Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Appa, are you napping?”

Jimin feels something soft brush against his cheek, and he crinkles his nose and groans out loud. He’s slumped over his work desk in his small apartment, his face pressing against the keys of his computer in his typical writer’s-block-has-won-this-round pose.

“Appa, I have to ask you something.”

Little, sticky fingers pry one of his eyes open, and Jimin thinks back to a time when he didn’t have children and could sleep off his misery in peace.

Takes a moment to miss that.

Still, seeing Jeongguk’s face peering at him from a distance much too close for comfort has him softening unwillingly, his son’s black hair sticking up every which way and his eyes wide and shiny.

“What is it, Guk?” he murmurs, straightening up and trying to roll out the kinks in his neck.

“Do you think cats can get lonely?”

Jimin has fully opened his eyes and sat up now, and he squints at his youngest son.

Before he could answer, however, Namjoon walks into the room clutching a chewed up cheese stick, purple marker all over his right cheek.

“They can,” the six-year-old answers his brother solemnly. He plops himself down right onto Jimin’s lap, offering his dad a bite of his chewed-up cheese. “Not as much as dogs, though. But the more domesticated a cat is, the more they want social inter-lack-shin.”

“Interaction,” Jimin corrects him gently.

Namjoon nods around his cheese. “Inter-lack-shin. People always say kitties don’t need attention, but they do. It’s not fair that people think they don’t, right, Appa?”

Jimin nods his head.

“I think Hooter gets lonely when I’m not with her,” Jeongguk says, matter-of-fact.

Jimin looks over at their cat. She was a stray that Jeongguk had found on the street, a fluffy little thing with a cranky disposition and uneven ears and haunting green eyes. Hooter looks over at them with her best deadpan expression, and when Jeongguk reaches his hand out to beckon her over, she ignores him and falls back asleep.

Jimin thinks back to the night Jeongguk had brought her back. He had found her outside of their apartment complex as Jimin called from just inside the lobby for him and Namjoon to hurry up and come in, and just picked her right up and brought her with him. Jimin had been mildly horrified — thinking of all the bugs and diseases she could have — but after Jeongguk had looked up at him with his best watery eyes, asking to keep her because She’ll freeze outside, Appa, why can’t we let her stay in here where it’s warm? Jimin knew that any argument he made would make him completely evil in his son’s eyes.

Jeongguk spent the next two weeks trying to think of the perfect name for her.

He read out every street sign he saw, scoured through his story books, even tried out a few names of the people in his classes to see if they fit.

He seemed dissatisfied with every single one, and Jimin was beginning to believe that the cat was just going to have to go by Kitty for the rest of their lives.

Then, one regretful night, the three of them were walking home from dinner when Jeongguk spotted a fluorescent, obnoxious Hooters sign. The orange block letters had cast an orange glow on the little family, and as they stopped near the sign the light fell upon them like an unwanted spotlight.

In a panic, Jimin had looked down at his four year old.

Jeongguk’s eyes were wide as he stared up at the sign as if it were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, as if he were looking at an angel’s neon halo, his lips parted in awe.

God please no, Jimin had thought to himself. Anything but this.

“This is it,” Jeongguk had said. “Hooter! Her name is gonna be Hooter!”

Jimin had tried to talk his son out of it, but the four year old brushed off his father’s warnings of naming their new pet after a misogynistic, capitalistic establishment that objectified women, instead opting to scream, ‘HOOTER! WE’RE COMING HOME!’ out at the top of his lungs.

After getting a few strange looks thrown their way, Jimin had quickly dragged his sons down the sidewalk towards their building.

Namjoon, who had been silent throughout the whole exchange, suddenly spoke up.

“But if the girls choose to work there,” he said. “Isn’t it their choice? If they’re happy, shouldn’t we be happy for them too, Appa?”

Jimin had blinked down at his son.

Wondered to himself if Namjoon was this smart now, how smart was he going to be when he was Jimin’s age?

“You’re absolutely right. We should be. You’re the smartest, bug.”

Namjoon looked at Jimin, eyebrows creased in genuine concern. “But I can’t even multiply fractions yet.”

“What’s a fraction?” Jeongguk asked from Jimin’s other side.

Jimin had laughed and scooped both his sons up into his arms, even though they were getting a bit too big for him to do it easily anymore. “I’m sure Joonie will tell you once you’re older, honey. Let’s go home to Hooter, hmm?”

