sorry to taemin :P

Δ

"Thanks, baby!" Taemin yells from Jimin's car window before driving off, leaving him in the bitter cold. Guess he has to ask Taehyung to pick him up now. He has to be frugal, so a cab or Uber is out of the question.

(- did you not bring ur own car

- fucking bitch took it

- dumbass. not even gonna ask

- i'll tell you later. just pick me up @ light castle

- kk)

Any crumb of love Jimin has left for Taemin is now gone. The bastard never has time for him, always saying that he has to work overtime when he's only hitting the club with his friends. Jimin's planned to break up with him tonight, only to be left hanging with his damn car gone. A gust of wind blows by, sinking into his bones. Jimin'd be damned if he shivers.

He doesn't want to head back inside the restaurant, he can't. He was so giddy to break up with Taemin earlier that he confessed his plan to his waiter. The table next to his was also paying attention. They all saw Taemin cut Jimin off, said he has a meeting, grabbed Jimin's fucking keys, and bolted out of the door before he even picked up the goddamn menu. Jimin can just imagine the pitying looks from the folks around him. Men are fucking dog shit, he scowls, I might as well stay celibate for life.

To make this even worse, the temperature has been dropping since noon and is only getting lower, so low Jimin starts to see his own breath. Gotta look his best, he thought, gotta put on this silk blouse and tight pants so Taemin would realize what he's lost, he thought. Now he doesn't have his keys nor car and is standing in what must be subzero temperature, isn't that so wonderful?

At this point, he's going to says 'fuck it' and walk inside when he hears feet tumbling next to him. It's just some guy, looking drunk as hell. He probably walked out of the club a few buildings down, Jimin notes, what with the groggy stench of liquor floating into his nose. Glancing at the guy's warm coat, scarf, and beanie, Jimin clicks his tongue in distaste. Why is he prepared for the cold and Jimin isn't?

Easy, because you're a dumb and petty bitch, a rational little voice whispers in his head. He ignores it.

He stares at the brick that's fallen off the sidewalk across the street. That's it, he's going to stand here and wait until his best friend comes. If he's gonna be petty, then he has to be petty all the way and not give the guy the satisfaction of seeing him pussy out just because his clothes happen to be thin. If he freezes to death while waiting here, so be it.

A shudder, now more violent than the last, sends Jimin's teeth rattling. On his periphery, he can catch the guy looking at him. Jimin wills his hands to stop trembling to no avail, and another shiver erupts. A snort tears through the relative stillness. Jimin scowls.

"Hey," Jimin jolts at the guy's voice, "you cold?"

"No," he replies, sounding more stable than he feels.

A huff. "No, my ass. You look like you should be in that club than out here."

Jimin doesn't stop scowling.

"If you're just gonna criticize my choice of clothing—" the guy moves closer. Jimin sputters, leaning back, "what are you doing-"

Jimin's neck is a whole lot warmer. That might be because of the blood rushing to his face, or the gray scarf. Oh. A scarf.

Jimin's brain finally finishes processing. The guy is wrapping his scarf around Jimin's neck.

"Hey, look, I'm fine," Jimin argues, but the winding scarf shows no sign of stopping, "you don't have to, um—"

"Yoongi."

"Okay, you don't have to do this, Yoongi-ssi, I'm fine."

"Hush, you're cold," Yoongi slurs, the knot he finishes tying settles under Jimin's chin. Then, Yoongi takes off his coat.

"Wait, no need—"

Too late, Jimin is now all bundled up. The coat and scarf warm Jimin up so quickly, he almost melts. He gapes at Yoongi, who has a satisfied look on his face, then at the guy's beige sweater.

"Who the hell wears a sweater to the club?" He asks. Yoongi laughs, a gravelly, wine-dazed sort of sound, as he struggles to slip his coat's buttons through their holes. Attempts at stopping him are made, but Jimin guesses it's easier to just let the guy do what he wants.

