hello friends,, get ready for a wild ride lol
OKAY ALSO,, 13K?? I'M LIT AS A TIT. LOVE Y'ALL
____
Some people don't have to be invited to feel invited.
∞
Waking up to Love by Kendrick Lamar and hearing the pitter-patter of rain on his bedroom window should have been a nice experience. Nice, not something to make him wonder why his temples are already pulsing hard enough to jerk him out of I'm Min Yoongi and I Don't Know How to Wake Up territory.
There's one thing that makes this experience something Yoongi does not what want to experience. There's one thing that follows the bed swallowing his body and the murmur of the music and the rain and the waking up next to his gorgeous boyfriend.
"Babe," mumbles Jimin, barely coherent enough to roll over and administer a sleepy push at Yoongi's arm, but by god he does. "It's your turn today."
A groan of unadulterated displeasure sounds from beside him like a rusty motor. "Let's just let him burn down the kitchen," Yoongi grumbles, body rooted into the mattress like a damn tree. His eyelids are so heavy. So heavy.
"Get out of this bed right now or I'll eat your ass," Jimin threatens in a voice that fully supports the fact that he just slept eleven hours.
"That threat was counterproductive," Yoongi mutters back, burying his face in his pillow with a purpose. "I'd rather get my ass eaten than deal with him."
"Point taken," Jimin acknowledges, and Yoongi wonders if that's a surrender. When he feels a nip at his shoulder and the accidental wet touch of a tongue, he decides no. "You still have to go."
Yoongi makes another beast-like groaning sound that rolls over his vocal chords like a bunch of marbles, angry marbles, whatever the fuck that means. He's delirious, okay.
When he spends another ten seconds not moving, Jimin decides it's a good a time as any to start bulldozing him to the edge of the bed. Yoongi grips at the mattress' edge and pushes back because Park Jimin will not get away with this, but Jimin pushes harder, and it's not long before it's Battle Royale over Yoongi's right to stay under the sheets.
Yoongi's rights are taken from him, and Park Jimin gets away with it. Dammit.
There's a soft thud as Yoongi plants his feet on the carpet, groggy and annoyed. Jimin's a certified ass, but he's still longing to stay curled up with the — his — certified ass under the warm piles of duvet. The kitchen's normally a place he's more than okay with, but right now, it has the appeal of getting framed for first degree murder.
Yes. Wrapping his arms around Jimin's torso and carding his fingers through his hair sounds like a good time that he'd gladly take advantage of if today weren't his turn.
Sighing, he makes his feet drag him to the doorway, leaving his stupid, cuddle-able boyfriend in bed all by his stupid, cuddle-able self. The rattling of pans is a crystal clear sound as he pushes open the squeaky door and places his feet in the hall. Looks like he's right on time.
"Baekhyun?" he calls.
For a precious few seconds, the notorious rattling comes to a halt. "Hey," returns a voice, in the quietest volume said voice can reach.
"Need help?" Yoongi tries as he jogs to their kitchen, and if he didn't already know the answer to that godforsaken question, he knows it now.
Five halved eggshells rest on the counter, and Yoongi knows what that means. "I don't need help," Baekhyun assures him with sweet (deceiving) puppy dog eyes, but the impressive milk spill on the floor and the egg whites cascading down and off his fingers tell Yoongi otherwise.
This dude can't even make scrambled eggs without making this kitchen look post-apocalyptic. The concept isn't something Yoongi can get his head around, and he wonders if he finds it impressive in a bad way or just plain obnoxious.
"Yes, you do," he corrects, rushing to action in the form of ripping off paper towels for Baekhyun's hands and the floor. Yoongi would've sworn up and down he didn't have a 'parent mode' if you'd asked him before this self-proclaimed hot mess made a home out of their guest room. People change, fast, if they need to.
There's a stupid grin on Baekhyun's face as Yoongi cleans his stupid hands, and he struggles to come up with the appropriate adjective for the way his lips are curled. Sleazy comes to mind. "Look at you, mama bear," he teases, curling his hands around bigger ones with callouses, "Cleaning up baby's mess."
"Call me that again and I'll cut you," replies Yoongi, stepping to the trash can and throwing away the first soaked paper towels. This'll take a good few of them. Paper towels will have to go on the grocery list, right underneath fruit, toothpaste, and Windex (who knows what the fuck Baekhyun had done with that. Not cleaning, it was safe to assume).
