Archive of Our Own

Yoongi's new office has better views than his apartment.

This is what he's thinking about on his first day at Park Group, standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows with a cup of coffee from the break room because nobody told him whether directors are supposed to make their own coffee or if there's someone who does that. Below him Seoul goes about its business, the river cutting through the middle of everything, and somewhere out there in the direction of Mapo is the apartment he's been paying rent on for three years while telling himself he's saving up to buy something.

The salary Chairman Park offered would make that happen faster.

That's why Yoongi said yes. Not because the job sounded appealing, because it didn't, not really. Director of Operations at a luxury hospitality group should have been straightforward, but there was the way the chairman talked about it during the interview. Careful. Like he was explaining something that needed to be understood correctly.

"My son works here," he'd said, after they'd gone through the official job description. "Jimin. He's VP of Brand Development."

Yoongi had heard of him. Everyone in the industry had heard of Park Jimin. The heir who showed up to events with photographers and left clubs at four in the morning and sometimes gave interviews about luxury markets when he felt like it.

"He's capable when he chooses to be," Chairman Park continued. "He understands the business, he has good instincts. But he doesn't show up. He misses meetings, ignores deadlines, treats the work like it's optional. The last two people I hired to work with him both quit. One lasted five months. The other made it three."

He said this like he was describing weather. Just facts.

"I'm not asking you to be diplomatic," he said. "I'm asking you to make it impossible for him to keep failing. I don't care how you do it. I just need it done."

The salary he offered was almost obscene. Enough that Yoongi did the math on his parents' roof and his brother's restaurant and his own rent and decided the number was worth whatever this turned out to be.

So here he is.

His computer is set up. His email works. There's a welcome packet on the desk with his access card and a handbook he's not going to read. His name is on the door, spelled correctly. Everything is ready for him to start doing the job he was hired to do.

He's looking at the handbook, not reading it, when his office door opens.

No knock. The door just swings open and there's someone standing there holding a paper coffee cup, looking at Yoongi like he's trying to decide whether this is going to be interesting or just tedious.

Park Jimin.

Yoongi recognizes him from the photos that come up when you search the company. In person he's better looking than the pictures, which is inconvenient. Mid-twenties, black suit with no tie, hair falling across his forehead in a way that looks careless and probably took twenty minutes. His Chelsea boots add an inch or two to his height, and he has the particular ease of someone who's never had to worry about money and knows exactly what his face looks like.

"You're the new one," Jimin says.

Not a question.

Yoongi sets down the handbook. "Min Yoongi. Director of Operations."

"I know who you are, Director Min." Jimin walks into the office without being invited, looks around at the desk and the windows. "My father told me he hired someone. He said you're supposed to fix me."

He says it casually, like it's funny. The way he says Director Min makes it sound like a joke between them, except they've known each other for about fifteen seconds.

"I'm here to do operations work," Yoongi says. "We'll be working together on projects since you handle brand development."

"Working together." Jimin sits on the edge of Yoongi's desk, which is not something you do in someone's office on a first meeting, not in any culture Yoongi knows of. "Is that what he called it?"

"He said I'd be working closely with you, Vice President Park."

Jimin's mouth curves. "Vice President Park. Very formal." He tilts his head. "You can call me Jimin-ssi. Everyone does eventually, once they realize the title doesn't make me behave any better."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"The last guy said the same thing. Kept talking about collaboration and partnership. Lasted five months before he quit."

"I heard."

"The one before him made it three. He was very earnest about helping me reach my potential." Jimin takes a sip of his coffee. "I'm guessing my father told you about them. Probably framed it as a warning."

Yoongi doesn't say anything.

"So which is it?" Jimin asks. "Are you here because you think you can succeed where they failed? Or are you just here for the money?"

It's a good question. Yoongi doesn't have a good answer for it, so he doesn't try.

"I'm here to do my job."

"Your job." Jimin sets his coffee down on Yoongi's desk, directly on the wood, no coaster. "Let me guess what that actually involves. Making sure I show up to meetings. Making sure I care about quarterly reports and client presentations. Turning me into someone my father doesn't have to apologize for."

"Something like that."

Jimin blinks. He wasn't expecting that.

"Okay," he says, and there's something new in his voice now, something that might be curiosity or might be the beginning of a challenge. "At least you're honest about it."

"Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"

"Most people aren't. They come in here and tell me we're going to work together and it's going to be great and they're sure I have so much to offer." Jimin's mouth twists. "Like I don't know exactly why my father hired them."

"I'm not most people."

"We'll see." Jimin stands, picks up his coffee. "There's a project meeting Friday at two. The Busan expansion proposal. You should probably prepare for it."

"I plan to."

"Good." He's almost at the door when he turns back. "I won't be there, obviously. But you should prepare anyway."

"If the meeting is scheduled, you'll be there."

Jimin laughs. It's a short sound, more surprised than amused. "You're going to make me show up to a meeting."

"Yes."

"How exactly are you planning to do that?"

"By making it clear that showing up isn't optional."

Something changes in Jimin's face. It's not quite a smile, but it's close to one, and for a second he looks almost interested. Almost real.

"The last two guys tried that," he says. "They had spreadsheets and accountability frameworks and everything. Want to know what happened?"

"They quit."

"They quit." Jimin tilts his head slightly. "I give you three months. Maybe less."

"I don't quit jobs."

"Everyone says that at the beginning."

He leaves. Doesn't close the door behind him.

Yoongi gets up after a moment and closes it himself. Going to the chairman on his first day feels aggressive, but that's exactly what he was hired for. Chairman Park had been explicit about that. Make it impossible for him to keep failing. This is Yoongi doing his job.

He sits back down at his desk and opens his laptop and pulls up his calendar, finds the Friday meeting. Busan expansion proposal, two o'clock, conference room B. Jimin's name is listed as an attendee.

He opens a new email.

Subject: Friday Project Meeting - Attendance Confirmation

Jimin-ssi,

I'm writing to confirm that your attendance at Friday's 2pm project meeting is required. This is a joint operations and brand initiative and your input is necessary for the discussion.

Please confirm your attendance.

Best regards,

Min Yoongi

Director of Operations

He sends it and goes back to the welcome packet, actually reading it this time, learning the building layout and the org structure and where he's supposed to go for the meetings he has scheduled for the rest of the week.

His phone buzzes forty minutes later with an email notification. He checks the screen.

RE: Friday Project Meeting - Attendance Confirmation

no

That's the entire reply. Just the word no, lowercase, no punctuation, no signature.

Yoongi stares at it for a long moment.

Then he picks up his desk phone and calls the chairman's assistant, asks if Chairman Park has time in his schedule this afternoon. She says he's available at four. Yoongi takes it.

At four he goes to the chairman's office. The assistant waves him in and Chairman Park looks up from whatever he's reading, gestures to the chair across from his desk.

"I met your son this morning," Yoongi says.

"I assumed you would."

"He said he's not attending the Friday project meeting. I emailed asking him to confirm his attendance. He replied with the word no."

"And what would you like me to do about that?"

"I'd like to know what authority I have. You told me to make it impossible for him to keep failing, but I can't do that if he refuses to show up and there are no consequences."

"What consequences do you think would be appropriate?"

Yoongi considers this. "For a first time? A direct conversation making clear that attendance isn't optional. If he continues to miss meetings, we document it formally."

"You want to put my son on a performance improvement plan."

"If he's not meeting the basic requirements of his job, yes."

Chairman Park leans back in his chair, looking at Yoongi with something that might be approval. "The last person who tried to document Jimin's attendance issues came to me with an apologetic memo and asked if I could speak to him directly. I did. It didn't help."

"I'm not asking you to speak to him. I'm asking what authority I have to address it myself."

"You have whatever authority you need." The chairman picks up his pen again. "But understand something. Jimin will push back on everything you try. He'll test every boundary, ignore every rule, find every loophole. If you go into this expecting him to eventually cooperate, you'll fail like the others did."

"I'm not expecting him to cooperate. I'm expecting him to show up because showing up is part of his job."

"Good." Chairman Park looks back at his paperwork. "Then make that happen."

Yoongi goes back to his office and opens his calendar again. Pulls up the Friday meeting and adds a note to the description: Attendance mandatory per Director of Operations.

Then he drafts another email.

Jimin-ssi,

Your attendance at Friday's meeting is not optional. If you choose not to attend, it will be documented as a missed commitment and I will be discussing it with Chairman Park.

I look forward to seeing you Friday.

Min Yoongi

He sends it.

The reply comes at eight-thirty that night, when Yoongi is at home feeding Tang and wondering what exactly he's gotten himself into. His phone lights up on the counter.

RE: Friday Project Meeting

you're going to tell on me to my dad? very professional director min

see you friday. or don't. either way this should be entertaining

Yoongi reads it twice.

He puts his phone down and stands there in his apartment with Tang watching him from the counter, and he thinks about the way Jimin smiled when he said we'll see. Like he'd already decided how this was going to end. Like he'd seen it play out before and knew exactly how it would go.

Yoongi's decided differently.

If Jimin wants to make this a fight, Yoongi can fight. And he's very good at not losing.

It's Thursday, two weeks in, and Yoongi is sitting at the counter of his brother's restaurant trying to remember the last time he felt this tired.

Seokjin's place is small, on a side street in Mangwon-dong that most people walk past without noticing. The sign above the door says Dalseong Gukbap in painted characters, named after the district in Daegu where they grew up. Inside it smells like the pork broth Seokjin starts making at five in the morning.

It's after nine. The last customers left twenty minutes ago and Seokjin has already sent his part-timer home. Now it's just the two of them and the sound of Seokjin wiping down tables while Yoongi finishes the kalguksu that appeared in front of him without him having to ask.

"So," Seokjin says from across the room. "Still terrible?"

"What?"

"The job. Still terrible?"

Yoongi takes a moment to consider whether terrible is the right word. The job itself is fine. The operations work is interesting, the team is competent, he has actual authority and actual resources. But there's also Jimin, who showed up to Friday's meeting forty minutes late without apology and spent the entire time on his phone. Who missed Monday's strategy session entirely and texted Yoongi at noon to say he wasn't feeling it. Who interrupted a vendor presentation yesterday with a comment so dismissive that Yoongi had to spend twenty minutes smoothing things over afterward.

"It's not terrible," Yoongi says.

"But?"

"The chairman's son is a problem."

"You mentioned that before you took it." Seokjin finishes wiping down a table, moves to the next one. "You said the last two guys quit."

"Yeah, well. Now I understand why."

"That bad?"

"He showed up forty minutes late to a meeting last week. I called him out on it in front of everyone. He just looked at me like I was being ridiculous and sat down." Yoongi pushes his empty bowl away. "Three days ago he didn't show up to a strategy session at all. Just texted me at nine-thirty that morning and said he wasn't feeling it. I documented it. Sent a formal report to his father."

"Did that help?"

"The chairman told me to handle it myself. So I sent Jimin an email saying the next time he misses a meeting without valid reason, I'm putting him on a performance improvement plan."

Seokjin stops wiping. "You threatened to put the chairman's son on a PIP?"

"That's what the chairman hired me to do."

"What did Jimin say?"

"He replied with a gif of someone laughing." Yoongi runs a hand through his hair. "I'm trying everything. Direct confrontation, documentation, formal warnings. Nothing works. He just treats it like a game."

"And you didn't kill him?"

"I'm being paid very well not to kill him."

Seokjin laughs at that, the laugh he does when Yoongi says something that's funny and also concerning. "How much longer do you think you'll last?"

"I don't quit jobs, hyung." Yoongi pauses. "That's exactly what he said.”

Seokjin looks up. "What, the son?"

"Yeah. First conversation we ever had. I told him I don't quit jobs and he said everyone says that at the beginning." Yoongi picks at the edge of his napkin. "He also asked me how much his father was paying me. Just asked outright."

Seokjin sets down his rag and leans against the counter across from Yoongi. "What did you tell him?"

"That it wasn't his business."

"But he was right."

"What?"

"He was right to ask." Seokjin is watching him with that particular older brother expression, somewhere between amused and concerned. "You took the job for the money. He knows that's why people take jobs dealing with him."

Yoongi doesn't say anything.

"What?" Seokjin asks.

"Nothing. It's just. That's basically what he said."

"Then he's smarter than you're giving him credit for." Seokjin picks up his rag again. "Or you're easier to read than you think."

"I'm not easy to read."

"You've been here for an hour and you haven't talked about anything except this guy." Seokjin goes back to wiping tables. "Usually when you hate a job you say it's terrible and then we talk about something else. But tonight it's been a full rundown of everything he's done for the last two weeks."

"Because you asked."

"I asked if it was still terrible. You could have said yes and moved on." Seokjin glances at him. "He really got to you, huh."

"He's frustrating."

"Clearly."

Yoongi stands up, carries his bowl to the sink because if he doesn't his brother will just have to do it later. "I should go. Let you close up."

"You're not getting out of this conversation that easily." Seokjin follows him, takes the bowl from his hands, starts rinsing it. "What is it about this guy that's different?"

"He's not different. He's just another spoiled rich kid who doesn't want to do his job."

"Okay."

"He's lazy and disrespectful and he goes out of his way to make my life harder."

"Okay."

"And he's. I don't know." Yoongi leans against the counter, watching his brother wash dishes. "He's smart. That's the thing. You can tell he's smart, and he's choosing not to use it. He could do the work if he wanted to. He just doesn't want to."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know. I don't care."

"You clearly care a little bit."

"I care because it's my job to care. Because I'm being paid to make him show up and do his work and every time he doesn't it makes me look like I'm failing."

"Are you failing?"

"I don't know yet." Yoongi doesn't like admitting that. "Ask me in a month."

Seokjin finishes with the dishes, dries his hands on a towel. "You're the most patient person I know. I've watched you deal with idiots for years. This is different."

"It's not different."

"If you say so." Seokjin tosses the towel on the counter. "You want me to put some food together for you to take home? I've got extra."

"I'm fine, hyung."

"You're not fine. You're wound up about some guy you've known for two weeks and you're pretending it's just about work." Seokjin pulls containers out of the fridge, starts packing them without asking if Yoongi wants them. "Just. Be careful, okay?"

"Careful of what?"

"I don't know yet. But something about this feels different." Seokjin hands him the containers. "Call me this weekend. We'll get drinks."

"Yeah, maybe."

"You'll cancel."

"I might not."

"You will. You'll say you have work." Seokjin unlocks the front door, holds it open. "But the offer stands."

Yoongi takes the food and leaves, stepping out into the Mangwon-dong evening. The subway home is crowded and Yoongi stands with his hand on the pole, letting the motion of the train rock him back and forth. His reflection in the dark window looks tired. Looks like someone who's in over his head and won't admit it.

I give you three months.

The train stops. People push past him. Yoongi doesn't move until the doors start to close and he has to step off or miss his station.

He's never quit anything in his life. That's what he tells himself on the walk home. It's about the job. The money. The apartment he's going to buy and the help he'll be able to send his parents.

It has nothing to do with Park Jimin.

By the end of March, Yoongi has developed a working theory about Park Jimin.

The theory goes like this: Jimin isn't actually lazy. He's not incompetent. He's not even particularly reckless, despite what his behavior would suggest. What he is, specifically and deliberately, is uninterested in making anyone's life easier, including his own. This is a choice he's making every single day, and it's a choice that's starting to cost Yoongi more than the salary is worth.

Week three, Jimin shows up to a meeting with an international client delegation from Singapore. He's on time, which is unusual enough that Yoongi notices. He's prepared, which is even more unusual. He presents the brand vision for Park Group's luxury positioning with the kind of polish that makes it clear he knows exactly what he's doing when he bothers to do it. The clients are impressed. Jimin is charming, articulate, makes jokes that land in English and Korean both.

And then, halfway through the Q&A session, he stands up and leaves.

He doesn't say anything. Picks up his phone, checks something, walks out of the conference room like he's remembered somewhere else he'd rather be.

Yoongi has to cover. Has to smile at the confused clients and say something about an urgent call, has to field questions about brand strategy that aren't his domain, has to pretend this is normal. Afterward, he finds Jimin in his office with his feet up on the desk, scrolling through his phone like he didn't just walk out of a meeting with people who flew in from another country to talk to him.

"What was that, Jimin-ssi?" Yoongi asks from the doorway.

Jimin doesn't look up. "What was what?"

"The client meeting. You left in the middle of it."

"I was done talking."

"They weren't done listening."

"That sounds like their problem." Jimin sets his phone down and looks at Yoongi with that blankness he uses when he wants someone to know he's not interested in the conversation. "Was there something else you needed, Director Min?"

Yoongi leaves before he says something that will make his job harder than it already is. He goes back to his office and writes an email to Chairman Park documenting the incident, the third one this month, and gets a reply two hours later that says only: Noted. Continue as discussed.

He's starting to understand what that means. It means the chairman knows his son is a problem and has decided Yoongi is the solution, and beyond that he doesn't want to hear about it.

That's week three.

Week four, the Jeju project happens.

Chairman Park calls them both into his office on a Wednesday morning and tells them about the resort property on the southern coast. Two hundred rooms, spa and golf course, three restaurants. It's been underperforming for months. Occupancy down eighteen percent year over year, guest satisfaction scores dropping, profitable but trending in the wrong direction. The chairman wants to know why, and he wants a repositioning proposal by the end of May.

Yoongi does the math. Eight weeks, maybe a little more. For a property that size it's tight, but it's doable if they start immediately.

"We'll need to visit the site," Yoongi says. "I'd suggest going next week to give us enough time for analysis before we start building the proposal."

"Coordinate with each other on timing," the chairman says. "I want you both there. This is a priority."

Jimin, sitting in the chair next to Yoongi, says nothing.

After the meeting Yoongi tries to pin him down in the hallway. "Next week, Jimin-ssi. Tuesday or Wednesday, whichever works for your schedule."

"I'm busy next week."

"With what?"

"Things." Jimin is already walking toward the elevator, not looking back. "We'll go when I'm available."

"Your father just said this is a priority."

"My father says everything is a priority." The elevator doors open and Jimin steps in, turning around to face Yoongi with his hand on the door. "That's how he talks. It doesn't mean anything."

The doors close and Yoongi is standing in the hallway alone, thinking about the fact that he's been here almost a month and he still can't get Jimin to commit to a single thing that requires him to show up somewhere at a specific time.

He goes back to his office and starts pulling data on the Jeju property himself. Occupancy trends, revenue reports, guest feedback, competitive analysis. If Jimin isn't going to engage with the timeline, Yoongi will at least make sure the operational analysis is ready when he finally does.

Two days later he's in the break room getting coffee when someone behind him says, "Director Min-nim."

Yoongi turns. It's Jung Hoseok from the brand team, someone he's seen in meetings and nodded to in hallways but never actually spoken to beyond basic pleasantries. He's maybe thirty, has a friendly face and a travel mug with a dog sticker on it, and he's waiting for the coffee machine with the patience of someone who's used to waiting.

"Hoseok-ssi," Yoongi says, stepping aside so he can get to the machine.

"Thanks." Hoseok pours his coffee and adds enough sugar that Yoongi can see it pile up at the bottom of the mug. "I heard you and Jimin-ssi got assigned to Jeju together."

"Word travels fast."

"Small office. Everyone knows everything." Hoseok stirs his coffee, taps the spoon on the rim, sets it in the sink. "For what it's worth, the property has good bones. The problem isn't operational. It's positioning. We're trying to be a luxury resort but we're priced and marketed like a mid-tier vacation spot. Guests don't know what they're supposed to expect, so they end up disappointed no matter what."

This is more useful information than Yoongi has gotten from anyone else in weeks. "Do you have documentation on the brand strategy? I'd like to see what's been tried."

"I can pull that for you. Fair warning, though, most of the brand documentation is supposed to come from VP Park's office, and he's not exactly organized about that kind of thing."

"I'm getting that impression."

Hoseok leans against the counter, cradling his mug. There's something in his expression that Yoongi can't quite read, something careful. "He's not always like this," Hoseok says. "Or I guess he is, mostly. But I've worked on a few projects with him over the years, and when he actually decides to engage, he's good. Really good. He has instincts about brand positioning that most people in this industry couldn't learn in twenty years. He just doesn't use them very often."

"Any idea why?"

"That's a question for someone who knows him better than I do." Hoseok pushes off from the counter, gives Yoongi a small nod. "Good luck with Jeju, Director Min-nim. Let me know if you need those files."

He leaves, and Yoongi stands there with his coffee going cold in his hand, thinking about the way Hoseok said when he actually decides to engage, like Jimin's competence is something that exists behind a door he almost never opens.

Over the next few days Yoongi ends up talking to Hoseok a few more times, once in the hallway outside a conference room and once in the cafeteria when they're both eating lunch alone. Hoseok is easy to talk to in a way that most people at Park Group aren't. He knows the company, knows the politics, explains things without making Yoongi feel like he's being tested. He pulls the brand documentation Yoongi asked for and walks him through what's been tried with the Jeju property before, which repositioning strategies worked and which ones didn't.

"Itaewon was the last big one," Hoseok says, pushing rice around his plate. "Jimin-ssi led the brand strategy. It was good work, actually. Really good." He pauses, takes a bite, chews slowly. "And then somewhere around month three he just... stopped showing up. Left us to finish implementation without him."

"What happened?"

Hoseok shrugs. "No idea. One day he was there, the next he wasn't. We pulled it together, the project turned out fine, but..." He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to.

On Friday evening of week four, Yoongi is working late when Jimin appears in his doorway. It's past eight and the floor is mostly empty, just the hum of the cleaning crew somewhere down the hall.

"I can do the week after next," Jimin says without preamble. "Thursday."

Yoongi looks up from his laptop. "For Jeju?"

"What else."

"That's two weeks from now. We're supposed to have this proposal done by end of May."

"And we will." Jimin leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking like this conversation is already boring him. "We fly down Thursday morning, do the site assessment, fly back that evening. My assistant will send you the details."

"I was planning to stay overnight. Do a proper review of the property."

"I'm not staying overnight."

"It's a two-hundred-room resort, Jimin-ssi. We can't see everything in a few hours."

"Then you stay and I'll fly back." Jimin pushes off from the doorframe. "Thursday the week after next. My assistant will be in touch."

He's gone before Yoongi can argue.

Yoongi sits there looking at the empty doorway, thinking that at least Jimin committed to a date, which is more than he's managed to get out of him on anything else. He marks it in his calendar. Thursday. Eleven days away.

Week five is when things start shifting in ways Yoongi doesn't have language for yet.

It starts small. A meeting on Tuesday morning where they're both presenting to the executive team on Q1 performance, Yoongi covering operations and Jimin covering brand. They're not working together, just happening to be in the same room at the same time. But during Jimin's section there's a moment where he references something from Yoongi's operational data, weaves it into his brand analysis so smoothly that Yoongi almost misses it. It's a small thing, the kind of connection that shows someone actually read your work and understood it, and it catches Yoongi off guard because he didn't think Jimin was paying attention to anything he did.

Afterward, in the hallway, Yoongi says, "That was good, Jimin-ssi. The way you connected the occupancy trends to the brand perception issues."

Jimin looks at him with an expression Yoongi can't quite read, something wary, like he's trying to figure out if this is a trap. "I read your report, Director Min."

"You read my report."

"I read all of them. I just don't usually say anything about it." Jimin adjusts his bag on his shoulder, already angling his body toward the elevator. "Don't get used to it."

He walks away, and Yoongi stands there thinking that was almost a normal professional interaction, two colleagues acknowledging each other's work. Somehow that's more unsettling than their usual antagonism.