Looking at Hooter now, Jimin couldn’t help but feel fond. He loved how much Jeongguk loved animals, cats in particular, and the moments in which Hooter brushed up against their legs or pawed at their hands for a good petting had melted Jimin completely towards her.

“And I don’t want her to be lonely,” Jeongguk continued. “Hooter should be happy all the time, right, Appa?”

Jimin nodded his head warily. “Of course.”

Jeongguk grinned up at him then, eyes crinkling into pits of devilish delight.

“Wait here!” he squealed, running to his and Namjoon’s closed room door. A few moments later, Jimin and Namjoon were gawking at Jeongguk waddling his way back over, the most massive cat Jimin has ever seen in his life hugged to his son’s chest.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin cried, a bit alarmed. The cat was basically as tall as his son, its massive amounts of fur making it seem even larger.

“I met him on the street! I pet his big fluffy head and then he followed me home! When he yawned I stuck my finger in his mouth and felt one of his teeth! He’s gonna be Hooter’s best friend!”

“He’s big,” Namjoon stated. “What if he bites us?”

“He wouldn’t! He’s nice!” Jeongguk shouted.

“Jeonggukie,” Jimin sighed. “You can’t keep bringing every stray cat you see on the streets home, baby.”

Jeongguk blinked. “How come, Appa?”

Jimin paused. Was it worth it to try to explain how much vaccinating pets cost? How some cats could get territorial and not want to share their space? How hard it was to get attached to a pet only for it to pass away years down the road? He’s always tried to be completely open and honest with his sons, but there were times in which it was so much easier to brush their questions off.

The giant cat was wriggling in Jeongguk’s arms, and Jeongguk plopped him down on the floor.

Hooter was awake now, eyeing the new cat warily, the beginnings of a snarl curling her lip.

“Look, Hooter doesn’t like him very much, Guk,” Namjoon stated, drawing his legs up away from the cats and cuddling closer to Jimin. “They’re gonna fight.”

“No! They just have to get used to each other,” Jeongguk said, reaching down to give the new cat a few reassuring head pats. He turned his begging eyes towards Jimin, crawling up onto the seat and hugging Jimin around the neck. “Please, Appa. I love him.”

“How do you know it’s a him?” Jimin asked, carding a hand through Jeongguk’s tangled hair.

Jeongguk shrugged. “When I imagine him talking in my head, he sounds like a him. So, I know it’s a him.”

Jimin nodded at his four year old’s logic as if it made complete sense. “Ah.”

Hooter let out a shrill yowl when the large cat tried to come too close, and she got up and hid herself underneath the couch, claws scrambling on their hardwood floor.

Jimin sighed.

Cursed himself for never truly being able to say no to his children.

“If they don’t start getting along in a week, he’s going to a shelter, baby,” Jimin said gently, trying very hard to ignore Jeongguk’s sad, big eyes. “And no more strays, okay?  Hooter’s gonna get jealous.”

Six days later, Jimin woke up and walked in on Hooter and the new cat snuggling on the couch, curled around each other in a huge mass of fur.

When Jeongguk, who was resting his chin on the sofa staring at them, looked up and beamed at him, every single one of his little teeth on display, Jimin let out a sigh of defeat.

“Do you have a name for him yet?”

Jeongguk nodded solemnly. “His name is Prince Humperdinck. From the book you always read us.”

Why his son chose the most evil character in The Princess Bride to name his fat cat after, Jimin didn’t want to know.

He just nodded as if Jeongguk’s name choice was the peak of genius, and went along with his day, mentally adding Get more cat food onto his list of things to do.

☆

“I should have known you’d be here,” Seokjin sighed. He plopped down in the chair across from Yoongi in the photographer’s favorite coffee shop, steaming drink cupped between both his hands.

“Go away,” Yoongi mumbled, eyes not once leaving his laptop to look up at his friend. There were three empty mugs of coffee in front of him, and he already had half a mind to get a fourth.

“Yoongi,” Seokjin said, voice serious. “Is it happening again?”

“What?” Yoongi asked, irritated.

“Are you in another slump?” Seokjin asked bluntly.

Because Seokjin knew him.

Knew that to Yoongi, his work was his life.

Photography was his life.

When he was in a slump with his photography, everything in his life seemed duller, less easy to handle, too much and too little all at once.

Nothing made him withdraw more than when he couldn’t find the right inspiration. When he didn’t feel as if he were making a difference with his photographs, when nothing around him seemed worth capturing.