The cheeky smile from before is gone from those lips; Baekhyun pouts like a child. Joke's on him. Yoongi knows he is one. "Why so grumpy this morning, sweetie?"
Yoongi doesn't even bother answering that question, or telling him that he'll also cut him for using the nickname 'sweetie.' He's a little busy cleaning up Lake Milk that Baekhyun has kindly left on the hardwood floor for him to deal with.
Rip, rip, and there goes half the paper towels, piled up next to his bent knees and crumpled in his left hand. Doesn't liquid fuck up wood floors if it stays there long enough? Jesus. They rent this apartment, and he hates Baekhyun. He does.
"Okay," he says when the floor is just about dry, and he's creating a ball of drenched towels in his poor hands. Milk isn't something he ever has on his hands, and he sends a prayer to some sort of deity that things stay that way. "You want eggs, right? Just let me make them for you."
"I do want eggs. But I want you more."
Yoongi frowns. Here is a voice that's soft yet still has rough edges, one that drawled into the shell of his ear a few minutes ago. Here is a voice that isn't Baekhyun's.
When he looks up, Jimin is standing there in all of his morning-person, my-skin-glows-like-the-stars glory. A smile is present on his cute lips, and whether it's from the fact that Yoongi's hair is a bird's nest or the fact that he's on his knees cleaning is unclear.
It doesn't matter. Baekhyun matters, the fact that he's no longer in this room matters, because that means he's in another one. The possible outcomes of that are not worth the joy of not being in his company.
"Where's that ass?" is the frantic sentence that comes out of Yoongi's mouth. His newfound panic is probably the reason for the articulate phrasing.
Jimin, missing the urgency that's reducing Yoongi to chopped up sentences and forehead sweat, swings the designated body part around and smacks it. "Right here," he jokes.
His boyfriend is lovely, as is his ass, but Yoongi really doesn't need this right now. "You know that's not what I meant."
"Yeah, I do," Jimin admits, offering a soft hand, "Baek woke me up. Told me he was going out shopping, so don't worry."
Yoongi is floored. Really. "How...the hell did he manage to accomplish that much without me noticing?" he marvels as Jimin pulls him to his tired, tired feet.
"The son of a bitch is magic," Jimin agrees, mussing up Yoongi's hair to an even more dramatic degree, making his favorite pair of lips twist into something grumpy. "But he's gone now, so we're home free."
"Thank god." Yoongi lets go of his frown, sighs, and finally goes to throw these gross, soaked paper towels away.
His earth-shattering relief isn't unreasonable. It's not that Baekhyun is a bad person. He's pretty pleasant to talk to when they're all eating dinner or laying on the couch, or both. The guy is funny and all.
But Jesus, is he high maintenance.
Jimin and Yoongi have had a routine for the past five days. Wake up at eight — when Baekhyun wakes up — in order to preserve the well-being of their kitchen because that dildo tries to cook every morning. Then, the couple are given the honor of babysitting the grown man for the rest of the day, save for the times that he chooses to go out, which are scarce.
It's Yoongi's own personal hell. If a man in his twenty's can remind you of every reason why you don't want kids, you're in deep.
"C'mon, let's have our first stress-free breakfast of the week," Jimin says, grabbing his hands as a sort of plea to forget his jackass cousin for the time being. "You can make eggs, and I'll make toast 'cause I'm incompetent."
"You know, eggs are really easy to make."
"Yes. That's how incompetent I am."
Yoongi gets out a pan plus the measly remainder of their eggs and milk, and Jimin is talking to him about things other than Baekhyun, but he's got that fucker on the brain. Him and everything he's done to them in just the past week, which includes — but is not limited to — forcing the tango on them every given chance and using Yoongi's toothbrush as a rose, eating all of the fruit in the fridge, watching horror movies in the adjacent room at five in the morning and screaming, using their computer to post dumb things on Yoongi's Twitter. Breaking their coffeemaker. That was almost the worst one. It wasn't quite worse than explaining to his Twitter followers that he doesn't actually do porn.
"-and you wouldn't believe what she said to her."
Yoongi hums, pouring eggs into the pan, "Mm?"
Jimin spreads butter across a slice of toast, smiling. "She was like, 'guess who else likes their personal space?' and then just walked away."
"Mm," Yoongi hums again.
Jimin knows Yoongi. He has a list — a list of all the nuances in his communication. A list he doesn't know he has. Jimin knows Yoongi, and he knows The Hum means that he's not paying attention. It doesn't take him long to deduce why.
