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17 Oct, 46 tweets, 9 min read
🎬 The Mini Reel | That Morning In Daegu

—a very quick drabble on how yoonmin wakes up after THAT night.

have some pure fluff 🤗🌷
The floor is quaking beneath his feet.

Over the intercom, the stewardess’ silken voice crackles, “/Please remain seated as the emergency landing commences/...”

One of the wings’ engines is on fire. He’s barely lucid, and yet with every sharp gasp he can hear his erratic pulse.
Yoongi can feel a deep tremor in his bones, and something at the back of his mind whispers: they won’t make it.
A swift glance out the window says there’s still a couple of hundred feet between the plane and the landing runway. They’ll either dip dive and crash, or burn mid-air.
Somebody squeezes his hand. He turns to his mother, who offers him a watery smile. “Let’s pray, Yoongi-yah.”

He nods, closing his eyes as another wave of turbulence racks the entire aircraft—

Yoongi’s eyes open with a shaky gasp. The empty ceiling of a darkened room greets him.
Against his better self, tears burn the edges of his vision, and it takes more than a few seconds for Yoongi to calm his heartbeat with deep breaths. It’s been two years, and yet the damn memory won’t erase itself.

Only when he turns does he realize his bed is fully occupied.
There’s... another person dozing next to him, with only a shock of pink hair poking out from under his duvet. Yoongi blinks, recognizing—


Yoongi’s eyes widen, scattered pieces of the night before flashing across his mind. He lifts the quilt and yep—bare skin all over.
Also—is that Jimin’s arm curled over Yoongi’s waist?

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Yoongi covers his mouth with a fist to cover the muted, cracked yelp that escapes him, blood rushing to his cheeks. Nightmare forgotten in a split-second.

He swallows thickly, ears hot.
Trying to minimalize his movements to remain quiet, he turns to his side to watch Jimin’s sleeping face. Fuck, it’s probably creepy, but he can’t fight himself even if he tries.

Sunlight is catching along the edges of the horizon now, and Yoongi’s room is starting to brighten.
Yoongi’s never been one to initiate physical touch often, but here now, something secret and primal compels him to reach out and index finger to brush against Jimin’s eyelashes, just to check if he’s real. If he’s not in another nightmare.

Because Yoongi has dreamed of this.
Over and over, during those first few weeks after he touched down in Seoul from Budapest. In the plane of his subconscious, Jimin laughed and teased him, and all was right and good. Even if Yoongi couldn’t have him in real life, at least his subconscious was kinder to him.
But Jimin’s skin feels warm under his finger, and in one bold move Yoongi dares to rest an entire palm (!!!) to cradle his favorite actor’s cheek. Solid.


Yoongi’s eyes begin to water /again/, and he turns his head to swipe his traitorous tears against his pillowcase.
Good thing the rest of the world is still asleep and there’s no one to see him all weepy like this; no Namjoon or Seokjin or Jungkook or tease him about this later. This moment is his and Jimin’s alone, and Yoongi would very much like to keep it that way.
Jimin mumbles something in his sleep, something that sounds an awful lot like ‘chicken and beer’, and Yoongi smiles shakily.

This is his person. Jimin called him treasure last night, but Yoongi knows it should be the other way round.
Then, in one swift motion, Jimin snuggles closer into his chest and swings a leg over Yoongi’s hip, inadvertently pressing their crotches together.

Yoongi’s breathing stutters, and he swallows a wheeze. Instead he tucks Jimin close and caresses the nape of his neck.
He shifts a little to find a comfortable position and waits for sleep to take him again.

But no. Yoongi’s mind is yelling for him to be aware, to savor this moment—him, cuddling with Jimin in his childhood bedroom. He never would’ve thought it possible. He doesn’t deserve it.
To distract himself, Yoongi gently extricates his arms from around Jimin and twists around to reach for his phone. Reading the news is often a good distraction and an effective way to kickstart his day.

Yoongi hasn’t even scrolled through his social media yet when a hashtag—
catches his eye:


He stifles a smirk, but it quickly slips when another one makes him freeze.


Yoongi clicks the hashtag without another thought, and a torrent of photos flood his screen—Jimin, with eggs dripping from his hair.
Jimin, standing outside his condo, two black trash bags tight around his hands. Yoongi clicks the first article from Soompi titled, “Actor Park Jimin’s Label Speaks Out Against Harrassment of Privacy.”

Included in the article are photos of crowds gathered outside Jimin’s condo.
He taps away from the article and scrolls down the hashtag’s top tweets, including one from a very familiar fan account:
As soon as Yoongi finishes rage tweeting and replying to some of the nastiest comments on his secret personal account, he lets out a loud exhale, followed by a muttered curse, before finally setting his phone down...

...only to find Jimin’s eyes wide open, staring up at him.
The moment Jimin’s eyes flutter open, his gaze falls not on a bare-faced, sleeping Min PD like he’d hoped the night before, but Yoongi typing furiously on his phone. The blue light from the screen casts his face in an unfeeling cool blue hue that only serves to deepen his frown.
All at once Jimin feels keenly aware of how naked he is, clinging onto Yoongi’s waist like a desperate fool. He gulps, eyes wide, and a moment later Yoongi finally drops his phone and meets his gaze.

