung.

"I'm gonna let that slide because your cap is clearly on too tight and restricting the blood flow to your brain," Jimin cut.

"You think you're cute."

"No. You think I'm cute."

"Want me to do something about it?"

Like this Yoongi, cool and calm, delivered his fatal right hook. What's worse? It was said in blissful ignorance.

Jimin opened his mouth to say more but--

"No? Then shut the fuck up."

Knockout.

6: 47 a.m.

He looked like a penguin when he looked up from his book-- The Water Dancer now, since he'd given up on the 4,000 pages of Proust-- all bundled up in his black Goose. Especially so because he was next to Yoongi, who was in truth freezing but refused to zip up his blue twin coat and eating the cold weather like a champ.

Jimin grinned, his plump lips spreading themselves from ear to ear at his sudden illumination. The lost mobility of his neck in the big coat revealed itself as he turned to Yoongi.

"We're matching. Black and blue. We're like a bruise."

"So you'll match designer items and not Crocs? Wowwwww. The classism is really crazy."

"I'm done having this conversation." His enthusiasm vanished.

"J," he started, and all Jimin could think of was how nice it was to have someone you're friendly enough with to give you a new name-- however basic. "all I'm saying is you have drip buuuut! you could have more. Like look at what you're wearing."

Jimin's brows furrowed and he looked down at his glinting black usuals for work, the loafers he'd saved up for and gifted himself a few months ago for Christmas.

"What's wrong with my Alexander Wang's?"

"Nothing. They're fire. But I can't have my best friend walking around looking like an international student in those damn Alexander Wang's all the time. Ankles mad bare. You look like a model minority, okay? You're reinforcing a stereotype." Yoongi's forcefully whispered reply, half of it in Korean, prompts an incredulous look from the black to his blue.

"I'm sorry that I have money?" Jimin retorted, watching a train roll into the station. Not in service. He groaned.

"Apology accepted. Lemme hold two seventy-five for a swipe though? My monthly unlimited pass expired and I used up the money that was on my backup to get to work today." Yoongi mentioned, prompting a bitter huff from Jimin.

"I love it when my friends spoil me."

"And I love having a mini me," Yoongi motioned with his eyes to Jimin's coat. Jimin paused his digging into his pants pocket and glared. He had half a mind not to give him anything, but eventually handed over the six dollars fare that would cover Yoongi's ride from and back to work next morning. Yoongi went to the machine to put money on his card and sat back down with a pat on Jimin's shoulder.

"Thanks, Min Min. Next time I go to the Chanel store, I'ma make sure you get the biggest bag in the store. You just gotta steal it first but after that? All yours."

"You...--" Jimin hesitated, but there were no words. He shook his head and glanced down the platform to see if he would see any incoming trains, but nothing. So he went back to looking at Yoongi, a judgmental up and down scan, followed by the scanning of page 121. "It's the all designer outfit and still taking the train to work for me," he added in Korean.

"You be on the train with me, bozo."

"I'm here because mass transit is more ecologically efficient than driving alone, bozo."

Not entirely true. It was moreso that driving always made him anxious for a reason he could never put his finger on. But that was too embarrassing to say at his age. So yeah. The environment.

"Yeah. I'm sure your reasons for being here are purely environmental."

He cracked a smile. "Don't use my word. You didn't even start using it until I started saying it."

"Funny coming from you, Mr. Canada Goose." Yoongi poked Jimin right on the logo stitched into his arm, voice laced with irony.

"It's my word," He uttered in English.

"I don't see your name on it."

"You're right. Your name is on it, you fucking bozo."

"Ha, I see what you did there. I prefer to go by Mr. Moncler though. Mr. Moncleezy."

"You don't have a Moncler."

"I don't have a Moncler that you know of. It's actually in my closet but I didn't want to drip too hard, you might fuck around and drown."

Jimin's laughter dripped with contempt. "I talk to you sometimes and it's like, 'Where's his PhD? How is he not being flooded with offers to deliver his TEDTalk?'"

"I like your funny words, magic man."

"I bet you do."

"You know I do."

Hearing the muffled scraping of wheels on metal through his hood, Jimin rotated his whole body-- again, limited neck mobility-- to see their ride slowly approaching. The train pulled into the station with a whoosh that made the fur lining of their hoods dance .

"Come on. I want little spoon today," Yoongi stood. Jimin knew he only meant he wanted to change their usual seating arrangement that kept Yoongi in the outer seat of a double and himself nearest the window, but he had to make himself clear.

"I have a boyfriend."

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry. Just a couple of--"

"We're not fucking lads." He powered past Yoongi, took off his hood, and shook out his hair.

Yoongi bit his bottom lip and smirked, boarding the train after him.

He's a brat, I know it. I just know he's a brat.