"Yoongi," he sighs. "Let's just hope he comes back late."
Right on cue, Baekhyun is a topic of discussion again. Yoongi's repeated this in his head a lot, a-lot-a-lot, but now feels like the best time to say it out loud. "Why can't we kick him out?"
"I owe him one," Jimin tells him, turning around to stare at Yoongi's back. It's rigid; he's hovering over the pan of eggs like a statue, so Jimin takes it upon himself to give him a back hug, which makes his shoulder blades relax into place. "He's really not a bad guy. I swear," Jimin says, nestling his head into Yoongi's shoulder.
"Jimin. He told like, six-hundred thousand people that I was a sex worker."
Jimin laughs into his shirt, squeezing him tight like a silent apology. "Okay, that was bad," he admits.
"Yes, it was," he agrees, taking their plates and scooping eggs on the surfaces in equal portions. "Hoseok flipped his shit when he saw it. I swear to god him and Seokjin were my moms in past lives."
"Interesting theory," Jimin remarked, letting Yoongi go, to his disappointment, "I always liked to think that they're our guardian angels, but they don't have wings yet."
"I like that better."
"Me too."
They plate up their toast next to their eggs and move things to the table, sitting face to face as they always do.
Their breakfast is a quiet one. This apartment's been a zoo for the past week, a one-animal zoo, and they're thankful for peace and quiet, so they leave it that way for longer periods of time than normal.
"So," Jimin finally says when he's almost finished, "I know there's some stuff Baek's messed up that needs to be dealt with."
Yoongi drops his fork. "He finally left us alone, and you wanna clean?" he asks miserably.
"Yoongi, c'mon," Jimin sighs, picking up his plate to take to the sink. "If we don't do it now, we're never gonna want to," he points out as he turns on the faucet, rinsing crumbs from his plate.
The Rusty Motor Groan is back, another component on Jimin's list that he doesn't know he has. Yoongi's slouched into his chair, his head forced forward at an uncomfortable angle that would cripple him if he stayed in it for more than five minutes, tops. Jimin sighs, but in a fond way.
"If you help me, I'll make out with your face," is his offer.
Yoongi's head lolls over, and his eyebrows get lower as his black hair tickles his forehead. "Fine," he relents.
That's the story of how he ends up in the bathroom.
First of fucking all, there's towels in every single place his eyes happen to go, of different colors and wrinkle-intensity. There's even one shut in between the lid and seat of the toilet, and Yoongi makes a reverberating noise of aggravation. Since when did they even have this many towels? Baekhyun probably went out and bought another seven just so he could swell this mess a little more.
That might be more than just the sarcasm he stores in the privacy of his own head. It might be true, he realizes as he reaches down for a navy blue towel that he doesn't recognize. And man, does that make him want to burn it.
He spends all of five minutes making sure he's swiped every single dirty towel to stuff in the wash, mumbling to himself about how he shouldn't even waste his detergent on something that asshole bought. He's sure to look in every conceivable place, ready to see yet another one stuffed somewhere ridiculous. If Baekhyun is dumb enough to shut a towel in the toilet, he's dumb enough to fling one onto the shower floor or in the cabinet under the sink, so he looks in both places.
Half of that precaution is a mistake.
In the cabinet under the sink sits a trash can, small and gray and full of normal things, normally.
In that trash can sits something that makes Yoongi slam the cabinet door shut so fast he almost breaks his wrist, a heart attack fresh and new in his chest.
"Jimin!" he yells.
Jimin makes him wait for a few seconds, but finally, "What?" echoes back to him through a couple of walls.
Yoongi is again reduced to less than five syllables per sentence. "C'mere!" he damn near begs.
"Uh, I'm a little busy!"
By a little busy, Jimin means a little busy with the pile of Hershey kiss wrappers climbing up behind the bed. Their bed, in their bedroom. The trash mountain stands at about a foot tall, and Jimin has no idea how a) Baekhyun put this here without them noticing, and b) he could've gotten his hands on that many Hershey kisses.
"Babe, come here!" Yoongi persists, and that moment is Jimin realizing that something is wrong. Hopefully it's more wrong than the Hershey kisses pile because he's out of the bedroom in seconds, mind conjuring up unsavory visions as he thumps down the hallway.
"What is it?" he worries as he jogs in, calculating eyes searching for the reason that Yoongi was yelling his ass off in here.