"Someone who isn't planning to get drunk tonight and wants to look like the responsible adult he is."

"I don't know, I think that someone failed. I think that someone's drunk off his ass."

"Ah, it happens. Difficult not to give in when everybody's ordering shots."

"Very true."

"Yeah," Yoongi clears his throat, fumbling with the last two buttons, "gotta take a breather, it was getting too crazy. Was walking it off, then I found this one dude who's dying of hypothermia."

Jimin sneers, and Yoongi steps away with a teasing expression, the soft lights hung on the restaurant's wall glinting in his eyes.

They stand in pleasant silence, Yoongi sometimes swaying on his feet and Jimin happy and warm. Unable to help himself, the latter buries his head in the scarf. It smells nice—really nice—musky with a hint of sweat and a trace of citrus, like tangerine. Is this Yoongi's cologne? Jimin's mind goes fuzzy just thinking about it. Maybe it's Yoongi's favorite.

Jimin throws a glance at the now humming man. Soft fringes of blond fall into his eyes, which squint in sleepiness. His dainty lips pout as he mumbles nonsense, or perhaps the lyrics to a song he likes, a stark contrast to his hoarse voice. Jimin kind of wants to touch his cheeks, which grew soft and round when Yoongi smiled earlier. Long fingers, pink in the cold, occasionally reach up and brush through his hair, but it's as messy as it was before.

Cute, Jimin thinks. And chivalrous, too. Taemin's never noticed if Jimin was cold or uncomfortable. 

Oh no. What the hell is Jimin doing, comparing his near-ex boyfriend with a guy he just met? Didn't he vow to stay celibate for life a few minutes ago? Aren't all men (except a few; Jimin's generous like that) dog shit? Is Jimin really that desperate for a man who'd treat him right that he goes and falls for a complete stranger who does a single nice thing for him?

The biting wind hisses in the night, stinging Jimin's face. Yoongi sucks in a breath through his teeth.

"Damn, it's colder than I thought," he comments, casual and unbothered like he's not rubbing his hands furiously.

Jimin's heart aches at the sight, and before his conscience can scream at him, he reaches for Yoongi's sleeve. Ignoring all the alarm bells, Jimin opens his big, stupid mouth.

"Put your hands in the coat's pockets. They're big and warm."

Yoongi blinks. For an endless second, Jimin considers jumping off a cliff so he doesn't have to deal with a guy he thinks is cute laughing at him.

"Thanks," the blond grins. He grabs Jimin's hand with both of his own and burrows them all into one large pocket.

Twin sighs of pleasure escape both men's lips. Jimin tries to keep his mind off of the way Yoongi's hands cradle his. He fails. His tiny hands have always been a cause of shame for him, but at this moment, maybe they're not so bad. How can they be, when they are nestled so perfectly within Yoongi's bigger, calloused hands?

Yoongi seems to still be making himself comfortable, which apparently translates to moving closer and closer and sticking to Jimin's side. Jimin shivers, even as the one who's cold here is Yoongi. The man stills, seeming content to stare at the pitch-black clouds, and rubs a circle over Jimin's knuckles with his thumb. Goodness, that's lovely.

Against his better judgment, Jimin tilts his head, slow and careful. Warmth meets his temple, and Jimin rests his head where Yoongi's neck connects to his shoulders. Yoongi makes a confused little noise.

"Sorry, just—" Jimin says, his eyes hazy, "—just for a bit."

"It's okay, not complaining," Yoongi says. Then, a delicate weight lies on Jimin's head. Yoongi sniffs, ruffling Jimin's hair with his cheek.

He yawns, a quiet sound in the night. "You know my name. What's yours?" Yoongi murmurs.

"Jimin."

"Oh, like that idol."

Jimin pinches Yoongi's wrist. "I'm not a woman."

"'Course you're not," Yoongi yawns again, his words trailing off like whiffs of smoke, "you're prettier..."