Yoongi hated that feeling.

Hated feeling useless, hated feeling like he was stuck in the same place, hated feeling as if he wasn’t doing anything.

Hated feeling as if he had nothing to live for.

“You’re fine, Yoongi,” Seokjin’s voice was gentler now. “Your showcase isn’t for another two months.”

Yoongi flipped through photographs on his laptop blindly, his friend’s words playing in his mind. All the photographs that showed up on his screen were dull. Lacking something.

“It’s a big one. I don’t even know why they chose me to be part of it. The amount of imporrtant and influential names on the expected client list…”

Stress was eating Yoongi inside out.

He wanted to be good enough. Needed his work to be perfect.

But for a long time now, despite his rising success as a photographer, Yoongi felt like something was missing.

He knew all the ups and downs of photography, knew his camera like the back of his hand. But what he lacked wasn’t talent — it was inspiration. There was a certain feeling he liked to put behind his work — whether it was extreme joy, or agony, or nostalgia, or fear.

Recently, Yoongi hasn’t been feeling anything.

And it was definitely beginning to show in his work.

When Yoongi didn’t feel right, his photographs didn’t look right.

“Come to dinner at mine tonight,” Seokjin demanded.

When Yoongi got like this, he liked to withdraw — his friends all understood, but that didn’t mean they didn’t push him to come out of his shell when they decided that he had gotten enough alone time.

Yoongi stayed silent.

“You have to come. I invited one of my neighbors. He’s your type. Real cute, and maybe even shorter than you are!” Seokjin waggled his eyebrows.

“Now I’m definitely not going.”

“Yoongi, I mean it. I will have Hoseok fucking drag you if I have to. 7 o’clock. See you there.”

Seokjin left with an infuriatingly beautiful smile, walked away without looking back as if there was no doubt in his mind that his friend would do as he said. Yoongi stared after Jin’s broad back, glaring, hating the empty feeling in his chest.

Packing up his stuff, grumbling, Yoongi placed his laptop in his bag, swung his camera around his neck, and went to the supermarket to buy Jin and Hoseok a bottle of wine.

☆

“I’m so sorry, Seokjin, but I can’t come tonight,” the voice through the speaker was clearly distressed, and it had everyone in Seokjin’s apartment stopping and listening.

“Why not? Is everything alright?” Jin asked, brows pushed together in concern.

“Yea, no, everything’s fine,” there was a long sigh. “Just—the person who usually babysits for me is busy tonight, so I have Namjoon and Jeongguk with me. I’m sorry. Hopefully I can come another time?”

“Jimin, it’s totally fine for you to bring your kids,” Seokjin half-laughed. “It’s really no problem. I’ve been wanting to meet them anyway.”

“Oh,” there was a long pause. “I—I mean, are you sure? They can get…kids are…messy.”

Seokjin really did laugh now. “I’m sure. I’d be happy to have all three of you. I mean it.” 

“Okay, I’ll…see you soon, then.”

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and Seokjin nudged Yoongi by the hip to open it, hands full of utensils as he made his way over to the table to set it.

Yoongi grudgingly went and opened Jin’s apartment door and came face to face with tired eyes and soft hair and a beautiful, beautiful smile.

Staring a bit, there was a long pause in which Yoongi forgot himself.

Felt like one of his film photographs that didn’t develop properly, stuck in a strange state of in-between, his mind going a million miles a minute but his mouth producing no sound.

Fuck.

Jin was right.

He was cute.

He was gorgeous.

Yoongi’s hand immediately twitched towards his camera.

“Hi!” a voice chirped up at him.

Blinking, and breaking his gaze from the beautiful man in front of him, Yoongi looked down to meet huge, innocent eyes.

“Hi,” he responded automatically.

“I’m Jeongguk! I’m four! I’m hungry,” Jeongguk said.

“Guk,” the man half-scolded, half-laughed. He had a cherry blossom voice, Yoongi noted. Light and delicate and lovely. “Remember your manners.”

Jeongguk’s mouth popped open in realization. “Right. Hello. Thank-you for in-light-ing us. ‘M Jeongguk, who’re you?”

Yoongi laughed at his stuttered mispronunciations. “It’s nice to meet you, Jeongguk. My name’s Yoongi. Who do you have there?”