Yoongi's a scarred man with eyes bigger than the sun. "There's a fucking bird in there," he blurts, pointing a finger towards the cabinet. "What is wrong with your cousin?"
Jimin's stomach drops. He's surprised the thud of it doesn't echo. "Is it dead?" he almost whispers.
"No," Yoongi sinks into a kneel next to the cabinet in question, and right on cue, there's the sound of something banging against the door with conviction.
They both twitch, and, "Shit," falls out of Jimin's mouth as he takes one heavy step back.
Yoongi's mind reels. If somehow they can get it out of there without hurting it or letting it free in the apartment, "Get me a big trash bag," he muses, and Jimin doesn't really need an explanation.
There's a few more thumps on the door while he's gone, and Yoongi stares holes into the wood like somehow the bird's going to break out. No harm in being cautious, he tells himself. That bird could be the small winged equivalent of The Hulk and Yoongi's not taking any fucking chances.
Jimin returns with the jumbo-sized trash bag, thrusting it to his boyfriend, whose ready hands grab it and shake it out to it's full capacity.
"You think you can catch it?" worries Jimin the Bystander, stood at least three feet back after a nervous shuffle towards the door.
"I think I don't want a bird in this cabinet anymore," is Yoongi's honest answer. He's going to take his chances with this, and if it doesn't work, they'll figure out what to do. What to do will probably end up being running around in blind terror trying to catch this thing in the same garbage bag, but he digresses.
With bated breath, Jimin watches Yoongi's hand grip the knob, and there's a second that takes ages where they stare down the door together, not ready for the impending disaster.
Yoongi rips the door open and spreads the bag.
Flapping noises fill the room and Jimin stumbles back and screws his eyes shut, waiting for a comically shrill yelp from Yoongi, but what he gets instead is, "Oh- oh shit, I got it, I got it."
Jimin cracks an eye open, then the other, and Yoongi has the convulsing bag gripped in his hands so tight his knuckles are turning white. How he managed to get the thing in there on the first try, Jimin has no idea. Luck's on their side today. Sort of.
"Okay, let's get to a window," he urges, hand on a now standing Yoongi's back to ease him towards the door.
And a window is where they go. The best one is in the living room, so Yoongi puts one foot in front of the other without looking up from the moving lump in the thin plastic, maneuvers past their couch and to the source of the daylight in their apartment.
"Can you open it for me?"
"Yeah, hold on one second."
It better be one second. Yoongi was close to cutting his own circulation off from squeezing this thing so tight, which was the fault of his own paranoia and not Jimin. But it'd be nice if he could get some help with not making himself pass out.
Jimin slides the window up just a fraction of its potential, and Yoongi's limbs jumpstart, twitching him forward, where he smacks the bag's opening around the edges of the window.
By the grace of god, the bird flies out of the plastic, out of the window and into an afternoon of puffy clouds and sunshine.
"Fuck yes!" cries a jumping Jimin at the top of his lungs. Yoongi just breathes a deep sigh out of his own, close to falling to his knees.
His head hangs towards his chest. "We're moving that trash can," he says lifelessly.
Jimin sends him an apology of a smile. "Yes, we are," he agrees.
✦
At 6PM, Baekhyun reenters the apartment and discovers Yoongi straddling Jimin on the living room couch, zero space between their moving lips.
"Fuckin' get it, Jimin," he applauds, the vibrations of his voice and his hands clapping together making the two jolt and scramble to opposite sides of the couch, mortified. There's a new foot of space between them, and a new shade of red on Jimin's cheeks that has Byun fucking Baekhyun cooing through curled lips, "Aw, c'mon. Don't stop 'cause of me."
His disappointment makes Yoongi scowl with the flames of hell at the sweater-clad back as Baekhyun lugs three overflowing shopping bags down the hall.
They decide not to make out in the living room until their audience is officially out of their guest room.
✦
The door opens.
Yoongi's washing his face, eyes squeezed shut to keep out the suds, so he settles for listening to wordless Jimin do whatever he's doing. There's clunks and slides that sound more like plastic than anything, so he's probably looking for something in that cabinet.
"We moved the trash can, babe," Yoongi reminds, patting hot water onto his face as a rinsing tool, which makes him hiss because shit that's hotter than he thought—
"Babe? That's a new one."
Yoongi's first audible response is an array of awkward sliding sounds against the shower floor.