On Wednesday afternoon they're both in the office working on Jeju prep, Yoongi in a conference room with property data spread across the table and Jimin presumably somewhere doing whatever Jimin does when he's not actively making Yoongi's life difficult. Yoongi is deep in the operational cost breakdown when Jimin appears in the doorway.

"Do you have the guest satisfaction data broken down by quarter?" Jimin asks.

Yoongi looks up. "Why?"

"Because I need it for the brand analysis."

He could say no. Could make Jimin go find it himself, or wait until Yoongi is done with his own work. But that would be petty, and Yoongi isn't petty. He's just tired.

He pulls up the file on his laptop and turns the screen so Jimin can see it. Jimin comes closer, leans in to look at the data. He's close enough that Yoongi can smell his cologne, something clean and floral with a powdery edge, the kind of scent that lingers. Close enough to see the three small silver hoops in his left ear, the way his hair falls across his forehead when he tilts his head to read the screen.

Jimin scrolls through the data with one hand on the edge of the laptop, and Yoongi is suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that if he moved his hand a few inches to the left it would touch Jimin's wrist. He doesn't move his hand. He doesn't do anything except sit there and wait for Jimin to finish, but something about the moment feels different, charged in a way he doesn't want to think about too carefully.

"The restaurant scores are terrible," Jimin says, still looking at the screen. "Everything else is fine but the food is a problem. People hate it."

"I noticed that too."

"We should recommend replacing the executive chef. Make it a key part of the repositioning." Jimin straightens up and steps back, and the strange tension in the air dissolves like it was never there. "I'll put it in my section."

"Sounds good."

Jimin leaves, and Yoongi sits there looking at his laptop without seeing it, thinking about floral cologne and silver earrings and the fact that noticing these things is probably going to become a problem.

By Friday, Jimin's assistant still hasn't sent the flight details for Thursday. Yoongi sends her an email asking for confirmation, but there’s no response by end of day. He figures it can wait until Monday. The trip is still almost a week away.

Week six.

By Monday evening, Yoongi has been at Park Group for a month and a half, and he's starting to understand why the last two people in this job quit.

It's not that the work is hard. The operations side is fine, the team is competent, Yoongi has the authority and resources he was promised. The problem is Jimin. But not in the way Yoongi expected when he took this job, not in the simple way of a lazy rich kid who doesn't want to work. The problem is that Jimin is smart and capable and every once in a while he does something that shows exactly how good he could be if he wanted to, and then he goes right back to not caring. The problem is that Yoongi can't figure him out. That he is thinking about him more than he should, and not always in ways that have anything to do with work.

It's seven in the evening. The Jeju trip is Thursday morning, three days away. Yoongi still hasn't received the flight details despite emailing Jimin's assistant twice. He's standing outside Jimin's office trying to decide if he's irritated or something else entirely.

The door is open. Jimin is at his desk with his headphones in, laptop open, papers scattered around him in a way that might be chaos or might be a system only he understands. He's taken off his suit jacket. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow. He's actually working, which is rare enough that Yoongi takes a moment to register it.

He knocks on the doorframe.

Jimin doesn't look up. Doesn't acknowledge him at all, just keeps staring at his laptop with his headphones in like Yoongi isn't there.

Yoongi knocks again, harder.

Nothing.

He walks into the office, crosses to the desk, and stops directly in Jimin's line of sight. Jimin's eyes flick up to him, and there's a moment where he just looks at Yoongi, not taking out his headphones, not saying anything. Making it clear that whatever Yoongi wants, Jimin is going to make him work for it.

Then he pulls out one earbud, just one, and raises his eyebrows.

"The flight details for Thursday," Yoongi says. "Your assistant was supposed to send them."

"She did."

"I never got them. I've emailed her twice."

Jimin picks up his phone, scrolls through something with his thumb. "She sent them Tuesday."

"I'm telling you I didn't receive anything. And she hasn't responded to either of my follow-ups."

"Then I don't know what to tell you, Director Min. Check your spam folder. I'm not your secretary." Jimin puts the earbud back in and returns his attention to his laptop, like the conversation is over.

Something in Yoongi's chest goes tight and hot.

He reaches over and closes Jimin's laptop.

Jimin goes very still. He pulls out both earbuds this time, slowly, and looks up at Yoongi with an expression that's not quite anger but something close to it. "Did you just close my laptop?"

"You know what your problem is, Jimin-ssi?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"You think because you're the chairman's son, you can treat everyone around you like they don't matter. Show up when you feel like it, ignore everything else, and let other people deal with the mess you leave behind."

"I don't think that." Jimin leans back in his chair, looking up at Yoongi with something cold in his eyes. "I know it. Because it's true."

"It's not true. You're just lazy."

Jimin's jaw tightens. He stands up, and suddenly they're on the same level, close enough that Yoongi can see the small freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose.

"Lazy," Jimin repeats. "That's what you think this is?"

"What else would it be?"

"You really don't understand anything, do you, Director Min." Jimin comes around the desk, doesn't stop until he's well inside Yoongi's personal space. "You think you're here to run operations. You think you're doing real work. But everyone in this building knows what you actually are."

"And what's that?"

"The latest in a line of people my father hired to fix me." Jimin's voice is quiet and sharp, a knife sliding between ribs. "You're not Director of Operations. You're a babysitter. That's all you've ever been, from the moment you walked through the door. And when you fail, just like the last two, you'll be gone and I'll still be here."

"I'm not going to fail."

"You already have." Jimin tilts his head, looking at Yoongi like he's something to be studied. "You've been here six weeks. What have you accomplished? I still don't show up to meetings when I don't feel like it. I still ignore your emails. I still do exactly what I want. You haven't changed a single thing about how I operate."

"Because you won't let anyone—"

"Because you can't." Jimin takes another step closer, and now they're inside any reasonable definition of professional distance. "You're working so hard for that paycheck, aren't you? Must be nice, getting paid that much to follow me around. Is this really what you thought you'd be doing with your life? Playing babysitter to someone who doesn't want to be managed? You could have been actually running operations somewhere that matters, but instead you're here chasing me around like a fucking assistant."

The words hit exactly where Jimin meant them to.

Yoongi moves before he thinks about it. Gets in Jimin's face, close enough that Jimin has to tilt his head back to keep eye contact.

"Say that again," Yoongi says. His voice comes out lower than he intended.

Jimin's eyes flash with something that might be satisfaction. "Which part? The part where you're wasting your career? Or the part where you're just the help?"

Yoongi grabs the front of Jimin's shirt.

For a second nothing happens. They're just standing there, Yoongi's fist twisted in expensive fabric, Jimin staring at him with wide eyes like he can't believe Yoongi actually touched him.

Then Jimin shoves him. Hard, both hands flat against Yoongi's chest, putting real force behind it.

Yoongi doesn't let go. He uses the momentum of the shove to push forward, backing Jimin up until his thighs hit the edge of his desk. Jimin's hands come up and grab Yoongi's collar, pulling and pushing at the same time like he can't decide if he wants Yoongi closer or further away, and then they're chest to chest with no space between them at all, both breathing hard, and Yoongi can feel Jimin's heart slamming against his ribs.

"Let go," Jimin says. His voice sounds different now. Rougher.

"No."

They stare at each other. Yoongi can feel the heat of Jimin's body through their clothes, can see the pulse jumping in his throat, can feel the tremor in Jimin's hands where they're fisted in his collar. Not pushing anymore, just holding on.

Jimin's eyes drop to Yoongi's mouth.

It's just for a second. A flicker of movement, there and gone, and then he's looking at Yoongi's eyes again. But Yoongi saw it. And Jimin knows he saw it.

"You don't know anything about me," Jimin says quietly.

"I know you're making this harder than it needs to be."

"Good." Jimin's grip on his collar loosens but doesn't fully let go. "I want it to be hard for you."

They're still too close. Yoongi should step back. Let go of Jimin's shirt and walk out of this office and never mention this again. But he can feel the rise and fall of Jimin's chest against his own, can see the way Jimin's pupils have gone dark, and he doesn't move.

"You're not going to make me quit," Yoongi says.

"We'll see, Director Min."

Jimin pushes him away. This time Yoongi lets him, lets his hand drop from Jimin's shirt, takes one step back and then another. The space between them feels wrong now, too empty, like the air changed shape while they were standing in it.

Jimin's breathing hard. His shirt is wrinkled where Yoongi grabbed it. His hair is messed up, falling into his eyes. He looks furious and wrecked.

"Get out of my office," he says.

Yoongi goes.

He takes the stairs instead of the elevator because he needs to move. Twelve flights down, his footsteps echoing in the stairwell, and by the time he reaches the lobby his heart rate still hasn't returned to normal.

On the subway he finds himself touching his collar where Jimin's hands were. He stops when he notices. Starts again a few minutes later without meaning to.

Thursday is three days away.

The email came Tuesday morning. A forward from Jimin, no message, just the flight details his assistant had sent to Jimin but apparently never to Yoongi. Two tickets, Gimpo to Jeju, Thursday morning, return Friday evening. Overnight stay for both of them, which was interesting given how hard Jimin had fought against staying even one night. Yoongi read it twice, didn't reply, and spent the rest of the day pretending he wasn't thinking about Monday.

He saw Jimin once on Wednesday, in the hallway outside the executive conference room, and Jimin looked through him like he wasn't there. Like Monday night hadn't happened, like they hadn't been chest to chest in Jimin's office with Yoongi's hands fisted in his shirt and neither of them pulling away. Jimin just walked past, eyes forward, and Yoongi stood there for a moment afterward feeling like an idiot for expecting anything different.

Now it's Thursday morning and Yoongi is at Gimpo with a carry-on and a coffee he's not really drinking, watching the departure board change and wondering what exactly the next thirty-six hours are going to look like.

Jimin arrives late enough that Yoongi has started checking the time every few minutes. Black v-neck sweater tucked into black trousers, sunglasses on even though they're indoors, an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. He walks up to the gate without looking in Yoongi's direction, pulls out his phone, puts in his earbuds.

"Good morning, Jimin-ssi," Yoongi says, because someone has to be professional about this.

Jimin glances at him. Doesn't take out the earbuds. "Director Min." His eyes go back to his phone.

That's the entire conversation.

The flight is an hour long. Jimin takes the window seat and stares out of it with his earbuds in, and Yoongi pretends to read a report on his phone while actually just looking at the same paragraph over and over. The flight attendant asks if they want anything and Jimin orders a pear juice without looking up from the window, and Yoongi shakes his head and goes back to not reading his report.

At Jeju there's a driver holding a sign that says PARK GROUP, and they get into the back of a black sedan and sit on opposite sides with as much space between them as the car allows. Thirty minutes to the resort. Jimin keeps his earbuds in the whole time.

Yoongi watches the coastline through the window, the water grey under low clouds, and thinks about how this is going to be a very long day.

The driver drops them at the main entrance and a bellhop takes their bags before Yoongi can say he doesn't need help. The lobby is cool and bright, orchids on the reception desk, the faint smell of citrus. The woman checking them in treats them like visiting executives, which technically they are.

"Rooms 412 and 418," she says, handing over keycards. "Same floor, ocean view. Can I have someone show you up?"

"We'll find it," Yoongi says.

The elevator ride is silent. Fourth floor, long hallway, doors on both sides. Jimin stops at 412 and turns to look at Yoongi for the first time since the airport.

"Thirty minutes," he says. "Lobby."

He goes inside without waiting for a response.

Yoongi walks down to 418 and lets himself in. The room is fine, king bed and a desk and an armchair by the window, bathroom with a rain shower, view of the grey ocean. He changes into slacks and a button-down, something appropriate for walking a property with management, and stands at the window for a minute looking at the water and trying to get his head in the right place for this.

Twenty-five minutes later he's in the lobby. Jimin arrives at exactly thirty, changed into dark trousers and a cream cardigan that looks soft and expensive, sunglasses finally off. He looks put together and irritated and like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

"Lunch first," Jimin says. "I want to see how bad the restaurant actually is."

It's bad. Not inedible, just mediocre in a way that's almost worse. The hairtail is overcooked, the sauce underseasoned, the presentation looks like someone copied a photo without understanding why it worked. Jimin takes three bites and puts down his chopsticks with the expression of someone who's been personally insulted.

"This is what they're charging seventy thousand won for." He pushes the plate away. "The executive chef should have been fired six months ago when the brand team flagged the reviews.”

"Why wasn't he?"

Jimin's jaw tightens. "Because my father doesn't listen to the brand team. He thinks we just make pretty pictures."

There's something under that, something bitter that Yoongi files away. But this isn't the time.

They meet Manager Kang at one o'clock. He bows a little too deeply and talks a little too much, the way people do when executives show up and the numbers aren't good. He walks them through the property for most of the afternoon, lobby and lounge areas, pool and fitness center, the spa that's perfectly nice and completely indistinguishable from every other hotel spa on the island.

Jimin asks questions. Good questions, specific questions, the kind that show he actually understands how brand positioning works when he bothers to apply himself. He asks about guest demographics, booking patterns, competitive set. Takes notes on his phone. Points out that the signage is inconsistent, that the lobby furniture is dated, that the scent profile is wrong for the market they're supposedly targeting.

It's annoying, how good he is at this when he tries.

They tour the guest rooms next, standard and suites and the premium floor with the ocean-view balconies. Everything is clean and well-maintained and completely forgettable, a place you stay at and never think about again. Jimin runs his hand along the desk in one of the suites and examines his fingers like he's expecting dust.

"The bones are good," he tells Manager Kang. "The problem is the soul. There isn't one. Guests come here and have a fine time and never think about it again, and that's death for a property trying to position itself as luxury."

Manager Kang nods like this is useful feedback rather than a devastating summary of everything he's been doing for three years.

By five o'clock they've seen most of the property. Manager Kang offers to join them for dinner and Jimin declines, polite but final, says they have strategy to discuss. Thanks him for his time. It's the most professional Yoongi has seen him be since he started this job, and somehow that's worse than the bratty version.

Back in his room, Yoongi takes a shower and changes into a fresh shirt. His phone buzzes with a text from Seokjin, a video of Tang stalking a piece of string across the kitchen floor.

Fed your cat, Seokjin has written. He's ungrateful as usual.

Yoongi watches the video twice, not because it's particularly interesting but because it's something normal, something from his actual life that has nothing to do with any of this.

Thanks, he texts back. Back tomorrow night.

How's the couples retreat?

Yoongi puts his phone in his pocket and goes to dinner.

The restaurant looks different at night, dimmer lighting and candles on the tables and a view of the water that would be impressive if the water weren't pitch black. Jimin is already seated at a table by the window, a glass of red wine in front of him, and he's changed into a white shirt that fits him well enough that Yoongi has to consciously not notice it.

Yoongi sits down across from him. A waiter appears, pours water, recites specials. Jimin orders the steak, says he wants to see if the kitchen can handle something simple. Yoongi orders the fish without looking at the menu.

For a while they actually talk about work. The repositioning strategy, what they saw today, what needs to change. Yoongi pulls up operational data on his phone and walks through the numbers, staffing and vendor contracts and cost structures. Jimin listens, makes notes, occasionally says something sharp and useful.

It's almost functional. Almost like two people who don't have a week of unresolved tension sitting between them.

"The problem," Jimin says, swirling his wine, "is that you're thinking too small."

Yoongi sets down his chopsticks. "Meaning what, exactly."

"Targeted improvements. Incremental changes. That's not repositioning, that's putting a fresh coat of paint on a house with foundation problems." Jimin takes a sip of his wine and sets the glass down. "We need to gut the restaurants, bring in a chef with actual vision. Redesign the rooms, at least the premium floor. Rebrand completely. Make this a destination instead of just another place to sleep."

"That's an eighteen-month renovation. Minimum."

"So we present the vision. Show him what this place could be. He'll fund it if he believes in it."

"Or he'll decide we've lost touch with reality and pull us off the project entirely."

Jimin's eyes narrow. "So what's your plan? Fix the menu, update some signage, declare victory? That's not going to change anything and you know it."

"Small changes add up. That's how you turn a property around without blowing the budget and hoping it works.

"That's boring." Jimin leans back in his chair. "It's safe and boring and it's exactly the kind of thinking that let this property get this bad in the first place. No one takes risks or has a vision. Everyone just maintains what's already there until it rots out from under them."

"There's a difference between vision and fantasy."

"Is there? Or is that just what people without vision tell themselves to feel better about playing it safe?"

The conversation is sliding sideways and Yoongi can feel it happening, the professional disagreement turning personal, turning dangerous. He should stop and redirect them to safer ground.

He doesn't.

"You want to know what I think, Jimin-ssi?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me whether I want to know or not."

"I think you like big ideas because they let you skip the hard part. The execution. The follow-through. You come in with grand visions and then disappear when it's time to actually build something, because building is slow and tedious and doesn't give you the high of being the smartest person in the room."

Jimin's face goes cold. "Careful, Director Min."

"The Itaewon property. You led the repositioning strategy, everyone said it was brilliant work. And then halfway through implementation you just stopped showing up. Left Hoseok-ssi and the rest of the team to finish it without you. They saved it, barely. And you took the credit when it was done."

"I didn't take anything."

"You didn't refuse it either." Yoongi picks up his wine, takes a sip, sets it down. "Someone with every advantage in the world who can't be bothered to see anything through. Who'd rather blow up a project than do the boring work of actually making it succeed."

The words are landing and Yoongi can see it, can see the way Jimin's jaw has gone tight, the way his fingers are gripping the stem of his wine glass. He should stop. He knows he should stop.

"Is that what this is really about?" he says instead. "You want to spend your father's money on something flashy so he finally has to pay attention to you? Make enough of a mess that he can't just ignore it? Because I have to tell you, Jimin-ssi, throwing tantrums for attention stopped working around the time you were fifteen. At some point you actually have to grow up."

Jimin stands.

His chair scrapes against the floor, loud enough that people at nearby tables look over. His face has gone completely blank, emptied of everything, and somehow that's worse than if he looked angry. This is something else. Something that looks almost like hurt before he shuts it down.

"Goodnight, Director Min."

He walks out of the restaurant without looking back.

Yoongi sits there. The server comes over and asks if everything is all right and Yoongi says yes, fine. He charges the meal to his room. Finishes his wine. Watches the black water outside the window and thinks about the look on Jimin's face right before it went blank, that flash of something raw and wounded underneath the mask.

He shouldn't have said it. He knew while he was saying it that he was going too far, and he kept going anyway, because Jimin makes him feel out of control in ways he doesn't understand and doesn't know how to handle.

He stands up and leaves.

The elevator takes too long. The fourth floor hallway is quiet, his footsteps too loud on the carpet, and he knows he should turn right toward 418 and go to bed and deal with the fallout tomorrow when they're both calmer.

He turns left instead.

Room 412 is at the end of the hall. Yoongi stops in front of it and stands there like an idiot, because he doesn't know what he's going to say. Sorry seems inadequate and also not entirely honest, because part of him isn't sorry at all and that's the real problem.

He raises his hand to knock.

The door opens and Jimin is standing there in the same white shirt, untucked now, his hair pushed back from his face like he's been running his hands through it. His eyes are dark and unreadable and he's looking at Yoongi like he's been waiting for him to show up.

"Jimin-ssi, I—"

"Shut up."

Jimin grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him inside.

The door slams shut and then Jimin's mouth is on his, hard and angry and nothing like a first kiss should be. Teeth catch Yoongi's lower lip, sharp enough to sting, and when Yoongi opens his mouth to say something Jimin just kisses him harder, swallowing whatever words were going to come out.

Yoongi's back hits the wall. Jimin presses against him, hands fisted in his shirt, and the sound he makes into Yoongi's mouth is furious, like he's trying to win a fight Yoongi didn't know they were having.

"You don't get to say shit like that to me," Jimin says against his lips, barely pulling back far enough to speak. "You don't know anything."

"Prove it then."

It's not the right thing to say. Yoongi doesn't care. He gets his hands on Jimin's waist and spins them, shoves Jimin back against the wall hard enough that he hears the breath punch out of his lungs. Jimin makes a sound that isn't protest and Yoongi licks into his mouth, kisses him filthy and deep until Jimin stops fighting and starts kissing him back with the same desperation.

They're both hard already. Yoongi can feel it when he gets his thigh between Jimin's legs, feels the way Jimin's hips roll forward, chasing friction. He pulls back just far enough to look at Jimin's face.

His mouth is red and wet and parted. His pupils are blown wide. There are freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose that Yoongi has never let himself look at this closely before, and up close like this Jimin is almost unbearably pretty, all full lips and sharp cheekbones and those dark, dark eyes.

"You want this," Yoongi says.

"Don't make me say it."

"I'm not making you do anything. You're the one who pulled me in here."

Jimin's eyes narrow. "Are you going to keep talking or are you going to do something?"

Yoongi drops his mouth to Jimin's neck and bites down where the muscle curves into his shoulder.

The sound Jimin makes is worth it, a harsh inhale that turns into something lower, needier. His hands come up to grip Yoongi's shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. Yoongi sucks a mark into his skin, right where his neck meets his shoulder, somewhere that won't be hidden by a collar. He wants Jimin to have to look at it tomorrow. He wants everyone to see it.

"Fuck," Jimin breathes.

Yoongi bites down again, lower, and Jimin's hips buck against him. He smells expensive and clean, and his skin is soft under Yoongi's mouth and he makes these sounds when Yoongi uses his teeth, these helpless little noises like he can't hold them back.

They lose their shirts somewhere between the wall and the bed, Yoongi pulling Jimin's over his head and Jimin fumbling with Yoongi's buttons. Jimin's chest is smooth and lean, muscle visible under soft skin, his waist narrow enough that Yoongi's hands nearly span it. There's a flush spreading down from his neck, pink and obvious against his skin.

"Stop looking at me like that," Jimin says.

"Like what?"

"Like—" He breaks off when Yoongi brushes a thumb over his nipple, breath catching.

Yoongi does it again, watches the way Jimin's eyes flutter. He rolls the nipple between his fingers, pinches lightly, and Jimin arches into it.

"Sensitive," Yoongi says.

"Shut up and—"

Yoongi pinches harder and the words dissolve into a moan. He walks Jimin backward until his legs hit the bed and Jimin goes down onto it, pulling Yoongi with him, and for a moment they're just tangled together, mouths and hands, too hungry to be coordinated about it.

Jimin tries to roll on top and Yoongi doesn't let him, pins him down with his weight, catches his wrists and holds them against the mattress. Jimin struggles, actually fights him, but Yoongi holds on, waits him out.

"Let go."

"No."

Jimin glares up at him, chest heaving. There's something in his face that isn't quite anger. Something that looks more like want than he probably means to show.

"You can tell me to stop," Yoongi says. "Anytime. I'll stop. Is that what you want?"

Jimin doesn't answer. His wrists flex against Yoongi's grip, testing, but he's not really trying to break free anymore.

"Jimin. Answer me."

"No." It comes out rough and reluctant. "I don't want you to stop."

"Then stop fighting."

Something in Jimin's expression cracks, the defiance giving way to something more raw. He swallows, and Yoongi watches his throat move.

"Make me," Jimin says.

Yoongi lets go of his wrists and slides down his body.

He takes his time. Mouths along Jimin's collarbones, his chest, stops to suck another mark into the skin below his ribs. Jimin's hands are in his hair, tangled there, holding on. When Yoongi reaches the waistband of his trousers he looks up.