Jeongguk clutched his white stuffed bunny closer to his chest, nuzzling its ears against his cheeks for a quick second. “This is Princess Buttercup. Hooter likes to chew on her, but I still love her even though she has holes now.”

Yoongi blinked in confusion, but before he had the chance to ask more questions Seokjin came towards the door and ushered them inside, giving Jimin a quick but firm hug.

“This is Jimin,” Seokjin introduced with a wide smile. “He’s my new neighbor. We met in the elevator last week.”

Jimin waved, smiling softly.

“This is my son Namjoon,” Jimin placed a soft hand on top of the older child’s head, who had chubby blushy cheeks and deep dimples and eyes that looked intelligent beyond his years. “He’s six. And this little monster is Jeongguk.”

“I’m four!” Jeongguk exclaimed, grinning widely at the room, not a shy bone in his body. Namjoon was a bit more reserved, clutching onto the leg of Jimin’s pants, and Jimin kept a reassuring hand pressed against the side of his neck as Jeongguk immediately detached from them and began roaming.

The other men in the room came and introduced themselves one by one, Jeongguk latching onto Taehyung once the man asked Princess Buttercup if she and Jeongguk wanted to play, and Hoseok coaxed Namjoon from Jimin’s leg with soft questions and a hidden treat he had swiped from the kitchen.

Somehow, the party moved away, leaving Jimin and Yoongi standing alone by the doorway.

After a brief, awkward silence, Yoongi moved towards Jimin.

“Let me take your jacket,” he said.

“Oh, okay.”

Yoongi helped Jimin out of his jacket and went to hang it on Seokjin’s coat rack.

“Your kids are cute,” Yoongi said.

Jimin laughed, fidgeting in a way that made Yoongi want to reassure him.

Yoongi couldn’t tear his eyes away, a little bit enchanted.

“They’re little devils. I don’t know if ‘cute’ would be the right word to describe them.”

“Should I even ask who Hooter is?”

Jimin shook his head slowly.

“It’s a long story.”

☆

Jimin hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

Shy and unsure and simultaneously too big and too small under Min Yoongi’s gaze. He had the urge to cover his face all the time and found himself ducking behind Seokjin’s massive back or busying himself with Jeongguk or Namjoon so that he wouldn’t have to make more conversation with the other man.

When he had opened the door, Jimin stared like an idiot and he thanked every star above that Jeongguk did not and would never understand the concept of shyness as his four year old handled the introduction better than he could have.

Dinner itself was another thing that had Jimin feeling different.

Typically, he let the boys eat first, helping Jeongguk scoop up his foods and getting more juice for Namjoon and wiping everything that fell onto the floor. Dinner was always a messy and hectic affair.

After six years of being a dad, he learned lots of things, one of which being the clean-as-you-go method was definitely the most effective.

It wasn’t until after they ate that he would send them off to play so that he would sit and eat as fast as he could, watching the clock and mentally noting things that still needed to be done, a list of bath time, dishes, laundry, brush their teeth, bedtime stories, put them to bed, do some more work… it went on and on.

But this night, they all sat around the table as one, Seokjin refilling Namjoon’s cup of juice and Yoongi helping Jeongguk cut up his food into smaller pieces. They didn’t let Jimin lift a hand towards his boys, and it felt…nice. He loved being a father — Jeongguk and Namjoon were his entire heart, and thinking about them filled him with such pride and joy that it immediately made his eyes water.

But Jimin had forgotten how nice it was to have help once in a while. Had forgotten how it felt to rely on someone else, to talk to other people his age, to spend more than ten minutes eating without having to get up and begin a new chore.

Through their dinner conversation, he found out that Seokjin and Hoseok were married and trying to adopt, Seokjin a physical therapist and Hoseok an elementary school teacher, working at the same school as Taehyung.

Yoongi was a photographer, slowly getting more and more well known, his works beginning to be shown in larger showcases around the city.

“He has a showcase in two months,” Seokjin bragged, eyes proud as he reached over to ruffle Yoongi’s hair, who swatted his hand away. “You should come if you can, Jiminie.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Jimin said. “I’d love to see your work sometime, though.”

Yoongi, strangely, couldn’t look directly at him, and he fiddled with his chopsticks in his hands.

“It wouldn’t…you wouldn’t. Be intruding. I—you could come, if you want.”

Seokjin and Hoseok shared a smile and — was that a wink? — and Jimin felt as if he were missing something so he just smiled and nodded and put more food into his mouth.