A pleased blush paints Jimin's face.

"...and sadder, too."

Something clenches in his chest like an overly tightened screw.

"What do you mean?"

"When I walked over here, I saw you," Yoongi replies. "Wouldn't say you looked miserable, but you did look sad."

"Oh," Jimin says, "I was just a bit angry."

"Really? And here I thought you looked like a, what, a kicked puppy."

The only thing Jimin can remember from before Yoongi came over is pure fury. He can't imagine feeling anything else because he has nothing and no one to mourn for, but it appears he doesn't know himself as well as he thinks, for even a stranger can look through him. For a minute, Jimin lets himself melt against Yoongi's side, thinking.

Perhaps the familiar, tired anger he feels toward Taemin is mixed with anguish, with droplets and molecules of it. Isn't it truly so sad that to his own partner, Jimin is less of a priority than his cushy corporate job and friends? That a relationship he has poured in so much time and energy trying to cultivate for the past three years crumbles into dust, just because the other person doesn't bother to put in half as much effort? That when he tries to have something for himself, tries to get a moment where he makes Taemin acknowledge that he's more important than an arm candy who will always wait for him, Taemin once again takes from him? Jimin's lips flatten to a thin line. He doesn't know if he doesn't want to cry or is simply too exhausted to.

"Hey," the warmth enveloping Jimin's hands squeezes, capturing his attention, "what were you sad—sorry—mad about?"

Jimin furrows his brows, not really sure what he should say.

"Or not," Yoongi assures, massaging Jimin's hands. "You don't have to tell me, whatever's cool with you. Feeling better now?"

Jimin replies by clutching Yoongi's hands in return, feeling the divots between his knuckles. Maybe Jimin is being foolish, but a part of him wants to tell Yoongi. Not now, though, later. When they're closer, when they know each other a little better. If, Jimin reminds himself. Strangers on the streets don't usually foster a relationship with one another.

Jimin's phone vibrates in his back pocket. He pulls it out and checks the lit-up screen.

- i'm here. wya - the text reads.

"'Soulmate,' three yellow heart emojis," Yoongi says. Jimin glances up to see him eyeing Taehyung's contact name, a brow raised. "That's the dude you're mad about?"

"No, Taehyung's my best friend," Jimin says as he types out his reply.

-you sure you didnt arrive at lighthouse? thats an art gala. light castle is the fusion restaurant just a street over-

-and stop texting & driving. call me next time dumbass-

"I was mad about someone else. I was gonna break up with him tonight, but he ditched me mid-sentence and took my car."

"Oh, shit," Yoongi snorts. "Who the fuck does that?"

"A bitch, and he's one. That's why I planned to break it off."

"Mhmm," Yoongi agrees. Then: "Gimme."

"What?"

The blond man plucks Jimin's phone out of his hands. He clumsily taps at the Phone icon, typing in a string of numbers. His thumbs hover over the Name field before deciding to put 'Min PD.'

"I'm a producer," he explains when Jimin looks at him in question. "Mostly rap beats, but I do any genre. My friends usually call me 'Min PD' for fun."

"Huh," Jimin smiles in surprise, "I'm a choir teacher, actually. My kids usually call me 'Mr. Park'."

"Mr. Park," one corner of Yoongi's mouth quirks up, "nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," Jimin laughs, then stops, the lack of distance between their faces hitting him like a kick in the stomach. Rough fingers curl loosely around Jimin's own in the coat pocket, and Jimin almost drops his phone. Hot breath flares on Jimin's face, sour with alcohol, but God help him, he wants to taste it.

"How fitting. A choir teacher," Yoongi says. His cat-like eyes stare straight into Jimin's, the sheer intensity pulling the air right out of his lungs.