"These need to come off."

Jimin lifts his hips and Yoongi pulls everything down together, trousers and underwear, tosses them somewhere on the floor. Jimin is hard and leaking against his stomach, flushed and pretty, and his thighs are thick with muscle in a way that Yoongi wants to get his mouth on.

He does. Bites the inside of Jimin's thigh and feels him jerk, licks over the mark and bites again, higher. Jimin is making sounds above him, breathy and desperate, his hands tightening in Yoongi's hair.

"Come on."

Yoongi ignores him. Takes his time kissing and biting up one thigh, then the other, intentionally avoiding where Jimin wants him most. By the time he's done Jimin is trembling, his cock twitching against his stomach, his thighs spread wide and marked up with the evidence of Yoongi's mouth.

"Please," Jimin says, and his voice cracks on it. "Please, just—"

Yoongi takes him into his mouth without warning.

Jimin's whole body jerks, a curse falling out of him, his hands fisting tighter in Yoongi's hair. Yoongi holds his hips down and sucks him deep, tongue working the underside, and Jimin is loud now, not holding anything back, making sounds that are going to live in Yoongi's head for a long time.

He pulls off before Jimin can get close, ignores the sound of protest, pushes Jimin's thighs up and apart. Jimin seems to realize what he's doing a second before he does it and his whole body goes tense.

"You don't have to—"

"I know." Yoongi looks up at him. "I want to."

He licks over Jimin's rim and the sound Jimin makes is almost a sob.

Yoongi eats him out until Jimin is incoherent, until his thighs are shaking and he's grinding back against Yoongi's tongue and begging, words that barely make sense anymore. He's tight and responsive and he tastes clean and he keeps making these sounds, these desperate overwhelmed sounds, like no one's ever done this to him before or at least not like this.

When Yoongi finally pulls back, Jimin is a mess. Flushed all down his chest, cock leaking onto his stomach, hole wet and relaxed and clenching around nothing.

"Lube?" Yoongi asks, and his own voice sounds wrecked.

Jimin gestures vaguely at his bag without lifting his head from the pillow. Yoongi finds it in the side pocket, finds condoms too. He holds one up.

"I'm clean," Jimin says. "Tested last month."

"Me too."

"Then don't." Jimin's eyes find his, dark and wanting. "I want to feel you."

Yoongi slicks his fingers and presses one inside and Jimin takes it easy, already opened up from Yoongi's tongue. He adds a second, works them in slow, crooks them until he finds the spot that makes Jimin's back arch off the bed.

"There," Jimin gasps. "Right there, don't stop."

"You're so responsive." Yoongi fucks him with his fingers, watching Jimin's face. "All that attitude and you fall apart the second someone touches you properly."

"Fuck you."

"That's the plan." Yoongi adds a third finger and Jimin moans, his body opening up, greedy and wanting. "Look at you. So desperate for it. Is this what you needed? Someone to shut you up and give you what you actually want?"

Jimin's jaw tightens but his hips are rolling down onto Yoongi's fingers, fucking himself on them. "You talk too much."

"You like it."

Jimin doesn't deny it. His cock is leaking onto his stomach, his thighs trembling, and when Yoongi twists his fingers just right he makes a sound that's almost a whine.

"I'm ready," Jimin says. "I'm ready, just—"

"Just what? Ask for it."

Jimin's eyes flash with something like defiance. "Fuck me."

"That didn't sound like asking."

"Yoongi." His voice cracks. "Please. Please fuck me, I need—"

Yoongi pulls his fingers out and Jimin makes a frustrated sound. But before Yoongi can slick himself up, Jimin moves, shoving at his chest until Yoongi is on his back and Jimin is climbing over him, straddling his hips.

"If you're going to take forever," Jimin says, reaching back to grip Yoongi's cock, "I'll do it myself."

He sinks down in one long slide.

Yoongi's hands fly to Jimin's hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. The tight heat of him is overwhelming, almost too much, and Jimin doesn't wait for either of them to adjust. He starts moving immediately, rolling his hips, fucking himself on Yoongi's cock like he's proving a point.

"Shit," Yoongi breathes. "Jimin—"

"What's wrong, Director Min?" Jimin plants his hands on Yoongi's chest, uses the leverage to lift himself up and drop back down. "Too much for you?"

He looks obscene like this. Flushed and marked up, his cock hard and bouncing against his stomach, his thighs flexing as he rides Yoongi with single-minded determination. His head tips back and his mouth falls open and he's making these punched-out little moans every time he takes Yoongi deep.

Yoongi watches him for a minute, lets him have this, lets him think he's in control. Then he plants his feet on the mattress and fucks up into Jimin hard.

Jimin's rhythm falters. "Fuck."

Yoongi does it again, snapping his hips up, and Jimin's arms give out. He catches himself on Yoongi's chest, breathing hard.

"You wanted to do it yourself," Yoongi says. "Keep going."

"I can't—you keep—"

Yoongi fucks up into him again and Jimin moans, his whole body shuddering. 

"Can't what?" Yoongi grips his hips tighter, holds him in place, fucks into him with short hard thrusts that punch sounds out of Jimin with every stroke. "Can't focus? Can't think? You were so mouthy before. What happened?"

"Shut up, shut—oh fuck, right there—"

Yoongi angles his hips, finds that spot, and Jimin cries out. He's barely moving now, just taking it, his thighs shaking and his cock dripping onto Yoongi's stomach.

"There it is," Yoongi says. "That's what you needed. Not control. Just someone to take it away from you."

Jimin whimpers. Actually whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Yoongi sits up suddenly, wrapping an arm around Jimin's waist, and flips them. Jimin lands on his stomach with a grunt and before he can react Yoongi is pulling his hips up, pushing back inside him from behind.

The angle is deeper like this. Jimin buries his face in the pillow and moans, his back arching, pushing his ass back against Yoongi.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Yoongi fucks into him hard, one hand pressing between his shoulder blades, keeping him down. "All that fighting. All that attitude. You just wanted someone to put you in your place."

"I hate you," Jimin gasps, but he's pushing back to meet every thrust, his hands fisting in the sheets.

"No you don't." Yoongi leans down, speaks low against his ear. "You've been wanting this since the first day I walked into that office. Haven't you?"

Jimin doesn't answer. Yoongi pulls almost all the way out and slams back in and Jimin cries out.

"Answer me."

"Yes," Jimin chokes out. "Yes, fine, I—fuck—I wanted—"

"Wanted what?"

"Wanted you to—" His voice breaks on a moan. "Wanted you to wreck me. Happy now?"

Something hot coils in Yoongi's gut. He fucks Jimin harder, faster, his grip bruising on Jimin's hips. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixed with Jimin's moans and the wet slide of Yoongi's cock pushing into him over and over.

"You take it so well," Yoongi says, and his own voice is wrecked now. "Like you were made for this. All that attitude and look at you now. Face down, begging for my cock."

"I'm not—I didn't—"

"You will." Yoongi reaches around, wraps his hand around Jimin's cock, strokes him in time with his thrusts. "You're going to come for me just like this, and then I'm going to fill you up. You want that?"

Jimin makes a sound that isn't a word.

"I asked you a question." Yoongi twists his wrist on the upstroke, feels Jimin clench around him. "You want me to come inside you? Fill you up?"

"Yes." Jimin is trembling all over, pushing back onto Yoongi's cock and fucking forward into his fist. "Yes, I want it, I want you to—please—"

"Please what?"

"Please come inside me, I want to feel it, I want—" His voice dissolves into a moan. "Yoongi, I'm gonna—I can't—"

"Then come." Yoongi fucks into him hard, deep, relentless. "Come for me, Jimin."

Jimin falls apart. His whole body seizes, his back arching, and he comes with a cry that sounds like Yoongi's name, spilling over Yoongi's fist and onto the sheets. His body clenches impossibly tight around Yoongi and that's all it takes. Yoongi buries himself deep and comes, filling Jimin up, his vision going white at the edges.

He folds over Jimin's back, both of them breathing hard, his cock still twitching inside. Jimin is trembling beneath him, little aftershocks running through his body, making soft sounds that might be overwhelmed or might be something else entirely.

Yoongi pulls out slowly and Jimin whimpers at the loss, his hole clenching around nothing. There's come leaking out of him, dripping down his thighs, and Yoongi can't help it. He reaches down, pushes some of it back in with his thumb. Jimin makes a broken sound.

"Too much," Jimin mumbles into the pillow. "That's—"

"Yeah." Yoongi pulls his hand back. "Sorry."

He's not sorry. He doesn't think Jimin really wanted him to stop, either.

For a long moment neither of them moves.

Yoongi is still kneeling behind him, looking at Jimin's body. The marks on his neck and back and thighs. The come still leaking out of him. The way he's sprawled face-down on the bed, completely wrecked, not even trying to move.

He should say something. He doesn't know what.

He gets up, goes to the bathroom, wets a towel with warm water. Comes back and cleans Jimin up carefully, wiping down his thighs, his stomach where he came on the sheets, between his legs. Jimin lets him, doesn't move except to shift slightly when Yoongi nudges him onto his back. His eyes are half-closed and his face is unreadable.

When he's done Yoongi stands by the bed, looking down at him. The flush is still lingering on Jimin's skin. His lips are bitten red. He looks completely fucked out.

"I should go," Yoongi says.

Jimin opens his eyes. Looks at him for a long moment.

"Yeah," he says finally. "You probably should."

Yoongi gets dressed. His shirt is near the door, his belt somewhere by the bed. The whole time he can feel Jimin watching him, not saying anything.

At the door he hesitates. Thinks about turning around, saying something about what this means, about what happens tomorrow, about whether they're going to pretend this never happened.

"Don't," Jimin says, like he can tell what Yoongi is thinking. "We have work to do tomorrow. We'll do it. That's all this needs to be."

Yoongi nods. Opens the door and walks out without looking back.

The hallway is quiet. His room is dark when he lets himself in, the bed still made, the ocean invisible outside the window. He stands there for a while without turning on the lights.

His back stings where Jimin scratched him. His lips feel bruised. He can still taste Jimin in his mouth, still feel the tight heat of him, still hear the sounds he made when he came undone.

Tomorrow they have to finish the property assessment. Sit through meetings. Fly back to Seoul. Pretend none of this happened.

Yoongi sits on the edge of the bed and doesn't sleep for a long time.

Friday in Jeju is nothing like Thursday night.

Jimin is already in the lobby when Yoongi comes down, dressed and ready, coffee in hand. He nods at Yoongi like they're colleagues who've never touched, and maybe that's what they are now, maybe that's what they're going to pretend to be.

"Manager Kang is meeting us at nine," Jimin says. "I want to walk the restaurant kitchen before we go."

"Fine."

They walk the kitchen. Jimin takes notes on his phone, asks the head chef pointed questions about sourcing and plating and why the hairtail from yesterday tasted like it had been sitting in the kitchen for three days. The chef stammers through answers. Jimin listens without expression and writes something down and thanks him for his time in a voice that makes it clear the thanks is not sincere.

It's efficient. Jimin at his most competent, and Yoongi should be glad about that, should be filing this away as evidence that Park Jimin can actually do his job when he decides to.

Instead he keeps noticing the marks on Jimin's neck, barely visible above his collar. The ones Yoongi put there.

They meet Manager Kang at nine and spend the morning reviewing operational data, walking the property one more time, discussing implementation timelines for potential changes. Jimin is engaged but distant, like he's performing a version of himself that doesn't include whatever happened last night. He doesn't look at Yoongi directly, doesn't acknowledge him beyond what the work requires. Like they're strangers who happen to be in the same meetings.

By noon, Yoongi is exhausted from the pretending.

"I need to review the restaurant financials," Jimin says over lunch, stirring his soup without bringing the spoon to his mouth. "The data Manager Kang sent is incomplete. I'll work from my room until we leave.”

"I can help with that."

"I don't need help." Jimin sets down his spoon. "I'll meet you in the lobby at four."

He leaves. Yoongi sits there with the rest of his lunch and the silence and the feeling that he's been dismissed by someone who was moaning his name into a pillow last night.

The flight back is more of the same. Jimin takes the window seat, puts in his earbuds, stares at nothing. Yoongi pulls up work emails on his phone and doesn't read any of them. An hour of sitting next to each other and breathing the same recycled air and not saying a single word.

At Gimpo they walk out of the terminal together. The evening is cool and grey and Yoongi wants to be home already.

"I'll send you my notes tomorrow," Jimin says. It's the first thing he's said directly to Yoongi since lunch.

"Okay."

"Okay." Jimin shifts his bag on his shoulder. He's looking somewhere past Yoongi's left ear. "Goodnight, Director Min."

"Goodnight, Jimin-ssi."

Jimin walks away. Yoongi watches him go and doesn't say any of the things he's thinking, which is probably for the best because he doesn't know what those things are anyway.

At home, Tang yells at him for being gone overnight and then forgives him the moment Yoongi opens a can of wet food. 

Yoongi showers, changes, tries to read something on his phone, gives up. His apartment feels too quiet after two days of Jimin in his periphery.

His phone buzzes with a text from Seokjin: You alive?

Yeah. Long trip.

You sound thrilled.

Yoongi doesn't respond. He goes to bed early and doesn't sleep well and dreams about things he shouldn't be dreaming about.

The following weeks are a study in contradiction.

Jimin sends his notes on Sunday, thorough and well-organized, with insights about the restaurant positioning that Yoongi wouldn't have thought of. On Monday he doesn't show up to work at all. On Tuesday he arrives at eleven wearing sunglasses indoors and smelling faintly of last night's alcohol, sits in on a budget meeting without saying a word, and leaves at two. On Wednesday he sends Yoongi a detailed analysis of competitor properties in the Jeju market, unprompted, with annotations that show he actually understands what he's talking about.

On Thursday Yoongi emails him about a deadline for the proposal draft and gets no response.

On Friday Yoongi emails again and gets a reply that says only: got it.

The proposal is due at the end of May. They have three weeks. Yoongi needs Jimin's brand strategy section and Jimin is apparently allergic to answering emails.

By the second week of May, Yoongi has sent four follow-up emails about the brand section, all of which have been ignored. He's documented two missed meetings and one late arrival. He's sent a formal report to Chairman Park outlining the status of the proposal and noting that "VP Park's contributions have been inconsistent."

Chairman Park's response: Keep me informed.

Which means the same thing it always means. Handle it yourself. Don't bother me with the details.

Yoongi goes to find Jimin.

He's in his office, which is a minor miracle, sitting at his desk with his laptop open and his headphones on and his feet up like he's not supposed to be working on a major proposal. When Yoongi walks in he doesn't look up. Doesn't acknowledge him at all.

Yoongi walks over and pulls the headphones off his head.

"What the fuck," Jimin says, reaching for them.

"Four emails. Zero responses. The brand section is due Monday."

"I'm working on it."

"You're watching something on your laptop."

"It's research."

Yoongi looks at the screen. It's not research. It's some kind of variety show, bright colors and loud laughter and absolutely nothing to do with hotel repositioning.

"Research," Yoongi repeats.

"Market research. Understanding what consumers respond to." Jimin leans back in his chair, all wide-eyed innocence that fools no one. "You wouldn't understand. You're operations.”

"I understand that you have a deadline in four days and you haven't sent me anything."

"I'll send it when it's ready."

"When will that be?"

"When it's ready, Director Min." Jimin reaches for his headphones. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have research to do."

Yoongi doesn't let go of the headphones. They're standing there in Jimin's office, both of them holding onto them like idiots, and Yoongi is aware that this is ridiculous, that he's a grown professional fighting over headphones with the chairman's son.

"You're making this harder than it has to be," Yoongi says.

"Am I?" Jimin tilts his head. "Or are you just not used to people who don't do what you tell them?"

"This isn't about what I tell you. This is about doing your job."

"My job." Jimin's eyes go flat. "Right. Because that's what this is about. My job."

There's something underneath that, something Yoongi doesn't have time to unpack. He lets go of the headphones.

"Monday," he says. "Brand section. If I don't have it by noon, I'm going to the chairman."

"You do that." Jimin puts the headphones back on. "See how much he cares."

Yoongi leaves before he does something stupid. Goes back to his office, writes another email documenting the interaction, CC's the chairman's assistant so there's a record. This is what he's supposed to do. This is his job. Document, escalate, follow through.

He doesn't think about the way Jimin's voice sounded when he said ‘because that's what this is about.’ He doesn't think about Thursday night in Jeju or the marks on Jimin's neck or the way Jimin said his name when he came.

He doesn't think about any of it.

On Monday, thirteen minutes before the noon deadline, Jimin sends the brand section.

It's good. More than good. It's exactly what the proposal needs, a clear articulation of the repositioning vision with market data to back it up and a phased implementation approach that's ambitious but achievable. Yoongi reads it twice and can't find anything to criticize.

He sends back: Received. Thank you.

Jimin doesn't respond.

They don't talk for two days. Yoongi works on integrating the brand section with his operational plans. Jimin presumably does whatever Jimin does when he's not being a problem. They pass each other in the hallway once and Jimin nods at him and keeps walking and Yoongi tells himself this is fine. This is how it should be.

On Wednesday evening there's a company dinner. Some quarterly thing Yoongi doesn't care about, but attendance is expected for senior staff so he puts on a suit and goes and stands around with a drink he's not really drinking while people make small talk about revenue projections.

Jimin is there. Across the room, talking to someone from marketing, laughing at something they said. He's wearing a light gray suit and his hair is pushed back from his face and he looks as expensive and untouchable as he always does. 

They don't speak to each other all evening. They're on opposite sides of the room, opposite sides of the dinner table, opposite sides of whatever this is they're pretending isn't happening.

At the end of the night people start leaving. Yoongi gets his coat from the check and is heading for the door when someone falls into step beside him.

"'Leaving already, Director Min?' Jimin says. His voice is light. Almost friendly, if Yoongi didn't know better.

"It's late."

"It's ten-thirty. That's not late."

"For some of us it is."

They're outside now, on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. The air is cool and Seoul is loud around them and Jimin is standing close enough that Yoongi can smell his cologne, that floral expensive thing that he shouldn't recognize but does.

"My apartment is ten minutes from here," Jimin says. He's not looking at Yoongi. He's looking at his phone like he's checking something. "If you wanted a drink."

Yoongi should say no. Say goodnight and get in a taxi and go home to his cat and his empty apartment and the life that makes sense.

"One drink," he says.

Jimin's apartment is not ten minutes away. It's fifteen, in one of those Gangnam buildings with a doorman and art in the lobby. They ride the elevator in silence. Jimin unlocks his door and Yoongi follows him inside.

The apartment is huge. Floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over Gangnam, furniture that's expensive and impersonal like it came with the place. But there are things that are clearly Jimin's. Figurines on a shelf that look like anime characters, a stack of manga on the coffee table, a weird abstract sculpture in the corner that's either very expensive art or a joke Yoongi doesn't get.

"Whiskey?" Jimin asks.

"Sure."

Jimin pours two glasses. Hands one to Yoongi. Their fingers brush and neither of them acknowledges it.

"Nice place," Yoongi says, because he has to say something.

"It's fine." Jimin takes a sip of his drink. "It came furnished. I never bothered to change anything."

"The figurines?"

"Gifts. From friends." Jimin sets his glass down on the counter. He's looking at Yoongi now, really looking, and there's something in his expression that wasn't there before. "Are we going to keep pretending?"

"Pretending what?"

"That you came here for a drink."

Yoongi sets his glass down too. "What did I come here for?"

Jimin crosses the space between them. Gets close enough that the answer is obvious.

"You tell me, Director Min."

Yoongi kisses him.

It's not gentle or tentative. It's the culmination of two weeks of pretending nothing happened, two weeks of professional distance and ignored emails and not talking about the thing they're not talking about. Jimin makes a sound against his mouth and pulls him closer and they're stumbling toward the bedroom, losing clothes along the way.

They don't make it to the bed the first time. Jimin ends up bent over the back of the couch with Yoongi's fingers inside him, gasping and cursing and demanding more. They make it to the bed the second time, Jimin riding Yoongi until they're both shaking. The third time is slower, both of them exhausted, Jimin on his stomach and Yoongi draped over his back, fucking into him with long deep strokes until Jimin comes with a sound like something breaking.

Afterward they lie there in the dark, not touching.

"You should go," Jimin says eventually.

Yoongi doesn't argue. He gets dressed in the dark, finds his shoes by the front door, lets himself out. Takes a taxi home and falls asleep on his couch without meaning to, still in his suit, Tang curled up on his chest.

It keeps happening.

Not every day. Not even every week, but enough that Yoongi stops being surprised by it.

Jimin misses a meeting and Yoongi sends a formal warning and CC's the chairman's office. An hour later Jimin shows up in his office doorway, furious, says something about Yoongi being a snitch who can't fight his own battles. They argue. Jimin calls him a corporate bootlicker. Yoongi calls him a spoiled child who's never faced a consequence in his life.

Jimin locks the door and gets on his knees.

After, when Yoongi is trying to make himself presentable enough to return to work, Jimin wipes his mouth and says "Don't think this changes anything" and walks out like nothing happened.

Two days later Yoongi goes to Jimin's office to discuss the proposal revisions and finds him actually working, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, frowning at something on his laptop. They review the numbers together. It's almost professional. When they disagree about the restaurant renovation budget Jimin makes a face and says "Fine, we'll do it your way, but when it fails I'm blaming you" and Yoongi says "Document that in the proposal then" and Jimin laughs, actually laughs, this surprised sound like he didn't expect to.

Yoongi backs him against the desk and fucks his thighs until they're both coming, Jimin's pants around his ankles and Yoongi's hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

They don't talk about it.

The proposal takes shape. Jimin's brand vision, Yoongi's operational framework, a phased approach that gives the chairman what he wants without betting the entire budget on an eighteen-month renovation. Phase one: restaurant overhaul with a new executive chef, premium floor redesign, full rebranding and repositioning campaign. Six months to show results. Phase two contingent on phase one success.

It's good work. Better than Yoongi expected, if he's being honest. Jimin is capable when he decides to be, and apparently he's decided to be.

The week before the presentation, Chairman Park calls Yoongi into his office.

"Status update," he says. "The proposal is due in five days. Where are we?"

Yoongi sits across from him and feels the weight of everything he's not saying. I'm sleeping with your son. I've had my hands on him in the office where anyone could have walked in. I don't know how to stop and I'm not sure I want to.

"The proposal is on track," he says instead. "Jimin-ssi has been more engaged with this project than previous initiatives. His brand strategy work is strong."

"Engaged." The chairman's expression doesn't change. "That's new."

"He seems invested in the outcome. The Jeju property matters to him."

"Does it." Chairman Park leans back. "Or does he just want to prove something to me?"

Yoongi doesn't know how to answer that. Both things are probably true.

"Either way," Yoongi says carefully, "the work is good. If the proposal is approved, I'd recommend putting him in charge of implementation. Give him ownership. It's what he needs."

The chairman looks at Yoongi for a long moment. "The last two people in your position recommended I send him to a different division. Get him out of the way and let him fail somewhere it wouldn't hurt the company."

"I'm not recommending that."

"Why not?"

Because he's brilliant when he tries and he's more than the bratty heir everyone sees. Because I've seen him come apart in my arms and I can't unsee it.

"Because he's capable of doing this job," Yoongi says. "He just needs someone to expect him to do it."

The chairman nods slowly. "We'll see. Presentation is Thursday. Don't let me down, Director Min."

"I won't."