Each and every one of them were funny and kind and so freely themselves that Jimin found himself opening up easier than he was used to. By the end of the night he felt warm and safe and relieved, somehow, at the prospect of beginning so many new friendships.

“If you ever need a babysitter, we’re here,” Hoseok kissed Jimin on the cheek as Namjoon and Jeongguk hugged Seokjin goodbye, small forms clinging to each of Jin’s long legs. Jimin had a suspicion that the reason they were attached so quickly was because Jin had snuck them extra dessert when Jimin wasn’t looking. “We need practice if we’re gonna adopt soon.”

“That…would be really great,” Jimin smiled, seeing the sincerity behind Hoseok’s offer. “Thank you for having us.”

“It was seriously our pleasure, Jiminie. Come over anytime, yea?” Seokjin moved forward then, inching forward with the weight of two children on his feet, and gave Jimin a hug.

Taehyung came over then to hug him goodbye, all wide smiles and low chuckles and warm hands. He left with a final pat to Jeongguk and Namjoon’s heads, long coat swinging over his paisley printed dress shirt and wide-legged slacks the last thing Jimin saw before the door swung shut behind him.

Then, since he had hugged everyone else goodbye, Jimin looked towards Yoongi, cursing himself for making such a big deal out of the thought of touching the dark-haired man when it was so natural with everybody else.

Yoongi moved forward and gently wrapped his arms around Jimin briefly, and Jimin had barely gotten his arms around Yoongi’s waist and felt the warmth of Yoongi’s neck against his cheek before they were separating.

“Bye, Jimin,” Yoongi’s voice was reminiscent of the sound of tires on gravel during a late, quiet night, and Jimin wanted to keep that sound with him.

Wanted to bring that sound home.

“Bye, Yoongi,” he whispered back.

As he tucked Namjoon and Jeongguk in that night, Jimin felt so much lighter. Maybe it would be okay to depend on these people when things got too much. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe he could let them in to his world built for three and expand it.

Jimin realized that he wanted that so badly he ached.

☆

Jimin woke up with a start at the sound of glass shattering.

Heart going a mile a minute, he leapt out of bed before he could even think about it, and ran towards the noise.

He found Namjoon in the kitchen, the beginnings of tears already welling in his eyes and his socked feet inches away from a shattered mug.

“‘M sorry,” Namjoon immediately said. “Was thirsty.”

His words were slurred from guilt and sleepiness, hair going in every direction on his head.

Jimin stood there, heart still pounding, staring at the pieces broken all over the floor.

Saw the wooden floor shift into tile, saw Namjoon’s little feet become his own, heard a loud angry voice and pain on his arms pulling him down and cuts in his fingers that made it hard for him to write at school the next day.

He snapped out of it when Namjoon shuffled forward a bit, trying to get to him.

“Baby, don’t move,” he said hurriedly. “You’ll cut yourself.”

Namjoon held his arms up to be carried, something he was just beginning to grow out of, and it reminded Jimin of when his eldest son was younger and lighter and clingier and suddenly he was hit with the strongest longing for his baby to never grow up.

Wanted Namjoon to always reach for him like this, to always be able to help him when he was in trouble, to keep both Namjoon and Jeongguk from every heartbreak and embarrassment and failure that they were sure to experience as they grew older.

Jimin came over in his bare feet, trying his best not to step on anything, and pulled Namjoon into his arms.

“It’s okay, Joonie,” Jimin soothed, sitting Namjoon on his hip with one arm and rubbing his back slowly. “It was an accident. Were you thirsty?”

Namjoon sniffled into Jimin’s neck. “Wanted warm milk.”

“I’ll get it, okay? Next time just wake me up,” Jimin said softly, moving towards Namjoon’s room.

“Had a nightmare,” Namjoon whispered.

Jimin held him closer, felt the heat that only little kids could emanate seep into his chest as Namjoon hugged him tight, seeking comfort.

“Oh, bug,” Jimin crooned. “Are you okay? Was it scary?”

He shifted Namjoon so that he could slide under the covers, unresisting when Namjoon held onto him in a silent request for Jimin to stay.

“Couldn’t find you,” Namjoon said. “I woke up and I couldn’t find you or Gukkie or Hooter or Prince Humperdinck. Not even my books were there. And I was all alone, and—”

“Hey,” Jimin soothed, smoothing a hand on Namjoon’s head. “That would never happen. We’d never leave you alone.”