“What?” Jimin asks, fear clawing at his dry throat. Yoongi looks disturbed.
Now that the sun is rising and a new day has turned its page, maybe Yoongi has reverted to his professional Min PD mode. Maybe last night was a false alarm, or maybe a consolation thing that Yoongi gave Jimin because he pitied him. Maybe none of what he hoped is real.
Yoongi is probably regretting it.

And Jimin’s hunch is proven right when, no more than a nanosecond later, Yoongi’s eyes fill with glistening tears and he ducks his head against Jimin’s bare shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Jimin’s insides churn.

“I’m so sorry,” Yoongi whispers.
“What- why are you”—Jimin licks over his lower lip—“don’t cry. Do you... hyung, do you regret it?”

This is even worse than the first day Yoongj started ghosting his texts. At least then he hadn’t had a taste of bliss. To ask Jimin to let go /now/ would be far too cruel—
“I do,” Yoongi answers, and something in Jimin feels like it’s been ripped raw, torn to pieces. “I regret it, Jiminie. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Jimin lets out a choked whimper. “Don’t apologize. I... I liked it. No, I loved it. It was good.”

Yoongi blinks.
Jimin hates that look of uncertainty on his face. “I swear, it was great.”

“But”—Yoongi looks bewildered, eyes flashing with conflicted emotions—“but you looked so miserable. I hate thinking that you— because of me—“

“Hyung, why are you apologizing for having good dick game?”
Now Jimin really feels like he might cry—and so early in the morning, too! “Is it- is it because I didn’t do well last night? I really thought you enjoyed it. It was perfect, waaaa.” Screwing his eyes shut, he batters tiny fists against Yoongi’s chest. “How could you lead me on!”
Yoongi gently grabs him by the wrists. “Woah, wait. What are you talking about?”

“What are /you/ talking about?” Jimin retorts, sniffling, flattening his palms against Yoongi’s chest when the director starts rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hand.
He looks up just in time to catch a flash of understanding cross Yoongj’s eyes. The director lets out a quiet scoff of disbelief and actually starts /laughing/.

Jimin purses his lips. “And now you cackle in the face of misery! You cruel man. Do you crave death?”

Yoongi grins.
And Jimin decides he’s had /enough/. Enough mind tricks! No more guessing games! With a huff, he rolls away and swings his legs down from the bed, but not before two strong arms grab his waist from behind.

“Not so fast.”

“I’m done!” Jimin snaps, but waits for a reply anyway.
The sheets rustle behind him as Yoongi sits up and rests his chin on Jimin’s right shoulder. “I was talking about something else.”

Jimin side-eyes him. “Is that so?”

“I saw some articles about yesterday and got worried,” Yoongi shares. “As for last night, I’m not sorry at all.”
He lowers his head to press a kiss to the dip between Jimin’s neck and shoulder, but it tickles and Jimin wriggles until he accidentally smacks Yoongi’s nose.


“Sorry!” Jimin crawls back into bed and launches himself onto Yoongi’s lap, checking for bruises. “Does it hurt?”


And then, keeping absolutely blank-faced, Min Yoongi points to his lips. “Here. Kiss it better.”

Jimin’s insides jolt, but he ignores it in favor of rolling his eyes. When he makes a move to get off Yoongi’s lap, the director tightens his arms around him.
“How about you?” Yoongi asks, a new sheen of concern falling over his deep brown eyes. “Did they try to hurt you anywhere yesterday?”

Jimin falters. Already he can feel his resolve crumbling, his will softening to putty. “Apart from the raw ingredients? Not really. I’m okay.”
The doubt in Yoongi’s face hardly lifts, though, so Jimin elaborates, “I mean, just a few more eggs and I would’ve been ready enough to throw into an oven to bake a cake, but luckily Seokjin hyung came and brought me to Jungkook’s place for the time being.”
“That’s good. I’m sorry I couldn’t bust you out of there.” Yoongi leans forward and pecks Jimin’s forehead. “You could’ve called me.”

“What, so you could ignore me again?”

It’s a barbed comment that Jimin probably shouldn’t have made, judging by how Yoongi’s brows dip lower.
But instead of pulling away or denying shit, Yoongi sighs and slides his arms back to cup Jimin’s face in his large warm hands. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Jimin sniffs and looks away, at the window where the sunlight is streaming in a full golden glaze now. “You better.”
“And how, exactly, do you want me to do that?”

Jimin racks his mind for some kind of prank or fun errand, but it’s still early in the morning and he just really wants some cuddles right now. So his braincells cook up the only way he knows—
“Aaaah,” he faked a wince and flails backwards until his head hits the mattress. “Come to think of it, I /did/ get hurt yesterday, hyung.”

Yoongi’s gaze darkens. “Where?”

Jimin points at his cheekbone. “An egg landed here.”

“Do you want a heat pack?”

Using Yoongi’s exact same words, Jimin gives a devilish grin. “Kiss it better.”

Yoongi chortles and leans over him, practically draping his warm body atop Jimin’s and with the sunlight halo-ing his hair like this, Jimin can hardly believe his sheer luck.
Yoongi pecks his cheek lightly. “Just here?”

Jimin shakes his head and point at his own nose. “Here, too.” He smiles when the director obliges, blushing, and points at his lips next. “Ah, here too.”

And when Yoongi’s lips sink plush against his, Jimin feels immortal.



“Yes, baby?”

“You were wearing Jungkook’s sweatshirt when you arrived here, weren’t you?”

“How did you know!”

“....that was a birthday gift from me.”


“Next time, just wear mine, alright?”

• • •

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