Yoongi goes back to his office and sits there for a while, staring at nothing, thinking about what he just promised and whether he can actually deliver it.

Thursday arrives.

The presentation is in the chairman's conference room, the big one with the long table and the view of Seoul. Chairman Park is there, along with the CFO and someone from the board that Yoongi vaguely recognizes. Jimin is already seated when Yoongi walks in, reviewing notes on his tablet, looking more put together than Yoongi has ever seen him at work.

They present together. Jimin handles the brand vision and market positioning, answers the CFO's skeptical questions with data instead of attitude. Yoongi handles the operational side, the numbers and timelines. They trade off smoothly, like they've rehearsed this, like they're actually partners working toward the same goal.

The board member asks about risk mitigation. The CFO asks about ROI projections. Chairman Park doesn't ask anything at all, just watches.

When they finish, there's a moment of silence.

"Phase one approved," Chairman Park says. "Six months to show results. Jimin, you're leading implementation. Director Min will provide operational support and oversight."

Jimin's face doesn't change, but Yoongi sees something flicker in his eyes. Surprise, maybe, or something more complicated.

"Don't make me regret this," the chairman adds, looking directly at his son. "This is your chance to prove you can actually finish something. Don't waste it."

"I won't," Jimin says. His voice is steady but his hands are tight on the edge of the table.

The meeting ends. The CFO and board member file out, making small talk about next steps. Yoongi gathers his materials and is about to leave when the chairman says, "Director Min. A moment."

Yoongi stays. Jimin glances at him, hesitates for a second, and then walks out without a word.

When they're alone, Chairman Park says, "You've done better with him than the others did. I don't know what you're doing differently, but keep doing it."

Yoongi thinks about what he's doing differently. Thinks about Jimin's mouth and Jimin's hands and the sounds Jimin makes when Yoongi fucks him.

"Thank you, Chairman Park-nim," he says.

"Don't thank me yet. The hard part is making sure he follows through." The chairman stands, signaling the meeting is over. "Six months, Director Min. That's how long you have to turn him into someone I can rely on."

Yoongi bows and leaves and doesn't think about how fucked up this all is until he's back in his own office with the door closed.

He's sleeping with the chairman's son. He's been tasked with "fixing" someone he's emotionally compromised about. He's supposed to provide "oversight" for a project led by someone who had his cock in their mouth three days ago.

This is a mess. A complete, unmitigated disaster of his own making.

Before he can think too hard about any of it, Jimin texts him. 

my office. now.

Yoongi goes.

Jimin is standing by the window when Yoongi walks in, looking out at the city. He doesn't turn around.

"Close the door," he says.

Yoongi closes it.

"He put me in charge." Jimin's voice is strange. Flat. "He actually put me in charge of something."

"You earned it. The proposal was good."

“The proposal was good because you made me do the work." Jimin turns around, and whatever is on his face isn't just anger. "That's what this is, right? You push me, I perform, he thinks you're a miracle worker. Everyone wins.”

"That's not—"

"Don't." Jimin holds up a hand. "Don't tell me that's not what this is. I know what my father hired you for. I know what you're supposed to be doing. And apparently you're good at it, because here I am, leading a project, like a real functioning adult."

Everything Jimin is saying is true and also not true at all.

"What do you want me to say?" Yoongi asks.

"I don't know." Jimin runs a hand through his hair, messing up the careful styling. "I don't know what I want. That's the problem."

For a moment neither of them moves. Jimin is looking at him like he's waiting for something, and Yoongi doesn't know what it is, doesn't know if Jimin even knows what it is.

Then Jimin crosses the space between them and kisses him. Slower than before. Tired. Like he's looking for something he can't ask for out loud.

When Jimin pulls back, he doesn't step away.

"Get out of my office," he says quietly. "I have a project to lead."

Yoongi goes.

Phase One implementation starts the first week of June with a contractors' meeting that runs three hours over schedule. Yoongi sits through updates on demolition timelines and equipment procurement while Jimin argues with the restaurant contractor about whether they need to strip the kitchen down to the studs. They do, obviously, but the contractor wants to save money and Jimin won't let him. By the time the meeting ends it's past seven and Yoongi's coffee has gone cold twice.

In the hallway afterward, Jung Hoseok falls into step beside him.

"That was productive," Hoseok says. Deadpan enough that Yoongi snorts.

"Could have been an email."

"Most meetings could." Hoseok adjusts his bag. "Hey, you eaten yet? There's a place nearby that does decent bibimbap."

Yoongi hasn't. He was planning to grab something on the way home, eat standing in his kitchen while Tang yelled at him for being late. 

"Sure."

The restaurant is small and too bright, plastic chairs and laminate tables, the kind of place that's been there for decades and will outlast everything around it. Hoseok orders for both of them. They eat and complain about work, about roommates, about the small grievances that fill up a day. Yoongi mentions his cat. Hoseok laughs and asks to see pictures.

"We should do this again," Hoseok says when they're leaving. "If you want."

"Yeah. Okay."

They do it again the following week. And the week after that. By mid-June it's become routine, this thing where they end up eating lunch together twice a week without planning it, sometimes three times if their schedules line up. Hoseok talks enough for both of them, asks questions that would feel invasive from anyone else but don't when he asks them. Where Yoongi's from, whether his family is still there, what brought him to Seoul. Yoongi finds himself answering. Daegu. His parents. His brother Seokjin who runs a restaurant in Mangwon-dong, gukbap the way they make it back home.

One Thursday in late June, Hoseok shows up to lunch with someone else.

"You know Namjoon, right?" Hoseok sets his tray down. "Legal?"

Yoongi knows of him. Kim Namjoon, the chairman's nephew, tall and careful in meetings, someone Yoongi has nodded to in hallways but never actually talked to. "We've been in a few meetings together."

"Mind if I join?" Namjoon sits before Yoongi can answer, already unwrapping his chopsticks.

The three of them eat, and it's easier than Yoongi expected. Hoseok fills silences the way he always does. Namjoon listens more than he talks, makes observations that take a second to land. Something about a contract negotiation for a property in Jeju that isn't part of Park Group. "My uncle wants to acquire it," he says, casual, and that's how Yoongi confirms what he already knew about Namjoon being family.

After that, lunch becomes the three of them more often than not. It's strange, having work friends. People he actually wants to see. Yoongi has always kept distance at jobs, stayed polite and professional and gone home at the end of the day without thinking about anyone he left behind. This is different. Easier. Normal in a way most things in his life aren't right now.

The kickoff meeting for the premium floor happens on a Thursday in the second week of June. Yoongi gets there early out of habit, sets up his laptop, pulls up the operational timeline he's been refining for two weeks. The brand team files in, Hoseok among them. Jimin arrives exactly on time, which is the closest to early he gets these days. Then Kim Design Group walks in and Yoongi watches Jimin's face change completely.

"Taehyung-ah."

Jimin stands and the man walking through the door grins, crosses the room to him. Kim Taehyung, late twenties, dressed in a way that suggests both money and actual taste. He and Jimin clasp hands, brief and easy, the kind of greeting that comes from years of knowing someone.

"Ready to make this place look good?" Taehyung drops into a chair next to Jimin, pulling out his tablet.

"You're assuming it doesn't already."

"I've seen the current premium floor. It looks like 2015 had a boring affair with beige."

Jimin huffs a laugh and Yoongi realizes he's seeing something he hasn't seen before. Jimin relaxed, unguarded in a way Yoongi has never seen at work. This is what he looks like with someone he trusts.

The meeting starts. Taehyung presents design concepts and it's immediately clear he knows what he's doing. The renderings are thoughtful, material choices expensive without being flashy. He and Jimin finish each other's sentences about aesthetic vision, talk over each other in a way that would be irritating if it didn't produce results. They've worked together before, or maybe they just know each other well enough that the shorthand comes naturally.

"They went to school together," Hoseok says quietly when the meeting breaks for ten minutes. He's standing next to Yoongi by the coffee station. "Jimin-ssi and Taehyung-ssi. Friends since they were kids. Same circles."

Yoongi already knew Kim Design Group would be doing the work. He'd seen the contract, been in the discussions about vendor selection. The Kims and the Parks have history, business and personal both. What he hadn't known was how close Jimin and Taehyung actually are. That's useful information. Not because it matters to the work, but because it matters to understanding how Jimin operates. Who he is when he's not being difficult on purpose.

The Executive Chef search runs through most of June.

HR coordinates the process with input from a tasting panel that includes Jimin, the Jeju property manager, and a food critic from a Seoul magazine who owes the chairman a favor. Yoongi isn't on the panel but he reviews the candidates' files, sits in on budget discussions, watches the politics of it unfold from the edges.

There are six candidates. Two from Seoul, two from Busan, one from Tokyo, one from New York who's been trying to break into the Asian market. They fly them in one by one for tastings and interviews, and Jimin has opinions about all of them. Strong opinions, delivered with a certainty that would be insufferable if he weren't usually right.

One night in late June they're in a conference room going through the final evaluations. Jimin has been talking for ten minutes about why Chef Baek is the right choice even though she's younger than the other candidates, less decorated, worked in smaller restaurants.

"The Tokyo guy is technically flawless," Jimin says. He's using his hands, the way he does when he cares about what he's saying. "Every dish was perfect. And I can't remember a single thing I ate. It was like eating a photograph."

"You think that's a problem?"

"I think food should make you feel something. Otherwise what's the point?" Jimin tosses the evaluation form onto the table. "Chef Baek's braised short rib made me think about my grandmother's kitchen, and I haven't thought about that in years."

Yoongi looks at him. It's the most personal thing Jimin has said in weeks, dropped casually like it doesn't matter.

"So you want to recommend her?"

"I want to hire someone who can make guests feel something when they eat. If that's her, then yes." Jimin picks up another form, scans it, puts it down. "What do you think?"

"I think you know more about this than I do."

"That's not an answer."

"Fine." Yoongi leans back in his chair. "I think Chef Baek is risky because she doesn't have luxury resort experience. I think the Tokyo candidate is safe because he does. And I think you're right that safe isn't going to fix what's broken about that property."

Jimin looks at him for a long moment, watching Yoongi like he's recalculating something.

"Okay," he says finally. "Chef Baek it is."

They make the recommendation. She accepts the following week, contract signed, start date set for early July. The property manager sends Yoongi a cautiously optimistic email about the timeline. Yoongi forwards it to Jimin, who responds with a single line: let her work.

Through all of this, the other thing continues.

They don't talk about it. They don't make plans. But Yoongi ends up at Jimin's apartment once or twice a week, sometimes more, and each time he tells himself it's the last time and each time he's lying. It happens after arguments, after long evenings going over proposals, after texts that arrive at eleven at night with nothing but a time. They fuck and then Yoongi leaves and they pretend it didn't happen until it happens again.

On a Friday evening in late June, Yoongi is still at his desk going over financial reports when Jimin appears in his doorway.

"You're still here," Jimin says.

"So are you."

Jimin comes in and shuts the door. Yoongi looks up from his laptop, watches Jimin lean against the closed door for a second before crossing to the desk.

"I looked at your cost projections for the restaurant renovation."

"And?"

"They're too low. You're underestimating equipment costs by at least two hundred million won."

"I pulled quotes from three vendors."

"Standard equipment quotes." Jimin sits on the edge of the desk, same place he sat the first day they met. "Chef Baek is going to want fermentation chambers, precision temperature control, probably a wood-fired grill. Your numbers don't account for that."

"The budget doesn't account for that either."

"Then the budget needs to change."

Yoongi closes his laptop. "We can't add two hundred million won because the chef wants expensive toys."

"They're not toys. They're the difference between food that's technically competent and food that people remember." Jimin leans forward, and now he's too close, the way he always ends up too close. "You think running numbers in a spreadsheet means you understand what it takes to actually create something?"

"I think running numbers means I understand what it costs."

"Of course that's what you think." Jimin's voice has an edge now, the one he gets when he's looking for a fight. "Everything is just cost-benefit analysis to you. Numbers and timelines and whatever keeps the chairman happy. You've never built anything that wasn't on a spreadsheet first."

"Better than having vision without any idea how to execute it."

Jimin stands. They're almost chest to chest, close enough that Yoongi can see the small freckles across the bridge of his nose. "Say that again."

"You heard me."

For a second neither of them moves. Then Jimin's hand is on Yoongi's belt and Yoongi's hand is in Jimin's hair and they're kissing like they've been waiting for an excuse to do this all week. Probably have been.

"Lock the door," Jimin says against his mouth.

Yoongi reaches over and flips the lock without letting go of Jimin. When he turns back Jimin is already sinking to his knees.

He gets Yoongi's belt open, pants undone, pulls him out and looks up once with his mouth parted before taking Yoongi's cock between his lips. Yoongi's hands find the edge of his desk, grip hard, because if he touches Jimin right now he's going to push too deep or hold him down or say something he can't take back.

Jimin takes him deeper, hollows his cheeks, uses his tongue in ways that make Yoongi forget they're in his office where anyone could knock. He's good at this. Has done it enough times now that he knows exactly how Yoongi likes it, exactly what will make him fall apart.

Jimin pulls off, lips wet, and palms himself through his trousers. Yoongi can see how hard he is.

"You like this," Yoongi says. His voice comes out lower than he intends.

"Shut up."

"You're going to come in your pants from sucking me off."

Jimin's hand stills for a second. Then he takes Yoongi back into his mouth and proves him right, working himself with the same rhythm, getting off on his knees with Yoongi's cock down his throat.

Yoongi gets his hand in Jimin's hair. Not to control, just to feel. Jimin's eyes flutter closed and he moans around Yoongi and the vibration of it travels up Yoongi's spine, makes everything tight and urgent. He's close. Jimin knows it, doubles down, takes him deeper, and Yoongi comes with his free hand pressed over his own mouth to kill the sound.

Jimin pulls off and sits back, wiping his mouth. His face is flushed, lips swollen, and he's still hard. His hand goes back to his cock and Yoongi realizes he meant it, Jimin is going to come like this, on his knees on Yoongi's office floor.

"Get up," Yoongi says.

"I'm fine."

"Get up."

Jimin stands and Yoongi drops to his knees, gets Jimin's pants open and takes him in without warning. Jimin's hand flies to his mouth and he leans back against the desk, hips jerking forward. Yoongi works him fast, messy, uses his hand and mouth together because they don't have time for anything drawn out. It takes less than a minute. Jimin comes biting down on his own palm to stay quiet, whole body going tense before he slumps back against the desk.

They clean up in silence. Jimin tucks himself back into his trousers, runs a hand through his hair. Yoongi washes his hands at the small sink by the credenza and straightens his collar without looking at his own reflection.

Jimin unlocks the door, pauses with his hand on the knob. "Tuesday. Eight."

An assumption, not a question. Yoongi will show up at his apartment in four days because that's what they do now. Regular enough to be expected.

"Yeah."

Jimin leaves without another word.

Yoongi sits back at his desk and opens his laptop and stares at the financial report he was reviewing before Jimin walked in. This is reckless. They're in his office. Anyone could have heard. He should stop. He's not going to stop.

By early July the project is moving faster than Yoongi expected. Restaurant demo finished on schedule. New equipment orders placed, including the fermentation chambers and wood-fired grill that Jimin was right about. Chef Baek started and immediately fired two sous chefs and began rebuilding the kitchen from the ground up. The premium floor redesign is on track, Kim Design Group sending updates twice a week.

Yoongi reviews timelines and budgets and makes sure contractors aren't cutting corners. Jimin shows up to meetings more than he doesn't, asks good questions, pushes back when he should. When he's engaged he's sharp in a way that makes the work better.

His monthly update to Chairman Park is shorter than the previous ones. Fewer missed meetings to document, fewer issues to flag. Jimin showed up to the vendor presentation, contributed to the budget discussions, actually read the materials before the project review. Yoongi writes it all down because that's his job, sends it off, tries not to think too hard about what it means that he's reporting on someone he's also fucking. The chairman responds with a single line: Good progress. Keep me informed.

One afternoon in a conference room, going over mockups for the premium floor suites, Jimin makes a comment about the designer's font choice being pretentious. Yoongi laughs before he can stop himself, not the polite version he uses in meetings but the real one, and Jimin looks up at him, holds his gaze a beat longer than necessary before looking away.

After that Jimin starts making more jokes during their working sessions. Small ones, dry observations about contractors or timelines or the property manager's increasingly frantic emails. Testing to see what will land. Yoongi catches himself looking forward to it, this version of Jimin who's trying to make him laugh instead of trying to make him quit.

The texts are still mostly logistics, still bickering disguised as work discussion. Jimin sends him something about a design choice at two in the morning. Yoongi responds with corrections to his math. But sometimes now there's something else mixed in. A photo of a terrible painting in a hotel lobby, no caption. A complaint about someone in a meeting that's clearly meant to be funny. Small things that don't mean anything except that Jimin is thinking about him at moments when he doesn't have to be.

Yoongi doesn't know what to do with that.

Thursday night, early July. Yoongi is at home with Tang when his phone buzzes.

tomorrow 8pm

Same as always. An assumption that Yoongi will show up because he always does.

Okay

He sets his phone down and tries to focus on the operational report he's supposed to review. His mind keeps drifting. Tomorrow night at Jimin's apartment. Jimin on his knees, mouth around him, getting off on it. Jimin making jokes during their working sessions now, watching Yoongi's face to see if he'll laugh.

This is manageable. It's fine. They're fucking regularly but that doesn't mean anything beyond proximity and tension and the fact that they're stuck working together every day. He's noticing details about Jimin but only because they work together constantly. None of this means anything Yoongi needs to examine too closely.

Tang jumps onto the counter and stares at him, unblinking.

"What."

The cat sits there, tail curled around his paws, looking both bored and judgmental in the way only cats can manage.

Yoongi goes back to his report. Tries to read the same paragraph three times. Gives up.

Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock. Gangnam.

He's already planning what time to leave work so he won't be late.

The brand review meeting is supposed to start at ten, and by ten-fifteen Jimin still hasn't shown up. Yoongi's emails have gone unanswered, his text left on read. The meeting proceeds without him because it has to, Hoseok covering the brand team's portion the way he's covered it a dozen times before, and Yoongi sits through the whole thing making notes he'll have to send to Jimin later, doing work that Jimin should be here to do himself.

Back at his office he sends an email that's professional on the surface and irritated underneath, the meeting notes are attached.

Your input would have been valuable. Please confirm you've reviewed.

He opens the document where he tracks things for his monthly updates to Chairman Park. Missed meeting, no advance notice, no response to communications. A month ago he would have typed it without thinking, added it to the file like every other time Jimin decided not to show up. Now his hands hover over the keyboard and he finds himself closing the document without adding anything. He'll do it tomorrow, after he hears whatever excuse Jimin has.

He doesn't let himself think about why he's waiting.

At lunch the cafeteria is loud with the midday rush and Yoongi drops his tray across from Hoseok and Namjoon harder than he means to.

"He didn't call in," Yoongi says. "Didn't text his assistant, didn't tell anyone. He just didn't show up."

Hoseok and Namjoon exchange a look that Yoongi can't read. Hoseok focuses on his food.

"What's today's date?" Namjoon asks.

"The fifteenth. Why?"

Namjoon sets down his chopsticks. He's quiet for a moment in a way that makes Yoongi's irritation shift into something else, something closer to unease.

"His mother," Namjoon says finally. "My aunt. She died ten years ago today."

The cafeteria keeps going around them. People keep eating, talking, laughing at tables around them. Yoongi's irritation is gone and he doesn't know what's replaced it.

"I knew she passed," Hoseok says quietly. "I didn't know the date."

"Not many people do. Jimin doesn't talk about it." Namjoon picks up his chopsticks again but doesn't eat, just looks at his tray. "She had cancer. It moved fast. Jimin was sixteen when she died, and he was with her at the end.”

Yoongi thinks about Jimin at sixteen. Tries to picture it and finds he can't reconcile the image with the man he knows now, the cold smiles and the expensive suits and the way Jimin looks at everyone like he's daring them to disappoint him.

"The chairman?" Yoongi asks.

"He wasn't there." Namjoon's mouth goes tight. "Jimin was alone with her when it happened. I don't think he's ever really gotten past that."

Nobody says anything for a while after that. Hoseok eats in silence and Namjoon eventually does the same, and Yoongi sits there thinking about every interaction he's had with Jimin since he started this job. Every fight, every time Jimin pushed until Yoongi pushed back, every missed meeting and ignored email and calculated act of defiance. The bratty heir who treats work like it's optional and acts like nothing in the world matters enough to try.

Sixteen years old, alone in a hospital room, watching his mother die.

Yoongi can't finish his lunch.

The afternoon is useless. He sits at his desk staring at spreadsheets without seeing them, writes emails he has to reread three times before sending because his mind keeps drifting back to Jimin. Where he is right now. If he's alone.

The document he didn't update this morning is still open in a tab. He closes it without adding anything and feels something like relief that he didn't report it, didn't reduce today to another line in a spreadsheet for the chairman. He doesn't think too hard about what that relief means.

It's not his business. They fuck sometimes and they work together and that's the extent of it. Whatever Jimin is going through today has nothing to do with Yoongi.

Except he keeps thinking about Jimin's apartment. The expensive furniture and the view of Gangnam and the way Jimin always looks when Yoongi shows up after a late-night text, like he's been waiting even though he'd never admit it. Performing even when they're alone.

He thinks about Jimin today, wherever he is, not performing for anyone.

At six he gives up and goes home. Feeds Tang, who winds between his legs and meows until the bowl is full. Sits on his couch without turning on the TV, just sitting there in the quiet with his phone in his hand.

He types Are you okay and deletes it. Types Do you want company and deletes that too. Both of them are too much, too direct, too close to acknowledging omething neither of them has acknowledged.

Finally he types: Are you home?

The read receipt appears almost immediately. Then nothing. Yoongi watches the screen while Tang jumps onto the couch and settles against his thigh, purring.

Five minutes pass. Then ten.

yeah

Yoongi types back before he can talk himself out of it: Can I come over?

The pause is longer this time. He can see the typing indicator appear and disappear, appear and disappear. Tang kneads at his leg, oblivious.

okay

Jimin answers the door in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, barefoot, his hair still damp from a shower and pushed back from his face without any product in it. He looks younger like this, softer, all the sharp edges blunted. His eyes are dry but there's something bruised around them, a rawness that his usual careful presentation would hide.

"Director Min," he says, and his voice is flat in a way that's worse than his usual bite. "Didn't expect to see you tonight."

"Can I come in?"

Jimin steps aside without saying anything, which Yoongi takes as a yes.

The apartment looks the same as always except the curtains are drawn and there's a bottle of soju on the coffee table that's mostly empty, and the whole place has that stillness of somewhere that's been too quiet for too long.

"Have you eaten?" Yoongi asks.

Jimin shrugs in a way that means no.

"I'm ordering food."

"You don't have to do that."

"I'm hungry." It's not really true but it gives them both an excuse. "Chicken okay?"

Another shrug. Yoongi orders anyway, chicken and beer and tteokbokki from a place that delivers fast, and when he's done Jimin is sitting on the couch with his legs pulled up under him, staring at nothing.

Yoongi sits on the other end. The silence between them is heavy in a way it usually isn't, none of the crackling tension that normally fills the space when they're alone together. This is something else. This is just two people sitting in a dark apartment not knowing what to say.

"There's a game on," Yoongi says. "KBO. Doosan's playing."

"I don't know anything about baseball."

"You don't have to."