"And a producer," Jimin says. Yoongi removes one of his hands from the pocket. Jimin can't even start lamenting the loss of heat before red-hot warmth caresses his cheek. Unbidden, his eyelids lower, his vision blurred around the edges except for a pouty pair of lips, its cupid's bow a gentle dip, dried and greedy in the cold breeze.

"Wonder what that might mean."

Jimin takes in a deep breath, shifting his feet to stand a bit straighter, a bit taller, bringing his face closer to Yoongi's. A thumb swipes over his bottom lip, and he lets it fall open, moist and waiting. At this angle, he can catch the alluring scent of citrus that's been clouding his mind, and his phone rings.

They pause. Jimin's nose twitches. He brings the phone to his ear. "Yes?" He says.

"Y'all done?"

Jimin turns his head to the parking lot. Taehyung's ridiculously expensive car has arrived at some point unknown, the driver's side window down. Taehyung sets his elbows on the ledge as he deadpans into the phone.

"No. Can you wait?"

"I've been waiting," the speaker crackles.

"That's your ride?'" A low voice says over his other ear, the hushed 'ride' making his earlobe tingle and shooting a shiver down his neck. Jimin's eyes slip close.

"Mhmm," he whimpers.

"Oh, Jesus Christ."

"Can you wait a few more minutes?" Jimin flashes Taehyung a shaky smile.

"Whore."

"Slut," Jimin snickers, then hangs up just as Taehyung rolls his window up and backs into a parking space.

He looks at Yoongi, who's staring at him unabashedly, hand having fallen from Jimin's face to his waist. He's a respectful distance away, but still close, so close.

"So," Yoongi smiles, "I heard you got a man?"

"No, not after I call him and tell him to pack up his shit," Jimin says, waving his phone.

"Good," Yoongi says. "You have my number. Call me when you're done."

"Sure will," Jimin unwinds the thick scarf around his neck. Yoongi frowns.

Jimin swings his arms over Yoongi's shoulders, carefully wrapping the scarf back around his neck. Yoongi discards his suave expression for a worried one.

"No, you're cold, keep it—"

"I am. I'm keeping this coat of yours," Jimin grins and pats the neat knot he made, smoothing down Yoongi's sweater sleeves. Something in him flutters and unfurls, a hopeful bud of flower in the dead of winter, as he marvels in silence at how domestic this is. How he wants to keep doing this, dressing Yoongi up and keeping him warm, ensuring that he's never cold a day in his life.

Yoongi is taller than him by a centimeter or two, but Jimin raises his heels anyway.

"I'm returning it to you on a later date," he mutters, pressing a chaste kiss against Yoongi's soft cheek. "I'll give you a call, setting up the time and place, et cetera. I have your number after all, don't I?"

The hand on his waist presses in just a bit.

"You do."

Jimin takes the hand in the coat pocket out and drops another peck on Yoongi's knuckle, not breaking eye contact. Then he lets go, his skin cold and barren after Yoongi's clinging hold is out of reach. Backing away, he hears the chaotic din of the club down the street heighten in volume as its door opens.

"Yoongi-hyung!" A few guys yell.

"Where did he go?" One of them drunkenly shouts. "Should we call him?"

Yoongi turns like he's going to yell something back, but he looks at Jimin instead. A wistful smile graces his handsome face.

"Bye-bye, Yoongi-hyung," Jimin giggles, then walks to Taehyung's car with his hands shoved in the coat pockets, citrus an imprint in his lungs.

When he's settled in the passenger's seat, he catches Taehyung's stare while buckling up.

"What? I got something on my face? Drive," he says. Taehyung stares a few seconds more, then tucks his phone in the storage compartment with a shake of his head, shifting into gear. He doesn't say anything other than the standard "did you wait long?" and "it's cold out, huh"; Jimin knows him, though. He palms his phone, thinking of the newly added number in his contact list, and waits.

Soon enough, Taehyung turns to him while stopping at a red light.

"Alright, speak."

So Jimin speaks. For the rest of the drive, his cheeks hurt from helpless beaming.