Namjoon hesitated, then nodded, reassured.

“It was just a dream.”

“Okay, Appa.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too,” Namjoon wiggled his cold nose into Jimin’s neck.

Jimin got up to make Namjoon some warm milk, placed it on Namjoon’s bedside table and left the door open a crack.

He didn’t let the tears fall until he was back in the kitchen, slowly sweeping up the broken glass into a dustbin.

His hands were shaking hard, and he had to press his lips together in order to not make any noise. He silently let the tears trace the curve of his cheeks and drip off his jaw, uncaring of wiping them off because he knew fresh ones would replace them.

Jimin’s chest heaved with violent, heavy, hiccuping sobs, and when he finished sweeping and his mind had nothing to distract itself, the painful, dark memories could no longer be kept away.

Sinking to the floor next to the fridge, Jimin shoved his mouth into the crook of his elbow and cried, silent, not wanting to wake Jeongguk or Namjoon.

Sitting there, with the cold night air seeping into his skin through his thin night clothes, Jimin felt a large, blooming ache in his chest that only made itself known at night, when he wasn’t busy writing for a new client or wiping ketchup off Jeongguk’s face or explaining a new word to Namjoon or making sure Prince Humperdinck and Hooter didn’t kill each other.

And the ache felt a little bit like fear and a lot like loneliness, and in the ringing silence, Jimin wished for once he could cry and have someone there for him and not have to choke on his own silenced breaths.

☆

New York City worked in strange, magical ways.

There were so many people that lived there, so many faces that you would never see. It’s a huge metal playground of dreamscape faces and forgotten desires and voices and melodies and statistically it should be next to impossible to run into someone over and over again in that city.

But it happened.

The first time Jimin ran into Yoongi, he was relaxing on a park bench while Namjoon and Jeongguk ran around in the grass. He kept his eyes closed, head tilted back, but his ears were listening for the sound of Jeongguk’s wild shrieks and Namjoon’s elaborate made up stories and their small footsteps zooming back and forth.

And suddenly, a camera shutter.

Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see Yoongi in front of him, a large, professional camera hung around his neck and pointed right at Jimin.

Jimin blinked in shock.

Had he…just taken a picture of him?

“I—sorry,” Yoongi said. “You just…”

“I just what?” Jimin asked after Yoongi trailed off and didn’t seem to have any plans of continuing his sentence.

Yoongi shrugged, bit his lip.

“Funny running into you here,” the photographer said instead.

“Yea,” Jimin laughed awkwardly. He was never good at talking to new people, especially cute new people, and especially not Min Yoongi, who had an artistic collection of earrings hanging every which way in both his ears, who wore outfits that somehow looked both comfortable and fashionable at the same time, who looked at Jimin in a way he was unused to being looked at.

“Yoonie! What’re you doing here?” Jeongguk barreled into the photographer, arms winding around Yoongi’s legs in an affectionate hug. “Did Appa invite you? Are you here to play with us?”

Yoongi laughed, moving the camera to the side of his hip so he could properly look down at Jeongguk’s face.

“No, I just happened to be here too, Gukkie,” he carded a careful hand through Jeongguk’s hair. Looking over at Namjoon, who was shyly shuffling closer to Jimin, hands behind his back, he reached an arm out and beckoned him over. “Come say hello, Joon.”

Namjoon lit up at that, and Jimin smiled. Already, Yoongi could tell that Namjoon needed a little reassurance, a little extra guidance, and Jimin loved how the other man recognized that.

Namjoon made his way over to Yoongi and hugged him too, revealing his deep dimples and happy eyes.

“We should go soon, babies,” Jimin called gently, still sitting on the bench. “We need to eat lunch soon.”

“Can Yoonie come? Please, please?” Jeongguk flung himself over Jimin’s lap, the prospect of having a new friend to eat with making his entire body hum with excitement.

Looking up, Jimin smiled apologetically. “I’m sure Yoongi’s busy, honey. Maybe—”

“I’m free,” Yoongi blurted. “I mean. If it’s alright…I’d love to come.”

And when Namjoon forgot his shyness for a moment and squealed in delight, Jimin couldn’t help but agree.

When they got to the diner, Jeongguk and Namjoon both couldn’t decide who got to sit next to Yoongi, so they decided on smushing on either side of the photographer and leaving Jimin by himself on the other side of the booth.