He finds the remote and turns on the TV, finds the right channel. The sound of the crowd and the announcers fills the room, something to break up the quiet. Yoongi watches the game and Jimin watches Yoongi watching the game, or maybe he's not watching anything at all, just existing in the same space because existing alone was worse.

The food arrives. They eat on the couch with the containers spread out on the coffee table, and Jimin doesn't eat much but he eats something, which is better than nothing. The chicken is decent, the tteokbokki is too sweet. The beer is cold and they both drink more of it than they should.

"Why is he running," Jimin says during the sixth inning. "He didn't even hit it that far."

"Sacrifice fly. Runner on third scores when the ball is caught."

"That's a stupid rule."

"It's strategy."

"It's stupid strategy."

Yoongi almost smiles. Jimin asks more questions as the innings pass, not because he's interested in baseball but because asking questions means not sitting in silence, means having something to say that isn't about the thing neither of them is talking about.

Doosan wins in the eighth. The broadcast switches to post-game commentary and Jimin reaches for the remote to mute it, and in the sudden quiet Yoongi realizes how close they've drifted over the past hour. Their knees are almost touching. He can smell Jimin's shampoo, something peachy and sweet.

"Why did you come," Jimin says. He's looking at the muted TV, not at Yoongi.

"You missed the meeting."

"I've missed meetings before. You send passive-aggressive emails about it. You don't show up at my apartment with fried chicken."

Yoongi doesn't have a good answer for that. Or he does, but the good answer involves admitting things he's not ready to admit.

"Namjoon told you," Jimin says, still not looking at him.

"Yeah."

"What did he tell you."

"Enough."

Jimin is quiet for a long moment. On the TV someone is being interviewed, mouth moving without sound.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay."

"I mean it. I don't want you to ask me questions or tell me you're sorry or any of that shit."

"I won't."

"Then why are you here." He finally turns to look at Yoongi, and his face is open in a way Yoongi has never seen, the mask stripped away to reveal something raw and tired underneath. "Why did you come."

"I don't know," Yoongi says, because it's the truth. "I just did."

Jimin keeps looking at him, searching for something in his face. Then he leans in, slow enough that Yoongi could stop him if he wanted to, and rests his head against Yoongi's shoulder.

They stay like that for a while, Jimin's weight warm against his side, the muted TV casting blue light across the room. Yoongi's hand comes up and settles on Jimin's back. He can feel Jimin breathing, slow and unsteady.

Jimin shifts closer. His hand lands on Yoongi's thigh, and his face turns into Yoongi's neck. His breath is warm against Yoongi's skin.

Yoongi turns his head. Jimin lifts his, and they're close enough that Yoongi can see the redness around his eyes. Neither of them says anything. Jimin closes the distance and kisses him.

It starts soft, Jimin's mouth tentative against his in a way Jimin never is. Yoongi kisses him back carefully, and Jimin makes a sound against his lips and presses closer, climbs into his lap with his knees on either side of Yoongi's hips. His hands fist in Yoongi's shirt and the kiss changes, gets desperate, Jimin licking into his mouth like he's trying to get somewhere he can't reach.

"I need," Jimin says against his mouth, and his voice is wrecked. "Yoongi, I need—"

"I know. Come on."

Yoongi gets his hands under Jimin's thighs and stands. Jimin wraps around him, legs locking at the small of Yoongi's back, and keeps kissing him as Yoongi carries him down the hall. By the time they reach the bedroom Jimin has bitten a mark into his neck that's going to show tomorrow.

He puts Jimin on the bed and Jimin pulls him down, hands already working at Yoongi's shirt. They strip each other fast, graceless, Yoongi kicking off his pants while Jimin shoves his sweatpants down and off. When they're both naked Yoongi takes a moment to look at him, spread out on the sheets, hard and flushed and watching Yoongi with dark eyes.

"Don't," Jimin says. "Don't be careful with me tonight. I don't want careful."

Yoongi reaches for the nightstand, finds the lube where Jimin always keeps it. He slicks his fingers and settles between Jimin's legs, pushes his thighs wider. Jimin's breath catches when Yoongi circles his rim, teasing, not pushing in yet.

"Yoongi." Jimin's hips twitch. "Come on."

Yoongi presses one finger inside and Jimin's eyes close, his mouth falling open. He's hot and tight around Yoongi's finger, and when Yoongi starts to move Jimin rocks down to meet him, trying to take more.

"Another one. I can take it."

Yoongi adds a second finger and Jimin groans, back arching off the bed. He fucks himself on Yoongi's fingers, shameless, chasing it, and when Yoongi curls them and finds the spot that makes Jimin's whole body jerk, Jimin swears and grabs at the sheets.

"There. Fuck. Right there, don't stop."

Yoongi works that spot until Jimin is shaking, until his cock is leaking against his stomach and his thighs are trembling. He adds a third finger and Jimin takes it easily, too far gone to do anything but moan and push back against Yoongi's hand.

"I'm ready," Jimin gasps. "I'm ready, I need you, please."

Yoongi pulls his fingers out and Jimin whines at the loss, empty and desperate. He slicks his cock and lines up, presses the head against Jimin's hole, and Jimin reaches for him, pulls him down.

"Look at me," Jimin says. His voice comes out hoarse. "I want to see you."

Yoongi holds his gaze and pushes in, slow and steady, watching Jimin's face as he sinks inside him inch by inch. Jimin's mouth falls open and his hands grip Yoongi's shoulders hard enough to bruise. When Yoongi bottoms out they're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, and Jimin is looking at him like he's the only thing in the world that matters.

"Just," Jimin breathes. "Move. Please."

Yoongi pulls back and thrusts in hard, and Jimin cries out. His legs wrap around Yoongi's waist and his nails drag down Yoongi's back and he's saying yes, yes, like that, harder, a stream of words that blur together into need.

This is what Jimin wanted. To be overwhelmed. To be fucked out of his own head, out of his grief, into something that's only sensation and skin. Yoongi gives him that, fucks him hard and deep, sets a pace that punches sounds out of Jimin on every thrust.

But Jimin is also clinging to him in a way he never has before, arms wrapped around Yoongi's neck, face pressed into his shoulder, holding on like he's scared of what happens if he lets go. That's different. That's new. Yoongi doesn't know what to do with it except keep going, keep fucking him, keep holding him up.

He changes the angle and Jimin's whole body goes taut, a broken moan spilling out of him. "There, there, oh god, Yoongi."

Yoongi keeps hitting that spot, relentless, feels Jimin start to shake apart underneath him. Jimin is loud now, louder than Yoongi has ever heard him, not bothering to muffle the sounds, not holding anything back. His cock is trapped between their stomachs, untouched, and when he comes it's with Yoongi's name on his lips, spilling between them in hot pulses while his whole body clenches around Yoongi.

Yoongi fucks him through it, watches his face, the way his mouth goes slack and his eyes squeeze shut, the way he looks wrecked and open and nothing like the guarded, untouchable man who walked into Yoongi's office all those months ago. Then the tight heat around him is too much and Yoongi buries himself deep and comes, pleasure whiting out everything else.

After, neither of them moves for a long time. Yoongi is still inside him, and Jimin's arms are still wrapped around his neck. Slowly the grip loosens. Jimin's hands slide down to rest on Yoongi's back, gentle now instead of grabbing.

Eventually Yoongi pulls out and Jimin makes a soft sound at the loss. Yoongi finds a towel in the bathroom and cleans them both up, wipes the come from Jimin's stomach and between his thighs. When he comes back to bed Jimin has curled onto his side, and when he lies down Jimin moves into him immediately, fitting himself against Yoongi's chest like he belongs there.

Jimin's breathing slows. His body goes heavy. Yoongi lies there in the dark feeling the weight of him, warm and solid, and thinks about getting up. Getting dressed. Going home.

He doesn't move. He stays.

He wakes up hours later, disoriented in the dark, and it takes him a moment to remember where he is. Jimin is still pressed against him, still asleep, his breath warm against Yoongi's chest. Outside the window the sky is starting to lighten, that grey pre-dawn that means it's probably five or five-thirty in the morning.

Yoongi has to go. Tang needs to be fed and Yoongi needs to shower and change and get to work, and none of this is something they've talked about or figured out. He doesn't know what last night meant. He doesn't know what it changes. All he knows is that Jimin is asleep against his chest and the thought of leaving feels harder than it should.

He extracts himself carefully, inch by inch, trying not to wake Jimin up. Jimin stirs, makes a noise of protest, but doesn't open his eyes. In the grey light he looks exhausted, dark circles visible under his eyes, and Yoongi stands by the bed for a moment just looking at him.

He finds his clothes and dresses in the hallway, checks his phone. A little before six. If he leaves now he'll have time to get home and take care of everything before work.

At the bedroom door he stops and looks back. Jimin has curled around the space where Yoongi was, one arm stretched out across the empty sheets.

Yoongi leaves without waking him.

The apartment is quiet as he lets himself out. The elevator is empty. The street is just starting to fill with early morning delivery trucks and the first wave of commuters. Yoongi walks to the subway station and rides home and lets himself into his own apartment, where Tang is waiting with opinions about the lateness of breakfast.

He feeds the cat, showers, puts on a suit, drinks a cup of coffee standing at his kitchen counter. The scratches on his back sting under the hot water. He doesn't let himself think about how they got there.

At work, Jimin shows up around eleven. Late, but he shows up. Put together again, the mask back in place, hair styled. When they pass in the hallway Jimin nods at him the way he'd nod at anyone.

Yoongi nods back. Neither of them says anything.

They don't talk about it that day or the next, and by the time a few days have passed Yoongi has almost convinced himself he imagined the whole thing. The way Jimin looked at him in the dim light of his apartment. Held onto him like he was afraid to let go. Fell asleep against his chest and Yoongi stayed, stayed the whole night, because leaving felt impossible.

On Sunday afternoon Jimin sends him two texts. The first is about the equipment budget for the Jeju restaurant, a question about a line item that doesn't quite add up.

The second one, sent a minute later, says: thanks for thursday

Yoongi stares at it for a long time. He doesn't know what to say. How to acknowledge what Thursday was without making it into something they'd have to talk about.

He responds to the first message. Explains the line item. Keeps it professional.

He doesn't respond to the second one. He wouldn't know where to start.

They don't talk about that night. Yoongi doesn't know how to bring it up and Jimin doesn't try, so it just sits there between them, unacknowledged. They keep working together, keep sleeping together, keep doing whatever this is without putting a name to it. August comes and goes.

The last week of the month, Jimin goes to Jeju with Taehyung to check on the renovation. They text about work. Budget questions, contractor problems, whether Chef Baek is settling in. Then Tuesday evening Jimin sends a photo of the sunset over the water, no caption, and Yoongi looks at it for a long time before responding. Nice view.

the restaurant terrace. chef baek wants to do sunset dinners out here.

Good idea.

i know.

Wednesday, there's another photo. This one of Jimin and Taehyung making faces at the camera, Taehyung's arm slung around Jimin's shoulder, both of them laughing at something. Jimin's hair is messy from the wind and he looks younger than Yoongi has ever seen him, unguarded in a way he never is at work.

taehyung says hi, the caption reads.

Yoongi saves the photo without examining why.

Thursday is Liberation Day. Yoongi took Friday off weeks ago, back when four days in Daegu sounded like a good idea. He packs a bag, loads a protesting Tang into his carrier, and lets Seokjin drive because Seokjin always drives.

The house looks the same as it always does when they pull up. Small and modest, the garden overgrown in the way it always is when their father decides the weeds aren't hurting anyone. Their mother is in the doorway before they've even parked, already talking about how thin they both look, how she's been cooking all morning, how they never visit enough.

Their father is in the living room. He stands when they come in, claps Yoongi on the shoulder in that way he has, firm and brief. "Good drive?"

"Fine."

"Good."

That's the extent of it. Their father has never been one for long conversations, but the hand on Yoongi's shoulder says enough.

Tang is released from his carrier and immediately hides under the couch, refusing to come out even for treats. Yoongi leaves him to adjust and goes to help his mother in the kitchen, which mostly means staying out of her way while she piles food onto plates.

They eat. They talk about nothing important, Seokjin's restaurant, their mother's book club, the neighbor who keeps parking in front of their gate. Their father asks about Yoongi's job and Yoongi gives him the short version. The salary is good. It's busy, but fine. His father nods like this is sufficient.

After dinner, Tang finally emerges from under the couch and makes his way to the windowsill, pressing his nose against the glass to watch the garden outside. Yoongi takes a photo before he can think about it too much, then grabs a beer from the fridge and steps out onto the back porch.

He sends the photo to Jimin.

OMG! is that your parents' cat?

No, he's mine.

wait. yours?

Yes?

you have a CAT???

For three years.

you have a cat. you've had a cat for three years. and you never mentioned this.

You never asked.

i shouldn't have to ASK if you have a cat. that's information you volunteer. that's "hi my name is min yoongi and i have a cat" information.

Yoongi finds himself smiling at his phone. His name is Tang.

TANG. And then: i love cats. i can't believe you've been hiding this from me.

I wasn't hiding anything.

you were. you've been keeping your cat a secret. i've known you for months and i'm only now finding out you have a cat named tang.

Tangie, Yoongi corrects without thinking. I call him Tangie.

oh my god. that's adorable. you're adorable. i can't believe this.

Yoongi scrolls through his camera roll, finds a close-up of Tang looking distinctly unimpressed, and sends it.

he's so handsome. look at his little face. he looks like he's plotting something.

He's always plotting something.

i need to meet him.

He doesn't like strangers.

i'm not a stranger. i'm his father's... whatever i am. he'll love me.

His father's whatever I am. Yoongi reads it again. Reads it a third time.

The screen door opens and Seokjin comes out onto the porch with his own beer, sits down next to him.

"Who are you talking to?"

"No one."

"You've been out here smiling at your phone."

"I'm not smiling."

"You are. You're doing it right now." Seokjin studies his face. "Is it someone from work?"

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. I know that look."

"What look?"

"The look you get when you like someone and you're pretending you don't."

"I don't have a look."

"You have a look. You've had it since you were fifteen and you had a crush on that kid from your math class. You think you're being subtle but you're not."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Fine." Seokjin takes a sip of his beer. "But whoever it is, they're making you smile like an idiot. Just so you know."

He goes back inside and Yoongi looks at his phone. There's a new message from Jimin. A selfie, just his face, lying in what must be a hotel bed. He looks tired but he's smiling, soft and unguarded.

goodnight, tang's dad.

Yoongi saves that photo too.

The texting doesn't stop.

Friday morning Jimin sends a photo of his breakfast with the caption eating my feelings. Yoongi sends back a photo of his mother's kongnamul gukbap and Jimin responds with a string of crying emojis and i hate you.

Saturday afternoon Yoongi sends a video of Tang chasing a fly around the living room, and Jimin says he watched it six times and tells Yoongi he's never loved anything more than he loves that video.

Later that night, after Yoongi's parents have gone to bed and Seokjin has fallen asleep on the couch, Jimin texts:

what time are you back tomorrow?

Afternoon. You?

around one.

The three dots appear and disappear. Appear again.

so when do i get to meet tang?

Yoongi looks at the message. Looks at Tang curled up next to him on the couch. Thinks about Jimin in his apartment, on his couch, in his space.

Come over tomorrow. I'll text you when I'm home.

okay.

Seokjin drops him off in Mapo Sunday afternoon. Yoongi hauls his bag and Tang's carrier up to his apartment, and once he's inside he texts Jimin his address. Just got home. Give me an hour.

He showers, unpacks, endures five minutes of loud complaints from Tang about the indignity of car travel. His mother packed enough food to last him a month. There are containers of japchae and galbi jjim and kimchi jjigae and half a dozen different banchan. He puts everything in the fridge and wipes down the counter and checks that the bathroom is clean and straightens the couch cushions and then stands there looking at his apartment, at this place he's lived for more than three years without ever really making it his own. A couch, a TV, a bookshelf with more empty space than books. Tang's cat tree in the corner. It's fine for him. He doesn't know what Jimin will think of it and he doesn't let himself wonder.

The buzzer goes half an hour later and Yoongi's stomach does something he ignores. He lets Jimin up and opens the door and Jimin is standing there in jeans and a white t-shirt, hair unstyled, holding a bottle of wine. 

"It's small," Jimin says, stepping inside and slipping off his shoes, looking around with open curiosity.

"Yeah."

"I like it. Where is he?”

Tang chooses that moment to emerge from the bedroom, where he's been sulking since they got home. He stops in the middle of the hallway and stares at Jimin with narrowed eyes.

Jimin crouches down immediately. "Hi, Tangie."

Tang's ears twitch.

"I've heard so much about you," Jimin says, voice soft. "Your dad has been sending me so many photos. I feel like I already know you."

Tang approaches slowly, cautious, sniffing the air. Jimin holds out his hand and waits. And then, to Yoongi's disbelief, Tang bumps his head against Jimin's fingers and starts to purr.

"Traitor," Yoongi says.

Jimin grins up at him, delighted. He scratches behind Tang's ears and Tang leans into it, eyes closing. Then he flops onto his side and rolls over, showing his belly.

"He never does that," Yoongi says. "He barely does that for me."

"He loves me." Jimin rubs Tang's belly and Tang stretches out, purring loud enough to hear across the room. "I told you he would."

Jimin stays on the floor with Tang for a while, talking to him in that same soft voice, completely absorbed. Yoongi watches and doesn't know what to do with the feeling in his chest.

"Are you hungry?" he asks eventually. "My mother sent me home with enough food for a week."

Jimin looks up. "The galbi jjim?"

"Yeah."

"The one you said she makes for special occasions?"

"Yeah."

Something flickers across Jimin's face. "I'd like that."

They eat at Yoongi's small kitchen table, containers spread out between them. Jimin eats like he's starving, making small sounds of appreciation that Yoongi tries not to think too hard about.

"This is incredible," Jimin says. "Your mother is amazing."

"I'll tell her."

"You should." He takes another bite, chews slowly. "My mother used to make galbi jjim. For my birthday every year." He doesn't look at Yoongi. "I'v tried ordering it a few times but it's not the same."

Yoongi doesn't say anything. Waits.

"This is close though," Jimin says quietly. "Really close."

They finish eating and move to the couch. Jimin opens the wine and pours two glasses, and Tang jumps onto his lap like he belongs there. They put something on TV that neither of them watches and drink and talk about nothing, and at some point Jimin's head ends up on Yoongi's shoulder and Yoongi's arm ends up around him and they stay like that, just breathing together.

"I should go," Jimin says eventually. He doesn't move.

"Okay."

"You just got back. You're probably exhausted."

"I'm fine."

"We have work tomorrow."

"I know."

Still neither of them moves. Tang is asleep on Jimin's lap, a warm weight pinning him in place.

"If I move I'll wake him up," Jimin says.

"Yeah."

"That would be cruel."

"Very cruel."

Jimin turns his head and looks at Yoongi, close enough that their noses almost touch. "I'm going to kiss you now," he says. "Just so you know.”

"Okay."

Jimin kisses him, slow and soft, and Tang makes an annoyed sound and jumps off his lap. Neither of them pays attention. Yoongi kisses him back the same way, careful and unhurried, and they stay like that for a long time, just kissing on Yoongi's couch while the TV plays something neither of them is listening to. Yoongi keeps waiting for it to turn into something else, for the urgency to kick in, for them to stumble toward the bedroom the way they always do.

It doesn't happen. They just kiss, and kiss, and eventually Jimin pulls back and rests his forehead against Yoongi's.

"I really should go," he murmurs.

"Yeah."

Jimin sighs and pulls away, finds his shoes, slips them on. He stands in the doorway with his hand on the frame.

"I missed you," he says. "This week. Don't make it weird."

And then he's gone, the door closing behind him before Yoongi can respond.

Yoongi stands there for a long time, staring at the closed door. Tang walks up to him and meows, probably wondering where his new favorite person went.

Great.

September arrives with cooler evenings and the Jeju property hitting every Phase One milestone two weeks ahead of schedule. Jimin has been to Yoongi's apartment four times since Daegu. Tang sleeps on his chest now and wears a collar with a yellow chick bell that Jimin bought because he thought it was funny. They text about nothing important and sometimes about work and Yoongi has stopped trying to categorize what they're doing because every category he tries doesn't fit.

It's a Friday night in the middle of the month when Namjoon knocks over the soy sauce.

The bottle tips, rolls, spills dark liquid across the table before Hoseok catches it. Namjoon swears and reaches for napkins while Yoongi lifts his glass out of the spreading puddle. The restaurant is loud around them, full of other people ending their work weeks, and Yoongi is three drinks in and comfortable in a way he hasn't been comfortable in years.

"Sorry, sorry." Namjoon mops at the table. "I wasn't paying attention."

"You never pay attention," Hoseok says, laughing. His face is already flushed from one beer, pink spreading across his cheekbones. "Remember when you knocked over that entire filing cabinet?"

"That was an accident."

"You walked into it."

"It was in my way."

"Hyung, you want another?" Hoseok gestures at Yoongi's empty glass.

"I'm good."

"You sure? We're celebrating."

"What are we celebrating?"

"The fact that it's Friday and we survived another week." Hoseok grins at him. "That's worth celebrating."

The restaurant door opens and Yoongi glances up out of habit, sees three people walk in. Taehyung is easy to spot, tall and dressed in black, moving through the crowd with the same unhurried grace he has in meetings. Behind him is Jimin, and behind Jimin is someone Yoongi doesn't recognize, younger, big eyes and restless energy even standing still.

Taehyung sees them first. His face changes when he spots Namjoon, something fond crossing his features, and he raises a hand in greeting. Namjoon waves back.

"Taehyung-ah," Namjoon calls across the restaurant. "Over here."

They make their way over and suddenly the table is rearranging, people pulling up chairs, the waiter appearing with more menus. Taehyung clasps hands briefly with Namjoon, easy and familiar, then nods at Hoseok and Yoongi.

"Director Min-nim. Hoseok-ssi." His voice is soft, careful in the way he speaks during presentations. "Hope you don't mind us crashing."

"Not at all," Namjoon says. He's already moving his plate to make room. "You remember Yoongi-hyung and Hoseok."

"Of course." Taehyung gestures to the person beside him. "This is Jungkook."

Jungkook bows slightly, polite, his leg already bouncing under the table. "Nice to meet you."

Jimin takes the seat across from Yoongi with a brief nod to everyone. He's wearing a rust-colored sweater that makes his skin look warm under the restaurant lights, hair pushed back from his face.

The conversation flows around them. Hoseok asks Jungkook what he does for work. Photography and videography, Jungkook says, mostly commercial but he's been trying to build out personal projects when he has time. There's something about the way he talks about it, hands moving to illustrate a point about lighting, that makes it clear he could go on for hours if someone let him. Hoseok does let him, asks about the last shoot, what kind of camera he uses, and Jungkook's whole face brightens as he launches into an explanation about a fashion brand he worked with last week. Taehyung watches him talk with a small smile that doesn't need words.

Namjoon is telling a story about a family dinner where something went catastrophically wrong with the seating arrangement, and Taehyung listens and makes a comment that's dry enough to get a laugh from the whole table.

Jimin hasn't said much. When Namjoon asks him how the Jeju project is going, Jimin gives a brief answer and doesn't elaborate. When Hoseok mentions the premium floor redesign looking good, Jimin just nods.

They order more food. The table fills with plates of galbi and banchan, steam rising between them. Someone refills Yoongi's glass and he loses track of how many times. The conversation continues, easy and overlapping, everyone comfortable enough to talk over each other. Jimin barely touches his food.