He drops as best he can into a low crouch, which results in a jolt of pain in his knees but who fucking cares because that isn't Jimin rummaging through the bathroom cabinets.
"Byun Baekhyun!" he growls, and his eyes are wide open and there's soap dripping into them, of course, "Get the fuck out!"
"Alright, princess. Calm down," the absolute worst voice pipes up again, and it's unclear whether he really wants Yoongi to calm down or whether he wants to piss him off more. "But before I go, just for the record, you have a nice ass. Sorry for calling you flat."
"Get out," he repeats, his venom getting weaker by the second. The metal bar attached to this glass shower door holds Jimin's white hanging towel. It's the only thing keeping his dick out of sight, and he's at a loss.
"Okay, baby boy," Baekhyun shoots a playful wink past wisps of his blonde hair, and Yoongi catches a glimpse of it behind the fibers of the white towel.
Yoongi's last audible response is his hands smacking against his face when he sighs all the air out of his lungs.
✦
Jimin and Yoongi resume making out at one in the morning behind a locked door.
Two hours ago, they were pleased to hear that Baekhyun planned on going to bed. Their shift as full-time unpaid babysitters was over for the day, thank god.
Yoongi slides his hands up Jimin's back, gripping to his t-shirt, and the duvet moves under Jimin's knees as he shifts on top of him.
Yoongi likes how Jimin's lips taste like his vanilla chapstick, he likes that they're alone, and he likes the fingers brushing against his neck.
He lets go of quiet moans, and he's about to bring his hands up into Jimin's hair when all of a sudden, there's a loud, ambiguous noise that sounds kind of distant, but not distant enough.
Jimin goes rigid, pulls away from him, looks him in the eyes in alarm. "Did you hear that?" he whispers, turning his head towards the door.
"Nope," Yoongi pants, tugging at Jimin's shirt to try and lure him back to his lips. "Hey, wait," he complains when Jimin ignores him and slides off the bed.
"I'm sorry. I have to see what he did," he says as he hauls ass to the door.
Yoongi thinks that's the smartest thing to do. He just really, really does not want to. Bad news is the last thing he needs after all of the shenanigans the past twenty-four hours has provided for him.
But love for Jimin and fear of this apartment's obliteration gets him on his feet within seconds. His blonde boyfriend is ahead of him, so he follows his lead past the door, prepares himself for imminent shock and disappointment because it doesn't matter what happened. Yoongi's frustration is going to end up breaking something within a three foot radius (probably Baekhyun's arm).
"Oh...my god," he hears Jimin sputter at the end of the hall, like some sort of echoey noise you hear before you die.
Here we go, he thinks to himself as he catches up step by step.
And then he's standing next to Jimin, and there's Baekhyun with his fucking fist through the wall.
Jimin's hawk reflexes kick in at the right time. "What are you doing?" he cries out, rushing to Baekhyun's side like a paramedic and taking hold of his arm so he can excavate it. Little chunks and flakes of drywall sprinkle on the floor as he pulls the limb from its confines, limp and hanging over Jimin's grip like a jacket. Yoongi realizes he doesn't need to break this guy's arm. He's doing a fine job of that by himself.
"Dunno," Baekhyun mutters. Jimin sports a cringe when that response leaks out about two inches from his face, and Yoongi comes to the conclusion that Mr. Byun Baekhyun had discovered their liquor cabinet.
Jimin drags him to the couch, the drunk boy's heels dragging on the carpet and easing his socks off his feet. Yoongi witnesses the haphazard drop of his body on the cushions like a rag doll, and he'd be amused if it weren't for the gaping hole in the wall of this apartment that they don't own. He hates Baekhyun, he does.
"Yoongi, can you get him some water?" Jimin asks. His eyebrows are scrunched apologetically as he pins a struggling Baekhyun's arms to the couch pillows.
It's a good thing Jimin's strong - those pillows were expensive and Baekhyun looks like he's trying to declare war on them. "What're you trappin' me for?" the drunken boy slurs, "I have rights!"
"Not under this roof," Yoongi mutters through clenched teeth, perfectly glad to leave the room. Everything he needs to do to not lose his shit, he's doing. Breathe, don't look at his stupid face, be content with pretending this is a weird dream for the time being.
All he needs is a glass and some liquid to slosh around in the glass while Jimin tries to force it between his cousin's lips. It's not a long errand for him to run. It's not enough time in a room other than the living room, so he lingers by the counter for an extra thirty seconds, holding onto it to maintain his sense of gravity. He silently apologizes to Jimin with all of his heart. Just a few more seconds, and he'll go.