"We should get drinks after this," Taehyung says when they're finishing up. His voice is casual, an observation more than a suggestion. Namjoon immediately agrees.

"There's a place nearby," Taehyung continues. "Quiet. Good whiskey."

They settle the bill and spill out onto the Gangnam sidewalk. The September air is cooler now, almost cold, and Yoongi has drunk enough that the city lights look softer around the edges. They walk three blocks to a basement bar that Taehyung apparently knows, down narrow stairs into a space that's all dark wood and low lighting and jazz playing quiet enough to talk over. Expensive and unbothered by whether you notice.

Taehyung orders for the table, whiskey and beer, and they settle into a corner booth. Jimin ends up next to Yoongi, close enough that their shoulders almost touch. He smells like that cologne he always wears, floral and powdery, and Yoongi is drunk enough to notice and sober enough to wish he wasn't.

Hoseok is fading. His face is pink all the way to his ears now and he keeps blinking slowly, fighting to stay present. "I should probably head out soon," he says.

"Already?" Taehyung checks his phone. "It's barely eleven."

"I'm done." Hoseok finishes his beer and stands, steadier than Yoongi expected. "This was good though. We should do it again.”

He hugs everyone on his way out, even Jungkook who he just met. That's Hoseok, warm and tactile and comfortable with affection in a way Yoongi has never been. Namjoon leaves with him, mutters about giving him a ride, and suddenly it's just the four of them.

The conversation continues without missing a beat. Taehyung asks Yoongi about the Jeju timeline and Yoongi walks him through the contractor schedules and budget adjustments. This turns into Jungkook asking about the restaurant renovation, and Yoongi mentions Chef Baek and her approach to local sourcing. Jungkook mentions he did a documentary project on small restaurants in Busan.

"What do you shoot with?" Yoongi asks. The whiskey has made him looser, more willing to ask questions he'd normally keep to himself.

Jungkook's whole face changes. "Right now I'm using a Sony A7S III for video. For stills I've got a Fuji X-T4." He leans forward, forearms on the table. "But I'm thinking about switching to a mirrorless full-frame for everything. The sensor on the new Canons is incredible."

"You ever shoot film?"

"I tried it once. Couldn't get used to not seeing the image right away." Jungkook looks embarrassed. "I know that's probably sacrilege."

"Not if it doesn't work for you." Yoongi picks up his glass, sets it down without drinking. "I used to shoot film in university. Had a Canon AE-1."

"The AE-1 Program?"

"Just the AE-1."

"That's a beautiful camera." Jungkook is fully animated now, hands moving. "Manual focus, mechanical shutter. Did you develop your own prints?"

"Sometimes. There was a darkroom in the arts building." Those late nights in the chemical smell and red light, watching images appear in developing trays. Yoongi hasn't thought about this in years. "I haven't touched a camera since I graduated."

"You should get back into it," Jungkook says immediately. "The new mirrorless cameras have all the manual control of film but with the flexibility of digital. You could shoot in aperture priority and it'd feel just like the AE-1."

"I wouldn't even know where to start."

Jungkook launches into an explanation of sensor sizes and autofocus systems and lens compatibility. Yoongi leans in, asks questions, feels genuinely interested in a way he hasn't been interested in anything outside of work in months. They go deep on technical specs, arguing the merits of DSLR versus mirrorless. At some point Yoongi realizes Taehyung and Jimin have stopped talking and are just watching them.

"Are you two done discussing buttons and dials?" Jimin asks. His voice is light but there's an edge under it.

Yoongi looks at him. Jimin is holding his glass but hasn't drunk from it, and his face has that blank quality he gets when he's working very hard to look unbothered.

"Sorry," Jungkook says, ears going red. "I get carried away."

"You're fine," Taehyung tells him. He checks his phone, exchanges a look with Jungkook that Yoongi can't decipher. "We should probably head out though. You have that early shoot tomorrow."

"I do?"

"You do," Taehyung says, meaningful, and Jungkook's mouth forms an oh of understanding.

They stand and Taehyung turns to Jimin. "You good? We can drop you."

"I'm fine." Jimin doesn't look at him. "My place is ten minutes from here."

Taehyung's hand comes to rest briefly on Jimin's shoulder, a touch that says more than words. "Call me tomorrow."

"Yeah."

They leave and it's just Yoongi and Jimin in the booth, jazz playing low and the bartender wiping down glasses on the other side of the room. Jimin is still holding his untouched drink.

"You want to finish that?" Yoongi asks.

Jimin sets it down. "Not really."

They walk. The streets are quieter now, late enough that the clubs are full and the restaurants are closing. Jimin walks with his hands in his pockets, silent. Yoongi is pleasantly drunk and aware enough to know Jimin is in some kind of mood, but not sober enough to figure out what.

"Jungkook seems nice," Yoongi says. "Knows a lot about cameras."

"He knows a lot about everything," Jimin says. "It's exhausting."

He doesn't sound like he means it. Yoongi glances at him but Jimin's face gives nothing away, lit occasionally by streetlights and then falling back into shadow.

They reach Jimin's building and ride the elevator in silence. Jimin unlocks his door and Yoongi follows him inside, and the second the door closes behind them Jimin is pushing him against the wall.

The kiss is hard, more fight than affection. Jimin's mouth is demanding and his hands fist in Yoongi's shirt and everything about this feels like an argument they're having without words. Yoongi kisses him back with the same energy, gets his hands on Jimin's waist and pulls him closer. Jimin makes a sound against his mouth and it's angry, frustrated, something raw underneath.

Then Jimin pulls back. Not far, just enough to breathe.

"You seemed relaxed tonight," he says. His voice is carefully neutral. "Nothing like the prick you are at work."

Yoongi's brain is still catching up, still processing the shift from kissing to talking. "Good company. Good food."

"You and Hoseok seem close."

"We hang out. Him and me and Namjoon."

"He calls you hyung." Jimin is watching his face now, intent.

Yoongi looks back at him, trying to understand where this is going. "Yeah."

"He makes you laugh. Smile, even."

"You make me laugh too."

"Not like that." Jimin steps back, puts space between them. "You were relaxed with him. Warm, even. And with me you're always..."

He doesn't finish. Yoongi can feel his pulse in his throat, the alcohol and confusion mixing with the dawning realization of what Jimin is actually saying.

"Jimin." His voice comes out softer than he intended. "He's my friend."

"I know." Jimin looks away. "I know that."

The silence stretches between them. Yoongi can hear his own breathing, can hear the distant sound of traffic outside.

"And what am I?" Jimin asks quietly.

The question lands heavy in Yoongi's chest. What is Jimin? His job. His assignment. The person whose behavior he documents and reports on. The person he texts photos of his cat to. The person whose bed he ends up in twice a week and whose mouth he thinks about when he's supposed to be working. The person he can't seem to stop wanting even though wanting him is the most reckless thing Yoongi has done in his careful, practical life.

"What do you want to be?" Yoongi asks.

Jimin's face changes, closes off. "I don't know." He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. 

"Forget it. I'm being stupid."

"You're not."

"I am." Jimin moves back toward him but the anger has faded from his posture.

Yoongi catches his wrist, tries to lighten the mood. "Why don't you call me hyung then? What's stopping you, little brat?"

Jimin's eyes flash at the teasing, some of the tension easing.

"You don't want to call me hyung," Yoongi says. His voice drops lower. "You want me to fuck you."

Jimin's breathing changes. "That's not—"

"You scream my name plenty when I'm inside you. Never bother with honorifics then."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Jimin kisses him again and this time it's different, needier, Jimin pressing against him like he's trying to get closer than skin allows. Yoongi walks him backward toward the bedroom, hands already working at Jimin's clothes. They lose the sweater somewhere between the living room and the hallway. Yoongi's shirt ends up on the floor.

In the bedroom Jimin drops to his knees without being asked. He gets Yoongi's belt open and his pants down and takes him in his mouth, and the wet heat of it makes Yoongi's head fall back against the doorframe. Jimin is good at this, knows exactly how to use his tongue, exactly how much pressure to apply. He looks up at Yoongi through his lashes and Yoongi gets a hand in his hair, holding on while Jimin works him.

Jimin takes him deeper, hollows his cheeks, and Yoongi swears. The sight of Jimin on his knees, mouth stretched around him, is going to live in Yoongi's memory for the rest of his life. When he gets close he tries to pull back but Jimin won't let him, hands tight on Yoongi's hips, and Yoongi comes with Jimin's name on his lips.

Jimin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stands. Still dressed, still hard, his lips wet and swollen. Yoongi pulls him toward the bed and strips him methodically, pushes him down onto the sheets.

He spreads his thighs and settles between them, and Jimin's breath already coming faster because he knows what's coming. Yoongi licks over his rim and Jimin's hips jerk off the bed. He works him open with his tongue, slow and thorough, while Jimin writhes and makes helpless sounds into his own hand.

When Jimin is trembling and incoherent, Yoongi wraps a hand around his cock and strokes in rhythm with his tongue. Jimin comes with a muffled shout, shaking apart, and Yoongi doesn't stop until he's wrung every last aftershock out of him.

After, Yoongi gets up and finds a towel in the bathroom. Comes back and wipes Jimin down, gentle over sensitive skin. Jimin watches him through half-closed eyes, boneless and spent.

They end up under the covers, Jimin's back against Yoongi's chest, Yoongi's arm around his waist. The room is dark and quiet except for their breathing evening out. Yoongi's eyes are already closing when he hears it.

"Goodnight," Jimin says. Then, so quiet Yoongi almost misses it: "Hyung.”

Yoongi's eyes open in the dark. The word hangs between them, tentative and testing. He could say something. Acknowledge it. But Jimin's breathing has already gone soft and even, pretending to be asleep, and maybe that's easier for both of them. Yoongi tightens his arm around Jimin's waist and closes his eyes and doesn't say anything at all.

October passes in a rhythm Yoongi didn't plan but has stopped questioning. Jimin comes over more often than he doesn't, shows up after work on Tuesday evenings and stays until Wednesday morning. He has a toothbrush in Yoongi's bathroom now, brings an overnight bag on the nights he knows he'll stay. Sometimes he steals Yoongi's clothes, baggy t-shirts and old hoodies that are nothing like the expensive things in his own closet, wears them around the apartment because they're comfortable. 

At work, Jimin shows up to meetings. Contributes. Stays engaged with the Jeju presentation prep in a way that makes it clear he actually cares about the outcome. The Phase One work is nearly complete, the renovated restaurant has been open for a month with Chef Baek running the kitchen, and early feedback is strong. Guest satisfaction scores are climbing, occupancy starting to trend up, and Jimin talks about the project like it's his, which it is. When Yoongi sends his monthly update to Chairman Park, the list of issues has gotten shorter. Fewer missed commitments, fewer incidents to document. The chairman's response is brief: Good progress. Keep it up

Jimin calls him hyung now, but only when they're alone. In the apartment, in bed, in quiet moments when nobody else is listening. It feels significant in ways Yoongi doesn't examine too closely.

On a Thursday in the third week of October, Yoongi wakes up feeling like someone poured cement into his skull.

His head is pounding. His muscles ache. When he tries to get out of bed his body protests, and by the time he's standing in his kitchen trying to make coffee he knows he's not going to work today. He texts his team that he's taking a sick day and crawls back into bed with Tang, who seems unimpressed by this development.

Around noon Seokjin asks him: You coming by tonight? Made extra kimchi.

Yoongi types back: Can't. Sick.

The response is immediate: I'll come over. Bring food and medicine.

No. Just want to sleep.

You sure?

Yeah.

He puts the phone down and closes his eyes and doesn't open them again until he hears knocking at his door hours later. For a moment he considers ignoring it, letting whoever it is give up and go away. Then he remembers he's an adult and drags himself out of bed.

Jimin is standing in the hallway holding a container of what looks like jook and a pharmacy bag.

"You look terrible," Jimin says.

"Thanks."

"Can I come in or are you going to make me stand here?"

Yoongi steps aside. Jimin walks past him into the kitchen and starts unpacking the pharmacy bag like he's done this before, lining up cold medicine and fever reducers on the counter. The jook goes into a bowl, into the microwave.

"How did you know I was sick?" Yoongi asks. His voice sounds raspy even to his own ears.

"Your team said you called in." Jimin pulls the bowl out of the microwave, tests the temperature with his finger. "You never take sick days, so I figured it was bad."

"I'm fine."

"You're swaying. Sit down before you fall over."

Yoongi sits at his small kitchen table and Jimin sets the bowl in front of him along with a spoon. The jook is plain, rice and water and a little salt, exactly what you're supposed to eat when you feel like death.

"You made this?" Yoongi asks.

"Don't sound so shocked. It's rice and water. I can manage rice and water."

"I am shocked."

"Eat." Jimin is already filling a glass with water, shaking out two pills from one of the bottles. "Then take these."

Yoongi eats because arguing takes energy he doesn't have. The jook is good, simple and warm and exactly what his stomach can handle. Jimin sits across from him and watches like he's supervising, and when Yoongi finishes half the bowl Jimin pushes the pills and water toward him.

"I can take care of myself," Yoongi says.

"Clearly. That's why you answered the door looking like you were about to pass out."

"I wasn't going to pass out."

"You were swaying."

"I was not."

"Take the pills, hyung."

Yoongi takes the pills. Jimin looks satisfied in a way that's annoying and also makes Yoongi's chest do something he's not going to think about right now.

"You should go back to bed," Jimin says. "The couch doesn't count. Actual bed."

"I'm fine here."

"You're being stubborn."

"I'm always stubborn."

"Today you're being stupid stubborn." Jimin stands and holds out his hand like he expects Yoongi to take it. "Come on."

Yoongi takes his hand and lets Jimin pull him up, and he must be sicker than he thought because he doesn't argue when Jimin walks him to the bedroom and makes him get under the covers properly. Tang follows them in and jumps onto the bed, settling near Yoongi's feet.

"Sleep," Jimin says. "I'll be here."

"You don't have to stay."

"I know."

Yoongi closes his eyes and feels the fever pulling him under. The last thing he's aware of is Jimin's hand brushing hair back from his forehead, cool against his skin.

When he wakes up it's dark outside and his fever has broken. His head still hurts but the cement feeling is gone, replaced by the hollow weakness that comes after being sick. He can hear the television playing quietly in the living room.

He gets up slowly, wraps himself in the blanket because he's cold now instead of burning, and shuffles out to find Jimin asleep on the couch with Tang curled up on his stomach. The TV is playing some drama Yoongi doesn't recognize, volume low. Jimin's head is tipped back against the cushions and his mouth is slightly open and he looks unguarded in a way he never is when he's awake.

Yoongi stands there in his doorway wrapped in his blanket and watches him sleep. Thinks about Jimin showing up with jook he made himself, making sure Yoongi took his medicine and went to bed properly, staying even though Yoongi told him he didn't have to. This was supposed to be casual. Manageable. Somehow nothing about it feels manageable anymore.

Tang opens one eye and looks at Yoongi like he's interrupting something important, then closes it again and goes back to sleep.

Yoongi returns to bed before Jimin wakes up and has to explain why he's standing in the doorway staring.

The following Monday, Yoongi sits at his desk and opens the document where he tracks updates for Chairman Park. It's been easier over the past few months, fewer incidents to report, more progress to document. Jimin showed up to every meeting last week. Contributed meaningfully to the Phase One review and stayed late on Thursday to finalize presentation materials.

Yoongi types it all out the way he's been typing these reports for months now, clinical and factual. Then he sits there looking at it and thinking about Jimin on his couch with Tang on his stomach, Jimin in his kitchen making sure he ate, Jimin calling him hyung in the dark.

He sends the report. Chairman Park responds within an hour: Excellent work. This is exactly what I needed from you.

Yoongi closes his laptop and sits in his office looking out at Seoul and feeling the weight of excellent work settle somewhere in his chest that makes it hard to breathe properly.

The last week of November, Phase One closes out with numbers better than anyone projected.

Yoongi has been tracking them since September, watching the weekly reports come in from Jeju with something that might be pride if he let himself call it that. Restaurant revenue up forty-three percent since Chef Baek took over. Premium floor occupancy holding above ninety percent even as the tourist season wound down. Guest satisfaction scores climbing every month, the comment cards full of praise for the food and the rooms and the staff who actually seem to care now.

Jimin did this. Jimin showed up to the contractor meetings and the tasting panels and the endless operational reviews. Jimin argued with vendors about fabric quality and fought with the restaurant manager about service standards and spent three days in Jeju in October walking every inch of the premium floor with Taehyung again, making sure the details were right. Yoongi supported, coordinated, kept the timeline on track. But the vision was Jimin's and the execution was Jimin's and the results belong to him.

The Phase Two presentation is scheduled for Thursday afternoon. Wednesday night they're at Jimin's apartment going through the slides one more time, takeout containers on the coffee table, Jimin's laptop open between them.

"The CFO is going to push back on the timeline," Jimin says. He's sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, scrolling through the budget projections. "He always pushes back on timelines."

"You have the contingency built in. Show him the buffer."

"I know." Jimin closes the laptop and sets it aside. "I know. I'm just—" He doesn't finish.

Yoongi watches him. Jimin has been quieter than usual all week, focused in a way that reads as anxious underneath. Tomorrow matters to him. Tomorrow is six months of work distilled into an hour-long presentation that will determine whether any of it continues.

"You're ready," Yoongi says.

"I know."

"The numbers speak for themselves."

"I know." Jimin tips his head back against the couch cushion and closes his eyes. "I just want him to see it. For once. I want him to actually see what I did."

Yoongi doesn't say anything. He knows who Jimin means by him.

They go to bed early. Jimin falls asleep with his head on Yoongi's chest and Yoongi lies there in the dark running through tomorrow's presentation in his head, anticipating questions, rehearsing answers. At some point he falls asleep too.

Thursday morning Jimin is up before the alarm, already showered and dressed by the time Yoongi opens his eyes. He's standing at the bathroom mirror adjusting his tie, and when Yoongi comes up behind him Jimin meets his eyes in the reflection.

"How do I look?"

"Like someone who's about to get Phase Two approved."

Jimin's mouth curves, just slightly. "That's the goal."

Yoongi leaves first. Takes the subway from Gangnam, gets to the office before nine, spends twenty minutes in the conference room pretending to review notes he already knows by heart. The CFO arrives, then a board member, then Chairman Park with his tablet and his reading glasses and that way he has of settling into the head of the table like he's granting the room permission to exist.

Jimin walks in five minutes before the hour. Black suit, folder tucked under his arm. He takes the seat across from Yoongi and opens his laptop and pulls up his slides without looking at anyone.

"Whenever you're ready," the chairman says.

Jimin stands.

The first ten minutes are Phase One results. Jimin walks them through revenue and occupancy and guest satisfaction, where they started, where they are now. The restaurant. The premium floor. The service issues they fixed in August.

The CFO asks about seasonal adjustment. Jimin pulls up a slide Yoongi hasn't seen before, walks through year-over-year numbers until the CFO nods and makes a note.

"Premium floor exceeded projections by twelve percent," Jimin says. "Guests from the soft launch in September are already booking again for spring."

"What's driving that?" the board member asks.

"The rooms. Heated floors. Blackout curtains that actually work. Sound system that connects without a manual."

Six months ago Jimin couldn't get through a meeting without checking his phone. Now he's answering the board member like he's been doing this his whole career.

They move to Phase Two. Yoongi takes the operational sections, timeline and budget and implementation framework. Jimin handles brand strategy and expansion plans. They hand off to each other the way they've learned to hand off, each one knowing where the other's section ends and theirs begins.

The presentation runs long. The CFO has questions about capital allocation. The board member wants to discuss risk scenarios. Jimin answers everything, pulls up supporting data, walks through the contingencies Yoongi helped him build. By the time they reach the final slide the hour has stretched to ninety minutes.

Chairman Park hasn't said anything since the beginning. He's been watching, making occasional notes on his tablet, his expression giving nothing away.

The room stills.

Yoongi watches the chairman set down his stylus. Watches him look at the final slide, the summary of recommendations, the projected returns. Watches him turn toward Yoongi.

"This is exactly the kind of progress I was hoping for when I brought you in, Director Min," he says. "Excellent work."

The words take a moment to register. Yoongi opens his mouth to respond but the chairman is already continuing, talking about operational improvements and strategic vision and the turnaround he'd been hoping to see since he made the hire nine months ago.

Yoongi looks at Jimin.

He's sitting very still. His hands are flat on the table in front of him, not moving, not even a twitch. His face has gone smooth in a way Yoongi recognizes, the mask he used to wear to every meeting before he started caring about anything. But his eyes are fixed on a point somewhere past his father's shoulder and there's a muscle jumping near his jaw.

"Jimin-ssi led this project," Yoongi says.

The chairman stops mid-sentence. Everyone looks at him.

"The brand strategy and execution were his," Yoongi continues. "I provided operational support. The results are his work."

Chairman Park looks at him for a long moment. Then his gaze shifts to Jimin, and his expression doesn't change at all.

"Of course," he says. "Good work, Jimin."

Three words. The same flat tone he'd use to acknowledge someone holding a door for him. He's already looking back at his tablet, already moving on.

"Phase Two is approved," he says. "Same reporting structure. We'll reconvene in January for the first update."

The meeting wraps up. The CFO asks about scheduling a budget review. The board member makes small talk about the holidays. Jimin closes his laptop and slides it into his bag and thanks everyone and walks out of the room without looking at Yoongi.

Yoongi excuses himself and follows.

The hallway is empty but the elevator doors are already closing. Yoongi takes the stairs, two at a time, makes it to the lobby in time to see Jimin crossing toward the parking garage.

"Jimin-ah."

He doesn't slow down. Yoongi follows him through the heavy door into concrete and harsh lights, their footsteps echoing off the low ceiling.

"Jimin, wait."

"I have somewhere to be."

"Can we talk about what just happened?"

Jimin stops walking. He's standing between two parked cars, his back to Yoongi, his shoulders rigid under his suit jacket.

"What just happened," he says slowly, "is that my father looked at six months of my work and thanked you for it. Phase Two got approved. Everything went exactly the way it was supposed to."

"I corrected him. I told him it was your work."

"After." Jimin turns around. His face is controlled, careful, showing nothing. "After he already said what he actually thinks. After he made it clear who he believes is responsible."

"Jimin."

"Congratulations on your excellent work, Director Min." Jimin pulls his keys from his pocket. "I'm sure he'll continue to be very pleased with your oversight."

"That's not fair."

"No?" Jimin unlocks his car. The lights flash, a small beep echoing in the concrete space. "You were hired to manage me. You managed me. He's happy with the results. What's unfair about that?"

"You know that's not what this is."

Jimin looks at him. For a moment something cracks through the control, something raw, and then it's gone again.

"I need to go," he says.

He gets in the car. Starts the engine. Yoongi steps back and watches him reverse out of the space, watches the car climb the ramp toward the exit, watches the taillights disappear around the corner.

The garage is quiet. Yoongi stands there between the empty parking space and the concrete pillar behind him and tries to figure out what the fuck just happened.

His phone goes off in his pocket, Hoseok asking how the presentation went, and Yoongi looks at the message for a long moment before putting it away unanswered. He takes the stairs back up to his office and sits at his desk until the light outside changes and the building goes quiet.

That evening he texts Jimin. Can we talk?

Read, no reply.

Tang jumps up on the couch around ten, kneads at his thigh and settles down with his head on Yoongi's leg. The apartment is too quiet. At eleven Yoongi stops waiting and goes to bed.

He doesn't sleep well.

Friday morning Jimin's office is dark. Still dark after lunch. At four Yoongi asks his assistant if she's heard from him.

"He emailed this morning," she says. "Said he's working from home today."

"Did he say when he'd be back?"

"Monday, I think?" She looks uncertain. "He didn't really specify."

That evening Yoongi sends another text. Jimin. Please.

Nothing comes back.

He leaves at seven because there's no reason to stay. Takes the subway home, feeds Tang, eats leftover rice standing at the kitchen counter because he can't bring himself to do anything else.

Saturday morning he's awake before dawn. He lies there for a while, thinking about Thursday, about the look on Jimin's face when the chairman said ‘this is exactly what I was hoping for when I brought you in’, the way Jimin walked out of that conference room without looking back. He keeps circling around to the parking garage, to what he could have said differently, whether anything would have mattered.

Eventually he gets up. Cleans the apartment because it needs doing and because it gives his hands something to focus on. Tang trails after him from room to room. Around noon he considers going to Jimin's place, but talks himself out of it. Jimin needs space. Showing up now would only make things worse.

He goes for a run that changes nothing, tries to read and gives up, and ends up at Seokjin's restaurant by evening, sitting at the counter while his brother handles the dinner rush.

"You look like shit," Seokjin says when things finally slow down.

"Thanks."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

Seokjin looks at him with that look he's been giving Yoongi since they were kids, the one that says he knows Yoongi is lying and is deciding whether to push. Tonight he doesn't push. Just sets a bowl of soup in front of Yoongi and goes back to wiping down the counter.

Yoongi eats the soup. Watches his brother close up the restaurant. Takes the subway home and sits on his couch in the dark and looks at the empty space where Jimin usually sits.

Sunday morning Yoongi tells himself to wait until Monday, give Jimin the weekend, be patient. By noon he's pacing. By evening he's standing at the window watching the light fade and thinking about Jimin alone in his apartment for three days, not answering texts, not coming to work.

He takes the subway to Gangnam.

The doorman waves him through without calling up and Yoongi takes the elevator to Jimin's floor, stands outside his door for a long moment trying to figure out what he's going to say.

He knocks.

Nothing happens. He waits, listening, and he's starting to wonder if Jimin is even home when he hears footsteps on the other side, slow and shuffling. The lock turns. The door opens.

Jimin is wearing Yoongi's old t-shirt, the grey one he left here weeks ago, and sweatpants that look slept in. His hair is unwashed and flat on one side and his eyes are red-rimmed with dark circles underneath. He looks like he hasn't slept properly in days.

"You're not answering your phone," Yoongi says.

"I know."

"Can I come in?"

Jimin looks at him for a long moment, his face giving nothing away, and then steps back to let him through.

The apartment is dark, curtains closed, the only light coming from a single lamp in the kitchen. There's a mug on the coffee table with something half-drunk in it, a blanket bunched up on one end of the couch. The air smells stale, like the windows haven't been opened in days.

Jimin walks to the kitchen and leans against the counter, putting the whole room between them.

Yoongi stays where he is, standing in the middle of the living room. He's been in this apartment dozens of times, slept in the bedroom, woken up with Jimin's head on his chest. Right now it feels like somewhere he's never been.

"You wanted to talk," Jimin says. His voice sounds hollow. "So talk."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on."

"You haven't been at work. You're not answering my texts. Something is going on."

Jimin's mouth twists. "He looked right past me. Six months of work and he thanked you for it. You corrected him. He said 'of course' and moved on because it didn't matter. Because I don't matter. The only thing that matters is that you did what he paid you to do."

"That's not—"

"Tell me I'm wrong." Jimin's voice cracks. "Tell me what this is. Tell me what I am to you."

Yoongi opens his mouth. The answer is there, somewhere in his chest, but it won't come out. He's never been good at this, at finding words for the things that matter most. He shows instead of tells. He thought Jimin understood that.

"You can't even say it." Jimin's face crumples for just a second before he pulls it back under control. "You can't even answer the question."

"It's complicated."

"It's not complicated." Jimin pushes off from the counter and takes a step closer. "You work for my father. You report to him every month. You've been sending him updates about me for nine months, telling him whether I'm showing up, whether I'm behaving, whether I'm finally turning into someone he can be proud of."

"That's my job."

"I know it's your job." Jimin's voice rises. "That's the problem. You were hired to manage me. To fix me. And somewhere in the middle of that we started—" He stops. Swallows. "We started whatever this is, and I let myself think it meant something. I let myself believe that you actually—"

He breaks off. His eyes are wet now.

"Jimin."

"You still work for him." Jimin's voice shakes. "You're still his. You still send him reports about me. Nothing has changed. So how do I know any of this is real? How do I know you're not just very, very good at your job?"

"Because I'm here." Yoongi takes a step toward him. "Because I haven't thought about anything else in three days."

"That's not an answer."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me what I am to you." His voice wavers. "I want you to choose me."

Silence.

"I need time," Yoongi says. "To figure out how to do this. To talk to your father."

"Time." Jimin laughs, a terrible sound, wet and broken. "You need time."

"I'm not saying no. I just need to think about how to handle this properly. I can't just—"

"You already answered." The fight drains out of Jimin's voice. "I asked you this once before and you changed the subject. Now I'm asking again and you're telling me you need time to figure it out.”

"That's not what I meant."

"It's what you said." Jimin's hands come up to grip his own elbows, holding himself together. "You need to think about it. You need to calculate whether I'm worth the risk."

"I'm trying to be careful."

"I know you are." A tear spills down his cheek. "I know. That's who you are. You're careful. You're practical. You think everything through before you act."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing." He exhales, unsteady. "Nothing's wrong with it. It's smart. It's sensible." His voice gives out on the next words. "I just needed you to not be careful. Just this once. I needed you to just choose me without thinking about it first."

Yoongi starts to say his name but Jimin keeps going.

"My father was in Shanghai when my mother died."

Yoongi stops.

"He had meetings." Jimin's voice is barely above a whisper. "Important meetings. He couldn't get away. By the time he got to the hospital she was already gone." He takes a shaky breath. "I asked him afterward, when I was old enough to ask. Why didn't you come home? Why didn't you get on a plane the second you heard? And he said—" His voice breaks. "He said he thought he had more time."

Yoongi doesn't say anything. Can't say anything.

"He thought he had more time." Jimin wipes at his face with the back of his hand, an impatient gesture that doesn't help. "And now you're standing here telling me you need time. You need to think about it. You need to figure out how to handle this properly."

"That's not the same thing."

"It feels the same." Jimin's whole body is shaking now. "It feels exactly the same. I ask you to choose me and you tell me you need to think about it and I'm standing here feeling like I'm sixteen years old again, waiting for someone to tell me I matter more than whatever else they have going on."

"You do matter."

"Then show me." Jimin's voice rises, desperate. "Choose me. Right now. Not after you've thought about it. Not after you've figured out the proper way to handle things. Just choose me."

Yoongi stands there.

The words are in his throat. I choose you. You matter more than any of it. All he has to do is open his mouth and let them out. All he has to do is close the distance between them and hold Jimin and say yes, yes, I choose you, I'll figure out the rest later.

But he's thinking about his job. About the chairman. About what happens if he says yes right now without a plan. He's thinking about the career he's spent years building, the stability he's worked so hard for, the practical realities of blowing all of that up on a Sunday night in someone's kitchen.

Jimin watches him struggle. Watches him hesitate. Watches him fail to find the words.

The desperation fades from his face, replaced by something quieter. Sadder.

"Yeah," he says. His voice is barely a whisper. "That's what I thought."

"Jimin—"

"Just go." He curls in on himself, making himself small. "Please. I need you to go."

"Let me explain."

"There's nothing to explain." His voice has gone hollow. "You need time. You need to think about it. I understand. I do."

"Please."

"I can't look at you right now." The words come out rough, scraped raw. "I need you to leave."

Yoongi stands there. He should cross the room. He should take Jimin in his arms and say the words that are stuck in his throat and be braver than he knows how to be.

"I'm sorry," he says instead.

Jimin doesn't answer.

Yoongi turns and walks to the door. His hand is on the knob when he stops, looks back. Jimin is standing in the kitchen, shoulders hunched, tears on his face, not looking at him.

"Go," Jimin says before Yoongi can speak.

Yoongi goes.

The door closes behind him, soft, and then he hears the lock turn. He stands there for a while, listening, but there's nothing to hear through the door.

Eventually he takes the elevator down. The lobby is empty except for the night doorman, who nods at him on his way out.

November is cold. He stands on the sidewalk looking up at the building, trying to figure out which windows are Jimin's. He could go back. Tell Jimin he changed his mind.

He walks to the subway instead.

The platform is nearly empty and the train comes quickly. Yoongi gets on, finds a seat in an empty car, watches the tunnel walls flash past the windows.

The train carries him home.

The first week of December, Yoongi has to go to Jimin's office.

It's a signature he needs, something for the Phase Two contracts that can't wait for email. He's been putting it off for two days, finding reasons to delay, but the legal team needs the documents by end of business and there's no one else who can sign them.

He walks down the hallway and stops outside Jimin's door. It's closed. He can see light underneath, which means Jimin is in there, which means Yoongi has to knock.

He thinks about the last time he was in this office. Three weeks ago, maybe four. Jimin had texted him to come look at something for the presentation, and when Yoongi arrived Jimin locked the door behind him and pushed him against the wall and kissed him until neither of them could think straight. They hadn't even made it to the couch.

Yoongi knocks.

"Come in."

He opens the door. Jimin is at his desk, laptop open, reading something on the screen. He doesn't look up right away, just holds up one finger in a gesture that says wait, and Yoongi stands there in the doorway feeling like an intruder in a space he used to belong.

When Jimin finally looks at him, his face gives nothing away.

"Director Min. What can I do for you?"

Director Min. Not Yoongi or Hyung. The formality sits between them like a closed door.

"I need your signature on the Phase Two vendor contracts." Yoongi crosses the room and sets the folder on Jimin's desk. "Legal needs them today."

Jimin opens the folder, flips through the pages, pulls a pen from his drawer. He signs where the tabs indicate, too quickly, not bothering to read what he's signing because he trusts that Yoongi wouldn't bring him anything that wasn't already vetted.

Or maybe he just wants this interaction to be over as quickly as possible.

"Anything else?" Jimin closes the folder and holds it out without standing, without coming any closer than necessary.

"No." Yoongi takes the folder. "Thank you."

"Of course."

Yoongi leaves. The door closes behind him and he stands in the hallway for a moment, folder in hand, trying to remember how to make his legs work.

This is how it's going to be now. Two colleagues who happen to work together on the same project, nothing more. He's going to walk past this office every day and remember what it felt like to be wanted here, and Jimin is going to treat him like a stranger, and neither of them is going to acknowledge that anything between them ever happened at all.

He goes back to his own office and sits at his desk and stares at the wall for a long time.

The company year-end party is held at the Park Grand Seoul, one of the hotels in the Park Group portfolio. The ballroom is on the thirty-second floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. It's the kind of venue that reminds everyone who signs their paychecks.

Yoongi arrives with Hoseok and Namjoon. He didn't want to come but Hoseok insisted, said it would look strange if he skipped it, that they'd only stay an hour. One hour. Yoongi can survive one hour.

The room is already crowded when they get there, clusters of people from different departments holding drinks and making small talk. Someone from marketing waves at Hoseok and he waves back. Namjoon spots someone from legal and excuses himself to go say hello. Yoongi finds a spot near the bar and orders whiskey and tells himself not to look for Jimin.

He looks for Jimin.

It takes him less than thirty seconds to find him. Across the room, near the windows, standing with Taehyung and a few other people Yoongi vaguely recognizes. Jimin is in a taupe suit with a brown turtleneck underneath, and he's laughing at something Taehyung just said, his whole face lit up with it.

Yoongi hasn't seen him laugh in weeks. At work Jimin is professional, contained, all his warmth locked away somewhere Yoongi can't reach. But here, with Taehyung, with people who aren't Yoongi, he looks like himself again.

Taehyung leans in to say something and Jimin tips his head back and laughs again, and Yoongi has to look away because it hurts too much to watch.

"You're staring."

Hoseok appears at his elbow, beer in hand.

"I'm not."

"You are." Hoseok takes a sip of his drink and doesn't push, which is unusual for him. "How long are we staying?"

"You said an hour."

"I lied. I'm already tired." Hoseok scans the room. "Namjoon found his legal friends, he'll be fine. You want to leave?"

Yoongi should say yes. Just get out of here before he does something stupid like walk across the room and try to talk to someone who doesn't want to talk to him.

"In a bit," he says.

Hoseok looks at him, then looks across the room at Jimin, then looks back at Yoongi. He doesn't say anything. Just stands there drinking his beer while Yoongi pretends not to watch Jimin move through the party, talking to people, smiling at people, never once glancing in Yoongi's direction.

Chairman Park makes a speech around nine. Thanks everyone for their hard work, talks about the company's growth, mentions the Jeju project as an example of successful innovation. He doesn't mention Jimin by name. Yoongi watches Jimin's face while his father speaks and sees nothing there at all, the mask firmly in place.

After the speech people start filtering out. Namjoon comes back, tipsy and cheerful, talking about someone's contract dispute that apparently got resolved. Hoseok steers them toward the elevators.

Yoongi glances back one more time before they leave. Jimin is still by the windows, still with Taehyung, still not looking at him.

He gets in the elevator and watches the doors close.

Christmas comes and Yoongi stays in Seoul.

His mother calls to ask why he isn't coming home and he tells her work is busy, that he can't take the time off right now. She doesn't believe him but she doesn't push, just tells him to eat well and stay warm and call more often.

Seokjin shows up at his apartment two days before Christmas with food he made at the restaurant, containers of gukbap and kimchi and rice, enough to last Yoongi a week if he rations it. He takes one look at the state of Yoongi's apartment and doesn't comment, just puts the food in the refrigerator and sits down on the couch and waits.

"I'm fine," Yoongi says before Seokjin can ask.

"You look terrible."

"Thanks."

"I mean it. You're not coming home, you barely answer your phone. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Yoongi."

"It's work stuff. It's fine."

Seokjin doesn't believe him. Yoongi can see it in his face, the skepticism, the concern. But Seokjin has always known when to push and when to wait, and tonight he chooses to wait.

"Call me if you need anything," he says when he leaves. "I mean it. Anything."

"I will."

"You won't, but I'm saying it anyway.”

After Seokjin leaves, Yoongi sits on the couch in the dark and listens to the silence. Tang jumps up beside him, the little bell on his collar jingling as he moves. The yellow chick bell that Jimin bought because he thought it was funny, because he was always bringing things over for Tang like he was trying to win the cat's approval.

Yoongi had rolled his eyes when Jimin showed up with it. Had said something about how Tang was a dignified animal who didn't need to wear ridiculous accessories. Jimin had laughed and put the collar on Tang anyway and Tang had tolerated it the way he tolerated everything Jimin did, with patient resignation and occasional purring.

The bell jingles again as Tang settles into Yoongi's lap. Yoongi can't bring himself to take it off.

In the bathroom, Jimin's toothbrush is still in the holder next to the sink. Yoongi keeps meaning to throw it away and keeps not doing it. In the bedroom, there's a cashmere sweater folded on the chair, impossibly soft, something Jimin left behind one morning when he borrowed one of Yoongi's hoodies instead.

Yoongi's shampoo runs out the day after Christmas. He stands in the shower looking at the empty bottle and then at Jimin's shampoo, the expensive one Jimin brought over because he refused to use Yoongi's cheap drugstore brand.

He uses Jimin's shampoo.

He smells like Jimin for the rest of the day, that familiar peachy scent he used to breathe in when they were lying in bed together, when Jimin would tuck his head under Yoongi's chin and Yoongi would press his nose into Jimin's hair. It's torture. He can't stop noticing it, keeps catching whiffs of it throughout the day, keeps being ambushed by the memory of what it felt like to have Jimin close enough to smell.

He doesn't use it again. He goes out and buys new shampoo even though it's freezing outside and he doesn't want to leave the apartment.

The first Friday of January, Hoseok texts him.

Drinks tonight? Namjoon can't make it but I need to get out of here.

Yoongi has been saying no to these invitations for weeks. Finding excuses, claiming he's tired, saying maybe next time. But Hoseok has been patient and persistent and tonight Yoongi doesn't have the energy to come up with another excuse.

Fine. Where?

They meet at a bar in Mapo, a place they've been to before, small and dim and not too crowded on a Friday night. Hoseok is already there when Yoongi arrives, nursing a beer at a table in the corner.

"You came." Hoseok sounds surprised even though he's the one who invited him.

"You've been asking for weeks."

"And you keep saying no. What changed?"

Yoongi sits down and flags the server for a whiskey. He doesn't have a good answer for that so he doesn't try to give one.

They drink for a while without talking about anything important. Work, a movie Hoseok saw, nothing that matters.

Yoongi is on his third whiskey when Hoseok sets down his beer and says, "Okay, I can't do this anymore."

Yoongi looks at him.

"You've been weird for two months," Hoseok says. "You barely talk anymore. You never come out. And every time Jimin walks into a room you look like someone kicked you in the stomach." He takes a breath. "What happened?”

"Nothing happened."

"Hyung." Hoseok leans forward. "I'm not stupid. I saw you two at the party. I've seen you at work. Something happened and it's eating you alive and I'm tired of watching you pretend it's fine.”

Yoongi stares at his glass. He should change the subject, make a joke like he normally would. But he's tired and a little drunk and Hoseok is looking at him with genuine concern and he doesn't have the energy to keep pretending anymore.

"It's complicated," he says.

"So uncomplicate it. Tell me."

Yoongi takes a drink, then another. "I work for his father. I was hired to help him, professionally. Make him better at his job. And then somewhere along the way it turned into something else and I let it happen and now it's over."

Hoseok is quiet for a moment. "When you say something else..."

"Yeah."

"Shit." Hoseok leans back in his chair. "I thought maybe, but I wasn't sure. How long?"

"Since Jeju. April."

"That's..." Hoseok does the math. "Nine months. And now?"

"Now he won't look at me. He asked me to choose him and I hesitated and that was it. He told me to leave."

"Choose him how?"

Yoongi thinks about that night in Jimin's apartment, the look on Jimin's face when Yoongi couldn't give him an answer.

"He wanted me to say it was real. That he mattered more than the job, more than being careful. And I couldn't. I stood there and I couldn't say it."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm an idiot." Yoongi finishes his drink. "I've spent my whole life not taking risks. Every time I've ever had to choose between something safe and something that could blow up in my face, I've chosen safe. And he knew that. He knew that about me and he asked anyway and I proved him right."

Hoseok signals the server for another round. "Do you love him?"

The question is so blunt. It's how Hoseok asks things when he's done being patient.

"I don't know," Yoongi says. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I've never—" Yoongi stops. Starts again. "I've never been in love before. Not really. I don't know what it's supposed to feel like."

"It feels like this," Hoseok says. "You can't stop thinking about them and everything reminds you of them. Like you'd rather be miserable with them than fine without them."

"That sounds terrible."

"It is." Hoseok grins, but there's something sad in it. "It's the worst. And also the best. You don't get to have one without the other."

The server brings their drinks. Yoongi wraps his hands around the glass and doesn't drink, just holds it.

"I miss him," he says quietly. "Every day. I thought it would get better but it's getting worse. I keep thinking about him, about what he said… the way he looked when I left. And I don't know how to make it stop."

"Do you want it to stop?"

Yoongi looks at him.

"Because if you do, you just wait it out," Hoseok says. "Eventually it fades. You move on, meet someone else. Forget. But if you don't want it to stop..." He shrugs. "Then you do something about it."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, hyung. That's your call. But sitting here drinking yourself sad isn't going to fix anything."

Yoongi drinks his whiskey and doesn't say anything for a long time.

"He's not going to wait forever," Hoseok says eventually. "If you want him, you have to actually do something. Not just feel bad about it, but actually do something."

"I know."

"Do you?"

Yoongi meets his eyes. "I know."

They finish their drinks and pay and walk out into the cold January night. Hoseok's breath fogs in the air as they stand on the sidewalk.

"Get some sleep," he says. "And hyung? Figure out what you're going to do. Soon. Before it's too late."

He waves and heads for the subway. Yoongi watches him go, then starts walking in the other direction.

By the time he gets home it's past midnight. Tang is waiting by the door, meowing in complaint. Yoongi picks him up and carries him to the couch, and the yellow chick bell jingles as Tang settles against his chest.

He sits there in the dark for a long time, thinking about what Hoseok said. About doing something instead of waiting until it's too late.

He's been sending reports to Chairman Park for ten months. Hollow, factual reports about his son's progress and attendance and performance. Every one of them a small betrayal that Yoongi told himself was just part of the job.

Jimin asked him to choose. And Yoongi asked for time.

He's had time. Two months of it. And Hoseok is right, sitting here feeling sorry for himself isn't going to change anything.

If he wants Jimin, he has to do something. Something real. Something that proves he's willing to risk the safe, careful life he's built.

He doesn't know exactly what that looks like yet. But he knows where it has to start.

It has to start with the chairman.

Monday morning, Yoongi requests a meeting with Chairman Park.

The assistant looks at him like he's asked to borrow a kidney, but she checks the calendar and finds a slot at ten. Yoongi thanks her and goes back to his office and sits at his desk not doing anything useful until 9:55.

The chairman's office is on the top floor. Yoongi has been here a dozen times in the past ten months, always to deliver updates on Jimin, always leaving feeling like he'd just had a performance review he hadn't prepared for. The view from the corner windows is supposed to be impressive. Yoongi has never been able to look at it properly.

Chairman Park is at his desk when Yoongi walks in. He doesn't look up right away, just gestures to the chair across from him and continues reading whatever is on his tablet. Yoongi sits and waits.

When the chairman finally sets the tablet down, his face gives nothing away. "Director Min. What did you want to discuss?"

"The arrangement regarding Jimin-ssi." Yoongi keeps his voice even. "I can no longer continue with the monitoring aspect of my position."

"Why not?"

"I'm not able to report objectively anymore. My perspective has become compromised."

The chairman watches him. That assessing look Yoongi has seen him give vendors and board members and, occasionally, his own son. Calculating value.

"Compromised how?"

"I'd rather not go into specifics."

"That's not an answer."

"With respect, Chairman Park-nim, it's the only one I can give you."

The silence stretches. Yoongi keeps his hands flat on his knees and waits.

"Are you offering to resign?" the chairman asks finally.

"If that's what you want."

"I asked what you're offering."

"I'm offering to step back from the monitoring. Continue with operational work only." Yoongi takes a breath. "Or leave, if you'd prefer."

Chairman Park turns his chair toward the window. Seoul spreads out below them, grey and sprawling under a January sky. When he speaks again his voice is different, quieter.

"The monitoring was always meant to be temporary. A way to get the project started, establish some accountability. Phase One is complete. Phase Two is on track." He pauses. "If you're telling me that arrangement has run its course, I don't necessarily disagree."

Yoongi nods.

"Your contract is up for renewal in February. We can discuss terms if you're interested in staying. Operational work only."

"I am. Thank you."

The chairman turns back to face him. "Is there anything else?"

Yoongi should leave. He got what he came for. But he thinks about Jimin at the presentation, how his whole body went rigid when his father thanked the wrong person. He thinks about the parking garage, the stale apartment, the way Jimin looked when he told Yoongi to leave.