And after about thirteen seconds, he does.
Baekhyun spits out the water three times, squawking and yodeling that he doesn't want two men on top of him in this context. Above him, there's a glower from Yoongi's darkened eyes and a shudder from Jimin, who does not need to hear about his cousin's sexual fantasies. When the asshole finally gulps down the water, his Adam's apple bobbing dramatically in his throat, Jimin hypothesizes that he's too tired to do anything else.
Still, him and his boyfriend rejoice, high-fiving, hugging each other, yelling out profanities in a triumphant sort of way. Baekhyun's chest heaves with awkward giggles, delirious next to two unified bodies knelt on the carpet.
It's late, so they help each other by helping him up together, maneuvering with care down the hallway that never seems to end. It takes effort to lay him in bed in a way that won't definitely give him a neck-ache tomorrow, but they spend the effort. This far into the process, they might as well, so Baekhyun ends up tucked comfortably into piles of softness and warmth. No neck-ache for him. The hangover will probably make up for it anyway.
"Okay," Jimin sighs into an exhausted Yoongi's shoulder when they're finally underneath their own sheets, tangled together at their legs and their fingers. "You're right."
Yoongi computes those words much slower than they're spoken. A minuscule 'pop' sound occurs when he peels his lips apart again. "About?" he has the energy to ask.
"Baek," the name falls off of Jimin's tongue, a miserable sound, "I can't do this anymore."
"That makes two of us," he assures him, and the sheer sarcasm in those five comatose words is enough to give Jimin a lazy smile and the knowledge that it's time.
It's time to get rid of a blonde named Byun Baekhyun.
✦
"I'm sorry," Jimin sighs, making sad eye contact with his cousin across the table. "We just...we can't do this anymore."
Yoongi's spiteful. Doesn't mean he feels good about it. It just means he wants to smile so goddamn hard when Baekhyun stops smiling. Serves the bastard right for asking if this was an intervention about having sex — this was news to Yoongi and Jimin, mind you — in one of their apartment's beds. He didn't specify which one, and a chill had run down Yoongi's spine, several loud sounds building in his lungs that he'd stopped himself from letting out. (He made a mental note to wash the sheets.)
"Oh, okay," Baekhyun replies to Jimin without his usual smugness. His shoulders shift when his eyes do, and it looks like he's shoving a hand in a pocket. "I can ask my boyfriend if I can crash with him."
Yoongi feels irritation like firecrackers skittering against the walls of his stomach. Why didn't he do that in the first place? Him and his probably equally disgusting boyfriend could've made messes and broken things and had sex in a place miles away from Yoongi and Jimin. Fuck.
"Alright. Thank you for understanding," Jimin tells him, and why do his eyes go out of focus and get stuck on the table? Why does he sound so disappointed? Baekhyun is family to him, but family can be fucking annoying sometimes, and it's okay to accept that, as long as you're an adult about it.
Either way, Yoongi lets himself exhale and wrap a comforting arm around Jimin's waist, thumbing gently over his hips when Baekhyun scoots his chair backwards and leaves without another word.
A chubby cheek is there, existing about two inches from him, and he does away with two inches to place a kiss on Jimin's cheek. "Thank you so fucking much," he whispers with sincerity against his skin, resting his forehead on Jimin's temple.
That earns him a tiny giggle. Maybe Jimin's not as sad anymore.
✦
"Hey, babe."
From he and Yoongi's bedroom, Jimin can hear the faint sounds of Baekhyun making his please-let-me-stay-with-you phone call. The walls here are thin. No wonder his cousin was able to get his fist through one so easily.
"No. No, everything's fine. I was just wondering, can I stay at your place for a week or so?"
It makes Jimin feel a little guilty, but he's glad he won't need to see his cousin for a while. He loves the guy, but the effort and money it takes to be around him is enough to make him feel like a straw's been stuck in his wallet and soul and he's just being emptied.
"Thank you, oh my god. Thank you."
Jimin smiles to himself. There. At least he won't have to worry about his cousin. He's clearly got somebody taking good care of him.
Satisfied, he's about to go and browse for new coffee machines when he hears one last thing through the wall. One last thing that nearly makes him piss himself.
"Love you, Hoseok."
∞
lmao who saw that one coming? did anyone? oof
anyways,,, what an adventure this chapter is. hope you liked it!!