"One more thing," he says. "Your son."

The chairman's face doesn't change.

"The Jeju results were his work. All of it. The brand strategy, the execution, the day-to-day decisions that made the difference. I coordinated timelines and managed operations. But he showed up every day for six months and built something real." Yoongi holds the chairman's gaze. "He argued with contractors about things I would have let slide. He pushed back on vendors when they tried to cut corners. He went to Jeju and walked every inch of that premium floor until it was right."

"I'm aware of the work that went into the project."

"Are you?" The question comes out sharper than Yoongi intended. He doesn't soften it. "Because when the presentation ended, you looked at me. You thanked me for the turnaround. You talked about what I accomplished."

The chairman is watching him now, something unreadable in his expression.

"He was sitting right there," Yoongi says. "He'd just finished presenting six months of his own work, and you looked past him and thanked someone else."

"Director Min—"

"He's capable. He's smart. He works harder than anyone gives him credit for." Yoongi's voice is steady but his hands are not. He presses them harder against his knees. "I don't know what happened between you before I got here. That's not my business. But whatever you assumed when you hired me to fix him, you were wrong."

The silence that follows is long enough that Yoongi starts to wonder if he's just ended his career after all.

"You care about him," the chairman says finally. It's not a question.

"Yes."

"Is that what compromised your objectivity?"

Yoongi doesn't answer. He doesn't have to.

Chairman Park looks at him for a long moment. Something in his posture shifts, some tension Yoongi hadn't noticed until it eased.

"Thank you for your candor, Director Min."

A dismissal. Yoongi stands, bows, and walks out.

The week passes slowly.

Yoongi goes to work, sits through meetings, answers emails. He doesn't text Jimin. He's not sure what he would say.

Saturday morning, Tang knocks his water bowl off the kitchen counter.

Water spreads across the tile in a widening pool. Tang sits in the middle of it with his ears flat, glaring at the overturned bowl like it committed a personal offense. Yoongi grabs a towel and gets down on his knees to mop it up. Tang relocates to the top of the refrigerator, out of reach but still supervising.

"You're a menace," Yoongi tells him.

Tang meows, unrepentant.

Yoongi picks up his phone to take a picture. Tang is perched on the refrigerator with his ears back and his tail puffed up, the yellow bell on his collar bright against his black fur. He looks ridiculous and furious and exactly like himself.

Yoongi sends the photo to Jimin before he can think about it. Tang says hi.

He puts the phone down and finishes cleaning up the water. When he checks again there's a reply.

tell him i say hi back.

He looks at Tang, who has jumped down from the refrigerator and is now sitting in the exact spot where the water bowl used to be, demanding breakfast. He misses you

i miss him too.

Yoongi feeds Tang. Reads the message again. 

Types: I miss you too

He puts the coffee on and stands at the counter watching the pot fill. His phone buzzes.

don't

His hands aren't steady when he picks it up. 

Jimin-ah. Can we talk? Please.

The coffee finishes brewing. Yoongi pours a cup he doesn't drink, just holds it, waiting.

okay. i'll come over.

"Okay," Yoongi says out loud to Tang, who ignores him. "Okay."

The buzzer sounds maybe twenty minutes later. Yoongi crosses to the intercom and presses the button, then opens his front door and waits in the doorway.

Jimin comes up the stairs wearing jeans and his winter coat, both hands shoved deep in his pockets. There are shadows under his eyes. Yoongi probably has matching ones.

"Hi," Yoongi says.

"Hi."

They stand there. Yoongi's heart is doing something uncomfortable in his chest and he can't tell if Jimin is going to turn around and leave or step inside, can't read anything in his face except exhaustion.

"Can I come in?" Jimin asks finally.

Yoongi steps back. Jimin walks past him into the apartment, and Tang immediately abandons his food bowl to wind around Jimin's ankles, meowing.

"Hey," Jimin says, crouching down. "Hey, I missed you."

Tang butts his head against Jimin's hand, purring loud enough that Yoongi can hear it from the doorway. The yellow bell jingles.

Yoongi closes the door. Jimin straightens up, and now they're both standing in Yoongi's living room with nothing between them.

"My father told me you went to see him." Jimin is looking at the window, not at Yoongi. "That you said the Jeju results were mine. That you told him he was wrong about me."

"I did."

Jimin turns to face him. "Why?"

"Because it was true."

"That's not what I mean." His voice has an edge to it now. "Two months of nothing, and then you go to my father. Why?"

Yoongi leans against the door. The answer is there but he has to find the right words for it, has to make Jimin understand.

"Because I should have done it a long time ago. And because I couldn't keep sitting with the fact that I hadn't."

"So this was about making yourself feel better?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know." Yoongi runs a hand through his hair. "I needed to do something that wasn't just missing you. Something that was actually real."

Jimin stands there waiting, not letting him off easy.

"You were right," Yoongi says. "That night. You said I was calculating whether you were worth the risk. I told myself it was reasonable, that anyone would need time to think. But that wasn't why I hesitated."

"Then why?"

"Because I was scared. Not of your father or my job. I was scared of how much I wanted you."

Tang meows and jumps onto the couch, curling into a ball against the cushions. Neither of them looks at him.

"There was this day," Yoongi says. "Back in June. You were arguing with some contractor about stripping a kitchen down to the studs. He wanted to cut corners and you wouldn't let him. You kept pushing until he agreed to do it right." He swallows. "I was standing there watching you and I thought, I would ruin my whole life for this person. And it scared me so much I didn't let myself think it again."

Jimin crosses the room and stops right in front of him.

"You'd ruin your whole life for me?"

"I would. I think I already have, a little."

"That's dramatic."

"I mean it."

"I know you do." Jimin takes Yoongi's hand. "That's the problem. I know you mean it and I'm still so angry at you."

"You should be."

"I am. You let me think—" His voice breaks. "Two months. Two months of walking past each other at work like strangers. Two months of me thinking I'd asked for too much."

"You didn't ask for too much."

"I know that now." Jimin's grip on his hand tightens. "But I didn't know it then. I spent two months thinking you'd decided I wasn't worth it."

"You were always worth it. I was just too scared to say it."

"Then say it now."

Yoongi brings his other hand up to cup Jimin's face.

"I love you," he says. "I've loved you for months. I should have told you that night instead of asking for time. I'm telling you now."

Jimin's eyes go wet. He blinks and a tear spills over, warm where it hits Yoongi's thumb.

"I love you too," he says. "I've been in love with you for months and it's been awful."

"Awful?"

"The worst. Zero stars." Jimin almost smiles through the tears. "Would not recommend falling in love with someone who needs time to think about it."

"I'm not thinking anymore."

"Good." Jimin pulls him closer by the front of his sweater.

He kisses Yoongi and Yoongi kisses him back, one hand still on his face, the other at the small of his back. Jimin's hands are fisted in his sweater and they're both shaking and it's messy, graceless, neither of them trying to make it anything other than what it is.

When they break apart Jimin doesn't let go of his sweater.

"I'm still mad at you," he says.

"I know."

"I'm going to be mad for a while."

"That's fair."

"But I'm not leaving." Jimin looks at him. "I'm not going back to the last two months."

"Neither am I."

Jimin kisses him again, softer this time, then again, and Yoongi loses track of how many times, just knows that Jimin keeps coming back for more until Tang meows from the couch, loud and insistent.

Jimin pulls back with a wet laugh. "Okay, okay.”

He goes to the couch and scoops Tang up. The cat starts purring immediately, mollified now that he's gotten his way. Jimin sits down with Tang settling into his lap, and when he looks up at Yoongi there's still tears on his face but he's smiling.

Yoongi crosses the room and sits beside him. Jimin leans into him, head finding Yoongi's shoulder. Tang is a warm weight between them, purring loud enough to feel through Jimin's chest. When Yoongi wraps his arm around him, Jimin lets out a long breath. 

"Stay," Yoongi says.

Jimin turns his face into Yoongi's neck. "I was planning on it."

They spend the rest of the day in bed. At least most of it. Jimin falls asleep sometime around three with his face pressed into Yoongi's neck, one leg thrown over Yoongi's hip, and Yoongi lies there awake running his thumb along Jimin's spine and thinking about the two months they lost because he was too careful to risk anything. When Jimin wakes up an hour later he's quiet for a long time, just breathing against Yoongi's collarbone, and then he tilts his head up and kisses him and it turns into more.

Later they eat ramyeon standing in the kitchen because neither of them wants to bother with anything more complicated. Jimin steals bites from Yoongi's bowl even though his own isn't finished. Tang winds between their ankles demanding attention they don't give him.

They go back to bed.

Sunday morning Yoongi wakes up to pale winter light coming through the curtains and Jimin's hair tickling his jaw. He doesn't move. Jimin is still asleep, one arm slung across Yoongi's chest, breathing slow and even. Tang is curled up at the foot of the bed, the yellow bell on his collar silent for once.

Yoongi closes his eyes and lets himself have this. The weight of Jimin against him, the warmth, the particular smell of Jimin's shampoo mixed with sleep and skin. He's drifting back under when Jimin's stomach growls, loud enough that Tang lifts his head to investigate.

Jimin makes a small sound of complaint and burrows closer.

"You're hungry," Yoongi says.

"No."

"Your stomach disagrees."

"My stomach doesn't know what it wants."

Yoongi runs his hand through Jimin's hair, feels him relax into the touch. "I don't have anything here. We could order something."

Jimin is quiet for a moment. Then he says, "Or we could go out."

"You want to go out?"

"I want to leave this bed even less than I want food, but yeah." Jimin props himself up on one elbow, squinting at Yoongi in the morning light. His hair is sticking up on one side. "We should probably eat actual food at some point."

Yoongi thinks about the restaurants nearby, the places they could walk to, and then thinks about something else. "My brother has a restaurant. In Mangwon-dong."

Jimin goes still. "Your brother?"

"Yeah. Seokjin. He makes gukbap." Yoongi is watching Jimin's face, trying to read his reaction. "We could go there. If you want."

"You want me to meet your brother?"

"I want to take you to his restaurant," Yoongi says, which isn't the same thing but also completely is. "You don't have to. We can go somewhere else."

Jimin is looking at him with an expression Yoongi can't quite parse. "No, I... Yeah. Let's go."

"You sure?"

"Are you sure? Because you look kind of nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"You're doing that thing with your jaw."

"What thing?"

"That thing where you're thinking too hard about something." Jimin kisses him quick. "I want to meet your brother. Let's go."

They shower separately because Jimin points out, correctly, that if they shower together they'll end up back in bed and neither of them will eat until dinner. Yoongi stands under the water thinking about the fact that he's never brought anyone to Seokjin's restaurant before.

When he gets out Jimin is already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed with Tang in his lap. He looks up when Yoongi walks in.

"Does he know about me?" Jimin asks.

Yoongi pulls a sweater from his drawer. "He knows there was someone. He doesn't know who."

"What did you tell him?"

"Not much." Yoongi pulls the sweater on. "He knew something was wrong in December. He brought food over, tried to get me to talk. I didn't."

"So he's going to take one look at me and know I'm the reason you looked terrible."

"You're the reason I looked terrible because I missed you." Yoongi crosses to the bed, takes Jimin's face in his hands. "He's going to like you."

"How do you know?"

"Because I like you. That's usually enough."

Jimin's mouth curves. "You like me?"

"A lot, apparently."

"Good." Jimin stands up, dislodging Tang, who meows his disapproval. "Let's go before I lose my nerve.”

They take the subway to Mangwon. Jimin doesn't say much on the ride, just sits next to Yoongi with his shoulder pressed against his.

The restaurant is quiet when they arrive, only a couple of the tables occupied. Seokjin is refilling banchan containers behind the counter. He looks up when they walk in and his eyes go straight to Jimin, then back to Yoongi.

"Hey," Seokjin says.

"Hyung." Yoongi's pulse is too fast. "This is Jimin. My boyfriend."

Seokjin sets down the container he's holding. "Boyfriend."

"Yeah."

"Huh." Seokjin comes around the counter, still looking at Jimin. "I'm Seokjin. Nice to meet you."

"You too," Jimin says.

"Sit wherever. You eating?"

"Yeah."

"Two gukbap?"

Yoongi nods and Seokjin disappears into the kitchen. They take the table by the window and Jimin shrugs out of his coat, drapes it over the back of his chair.

"That was okay?" Jimin asks quietly.

"That was fine."

"He didn't seem surprised."

"Hyung doesn't surprise easily."

The food comes out faster than usual. Seokjin sets both bowls down with banchan and lingers for a second.

"Mind if I sit?" he asks.

"Go ahead," Yoongi says.

Seokjin pulls out a chair. There's a pause, and then Jimin says, "You two don't really look alike."

"I know.” Seokjin grins. “I got all the height. And the good looks."

"The height, maybe," Yoongi says.

"And the charm. He got the ability to sulk."

"I don't sulk."

"You sulked for a week when I—"

"Hyung," Yoongi cuts him off, glancing at Jimin.

Seokjin grins wider. "Fine. I'll save the embarrassing stories for later."

Jimin is trying not to smile.

"Anyway." Seokjin stands up. "Eat before it gets cold. I've got actual work to do."

He heads back to the kitchen and Jimin picks up his spoon. Takes a bite and his eyebrows go up.

"This is really good."

"It's my mom's recipe. Seokjin spent about a year trying to get it exactly right."

"Like your mom's galbi jjim."

"Yeah. Same thing. He's obsessive about getting recipes perfect."

They eat. Jimin asks about the restaurant, how long Seokjin's had it, and Yoongi tells him about his brother saving for years, about opening the place last winter, about their mom crying when she saw the sign.

When they're finished Yoongi gets up to pay but Seokjin shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm paying."

"You're my brother. It's fine."

"I brought Jimin on a date. I'm paying."

Seokjin stops. "A date."

"Our first one, actually," Jimin says.

Seokjin looks between them. "Your first date is gukbap at my restaurant."

"The gukbap was great," Jimin says.

"That's not the point." Seokjin takes the money Yoongi holds out anyway. "Next time go somewhere nice. With actual ambiance."

"I liked it here," Jimin says.

Seokjin looks at him for a moment, then his mouth curves. "Yeah. Okay. Come back soon, both of you."

Outside it's started snowing, light flurries that aren't sticking yet. Jimin stops on the sidewalk and looks up at the sky.

"I like your brother," he says.

"Just my brother?"

Jimin turns to look at him. There's snow catching in his hair, melting before it can settle. "I like you too. A lot."

Yoongi pulls him close, kisses him quick. Jimin's nose is cold against his cheek but his lips are warm and when they pull apart he's smiling.

They walk to the subway station with their hands in their coat pockets, close enough that their shoulders bump. The snow is coming down heavier by the time they descend the stairs, and on the platform Jimin stands close while they wait for the train.

On the ride back Jimin leans against him and Yoongi lets his head tip sideways to rest against Jimin's. The train rocks and sways and Jimin's hand finds his between them, fingers threading together where no one can see.

Yoongi closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of Jimin's shampoo and thinks about his brother's face when he said boyfriend. About Jimin saying I liked it here. About this being real enough to bring home.

The train slows for their stop and Jimin squeezes his hand once before letting go.

It's late September, and Jeju is holding onto the last of its warmth.

Jimin is standing at the bathroom mirror in one of the renovated suites, the one with the ocean view and the soaking tub he argued about with Taehyung for two weeks because the original spec was too small. He's fixing his collar for the third time. Yoongi watches from the bed where he's sitting with his shoes already on, waiting.

"It's fine," Yoongi says.

"It's not sitting right."

"It's sitting exactly like it was sitting thirty seconds ago."

Jimin shoots him a look through the mirror. "You're not helping."

"I'm telling you the truth. That's helping."

Jimin turns away from the mirror and faces him. 

Navy suit, no tie, hair longer than he used to wear it and falling across his forehead in a way that makes him look younger. He looks good. He looked good twenty minutes ago when he first put the suit on, and he looked good an hour ago when he was still in bed complaining about having to get up.

"How do I look?" Jimin asks.

"Like someone who should stop asking."

"That's not an answer."

Yoongi stands up, crosses to him. Straightens his collar even though it doesn't need straightening, lets his hands rest there for a moment. "You look like you. That's enough."

Jimin's shoulders drop slightly, some of the tension leaving. "I keep thinking something's going to go wrong. The caterers, or the sound system, or someone's flight gets delayed and they don't make it."

"Chef Baek has the food under control. The sound system worked fine at the check yesterday. And if someone's flight is delayed, that's their problem, not yours."

"What if no one shows up?"

"The RSVPs are at ninety-six."

"What if they all cancel?"

"Then we'll have a lot of leftover wine and a very nice evening to ourselves."

Jimin's mouth twitches. "You're too calm. It's making me worse."

"I can catastrophize with you if that helps."

"Maybe." He's moved on from his collar to his cuffs now. "My father texted. Asking about the Busan projections."

"This morning?"

"Mm. I told him we'll talk tomorrow." He looks up. "He does that when he's nervous. Finds work to talk about instead."

This is new, Jimin being able to say that without it landing like an accusation. Yoongi doesn't comment on it.

"Come here."

Jimin crosses to him and Yoongi kisses him. Nothing urgent, just the kind of kiss that says I'm here and we have time. When they pull apart Jimin looks steadier.

"Okay," Jimin says. "Terrace. I need to check the setup."

"You checked it yesterday."

"Twice. And I'm checking it again."

He's already heading for the door.

The event space fills slowly and then all at once.

Yoongi stands near the bar with a glass of something he's barely touched, watching the room. Press credentials and silk dresses and men in suits examining the renovation work with professional interest. Through the windows the ocean is flat and silver under the afternoon light, and inside the air smells like the white floral arrangements someone on Jimin's team spent weeks sourcing.

Jimin is across the room talking to a woman from a travel magazine, explaining something about the design philosophy with his hands. He's good at this, always has been when he decides to show up. The difference now is that he shows up. Has been showing up, consistently, since the project started. The version of Jimin who would have disappeared halfway through this conversation, who would have found an excuse to be anywhere else, feels distant now. Like someone Yoongi used to know.

Taehyung appears at his elbow. "He's been talking to her for fifteen minutes. I think she's in love with him."

"She's writing a feature on the property. She's supposed to talk to him."

"Still. Look at her face." Taehyung takes a sip of his champagne. "He's good at this."

"He designed half of what she's looking at. He should be good at talking about it."

"That's not what I mean." Taehyung is watching Jimin with something that might be pride. "He's different. You know that, right? From before."

Yoongi doesn't answer. He does know. He's watched it happen, month by month, meeting by meeting, all the small moments that don't mean anything on their own but add up to something that does.

"Jungkook's getting good shots," Taehyung says, nodding toward the far corner where Jungkook is crouched low, camera aimed at the crowd. "He's going to want to show you all of them later. Every single one. For hours."

"I'll make sure to have plans."

"You're a terrible person."

"You're the one who's dating him."

Taehyung grins and moves off toward Jungkook, and Yoongi turns his attention back to the room.

Chairman Park speaks at five.

The crowd gathers near the windows where a small platform has been set up, nothing elaborate, just enough elevation to see over heads. Yoongi finds a spot toward the side where he can see both the chairman and Jimin, who is standing near the front with his arms crossed, watching his father approach the microphone.

The chairman looks older than he did a year ago. Or maybe Yoongi is just noticing it now, the grey at his temples, the slight stoop that wasn't there before. He's not a young man. He's a father who lost his wife and spent a decade not knowing how to talk to his son and is only now, slowly, learning.

"Thank you all for being here," the chairman begins. The standard opening, the thank-yous to staff and partners and press. Yoongi has heard variations of this speech at every company event he's attended in the past. The words wash over him without landing.

Then the chairman pauses. Looks at the crowd, and then at Jimin.

"This property has been in our portfolio for eleven years," he says. "For most of that time, it performed adequately. Not exceptionally or memorably. It was a place people stayed and then forgot about." He looks at Jimin. "My son saw what it could become. He's the reason it became that. Eighteen months of his work, his decisions, his leadership.”

Yoongi watches Jimin's jaw tighten, the only tell that any of this is landing. His eyes are fixed on his father.

"I have not always been good at saying this," the chairman continues, and his voice is quieter now, less performance and more truth. "But I am proud of what he's built here. And I am proud of him."

The room applauds. Yoongi doesn't hear it. He's watching Jimin's face crack open, just for a second, before he pulls it back together. Months of dinners and phone calls and small effortful gestures, and still the public words land differently. Still they matter in a way the private ones can't quite reach.

The chairman steps down from the platform. People swarm toward him with congratulations and business cards, but he moves through them toward Jimin. Yoongi watches them meet, watches the chairman put a hand on Jimin's shoulder and say something too low to hear. Jimin nods. Says something back. The chairman's hand tightens briefly, then drops.

That's all. A few seconds, a few words, nothing that would look significant to anyone who didn't know what it meant.

Jimin turns and finds Yoongi across the room. Their eyes meet. Jimin doesn't smile, exactly, but something in his face settles.

Later, the crowd thins.

By seven most of the press has left, then the industry people catching evening flights. The event space empties out slowly, staff clearing glasses, a few guests still lingering near the bar. Jimin has been shaking hands and accepting compliments for two hours and Yoongi can see the exhaustion starting to show around his edges.

He catches Jimin's eye and tilts his head toward the terrace doors.

Outside the air is cooler, the sun low over the water. The terrace is empty except for the two of them. Chef Baek's sunset dinner setup won't start for another hour, chairs still stacked against the railing.

Jimin leans against the railing and breathes out.

"It's done," he says.

"It's done."

"Eighteen months. And now it's done." He shakes his head. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that."

"Start the next one. Isn't that how it works?"

"Probably. There's already talk about the Busan property." Jimin tips his head back, looks at the sky. "I'm tired. Is that allowed? To be tired on the day of your big success?"

"I think that's when you're supposed to be tired."

They stand there in silence for a while. The water is turning gold where the sun hits it, the rest of it deep blue and calm. Somewhere inside someone laughs, muffled by the glass doors.

"He meant it," Jimin says. "My father. What he said."

"I know."

"He's not good at this. The feelings part. He's probably never going to be good at it."

"Probably not."

"But he's trying." Jimin turns to look at Yoongi. "That's enough. I think. It's enough that he's trying."

Yoongi doesn't say anything. Some things don't need responses.

Jimin reaches over and takes his hand. Just holds it, loose and easy, their fingers interlaced against the railing. Anyone could walk out and see them. Neither of them moves.

"Remember the first time we were here?" Jimin asks. "You hated me."

"I didn't hate you."

"You wanted to strangle me. I could see it in your face every time I opened my mouth."

"Strangling wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Jimin's laugh catches him off guard. "You're such an asshole."

"You keep saying that like it's news."

The sun is lower now, almost touching the water. In a few minutes the staff will come out to set up for dinner and they'll have to go back inside, back to being colleagues who work well together, who stand a little too close, who everyone knows about but no one mentions. But not yet. Right now it's just them and the fading light and the sound of the ocean.

Yoongi thinks about the first time they stood on this terrace, eighteen months ago, when everything between them was anger and want and neither of them knowing what to do with it. He thinks about Jimin pulling him into a hotel room and kissing him like a fight. About all the months after, the slow impossible work of learning someone, of letting yourself be learned.

"What are you thinking about?" Jimin asks.

Yoongi looks at him. The golden light on his face, the silver earrings, the freckles across his nose that Yoongi knows by heart now.

"Nothing," he says. "Just this."

Jimin smiles. The sun touches the water. They stay.