Though Jimin knew he should be feeling a bit betrayed that his boys were latching so quickly onto Yoongi, he knew it was just because they were excited at the prospect of getting to know someone new. The thought made something sink in Jimin’s heart — they were so unused to being around adults other than Jimin and their teachers, and that was Jimin’s fault. Jimin was so busy raising them that he had no chance to make friends his age, and his family was completely out of the picture. But still, Jimin wished that they could have grown up with more than just him to look up to.

And now, seeing Jeongguk and Namjoon both staring up at Yoongi with stars in their eyes, something warm grew in Jimin’s heart. The way Yoongi treated them was gentle but not passive, as he had already firmly told Jeongguk not to walk too close to the street on their walk to the diner a second before Jimin could open his own mouth.

It felt strange asking for a table for four.

It was always just the three of them, but with Yoongi sitting there something felt right. He didn’t feel like an intruder, and Jimin was calm in a way he’d forgotten he could be, watching Yoongi pull the straws from the wrappers and place them in all of their respective water cups, helping Jeongguk pull the cup to the edge of the table so he could scooch forward and drink from it, debating with Namjoon on what item they should order as if choosing between chicken nuggets and mac ’n cheese was the world’s Most Important Decision.

The longer Jimin watched them, the more he was bombarded with images from his past.

The way Jeongguk had a foot tucked up underneath one of his thighs, the other leg dangling free and swinging back and forth. The way Yoongi’s menu was half-wet because of a mini-water-spillage-incident from Jeongguk’s cup. The way Namjoon sat slouched over onto Yoongi’s side, leaning on the man’s arm as Yoongi showed them some of his photographs in his camera.

Jimin couldn’t shake the all too familiar voice in his head telling him to sit up straight and don’t make a mess at the fucking table, Jimin and put both feet on the ground and—

“Jimin? Are you okay?”

Blinking, Jimin immediately smiled. Looked into the present where it was warm and safe and bright. “Yea. Yea, I’m fine. Are you guys ready to order?”

The four of them spent the afternoon eating greasy french fries and sucking down sugary milkshakes, which had Jeongguk and Namjoon bouncing off the walls and making a game out of placing obnoxious kisses on Yoongi’s arms. When Jimin pouted, teasing that they were growing to love Yoongi more than him, the two of them crowed out in despair and denial and crowded on either side of Jimin, smashing their cheeks together and rubbing like kittens.

Jimin laughed, happy even though Jeongguk was standing painfully on one of his fingers and Namjoon’s cheese breath was blowing into his face. He was happy he was giving the two most important people in his life a childhood that he didn’t have.

☆

The second time he ran into Yoongi, it was in the grocery store.

Jimin was in the middle of trying to talk Namjoon out of believing that he needed a jumbo sized jar of octopus shaped animal crackers, knowing full well that the tears in his older son’s eyes were crocodile tears, but the way Namjoon was hugging the snack to his chest longingly made Jimin want to give in.

“Hey,” Yoongi rounded into his line of vision, holding Jeongguk playfully underneath his arm like a football as the boy screamed in delight. “I caught this little one his way to sneak the store’s entire stock of strawberry Hello Panda into your cart.”

Looking back, Jimin noted that there were much more than the anointed one-Hello-Panda-per-person in his cart.

“Guk,” Jimin sighed.

“Appa, why can’t we just get them all? We always just go back and get more anyway!”

Jimin fished all the extra snacks out of his cart and began stacking them back on the shelves, sighing in defeat when Namjoon took that time to place his octopus snacks into the cart.

“Don’t know how you do it,” Yoongi chuckled, stepping closer to Jimin, Jeongguk dangling off his back now. Yoongi slowly reached up and tucked one of Jimin’s stray hairs back into place, eyes lingering his face.

“Do what?” Jimin asked, nonchalant, pretending as if the simple touch hadn’t set every single one of his nerve endings on fire.

“Keep up with them. You never even seem tired, doing it on your own…”

Jimin cocked his head to the side. “How did you…?”

Yoongi blushed, hitched Jeongguk a little higher on his back. “Seokjin told me. Not much, just that you were a single dad.”

Jimin nodded slowly. “Yea. Their mother…isn’t in the picture anymore.”

As if feeling the sudden subdued atmosphere, Jeongguk peeped his face out from behind Yoongi’s neck, worried.

“Appa?”

Jimin smiled. His baby had always been so receptive to others’ feelings. He couldn’t imagine how the boy would be once he grew older.

“Everything’s fine, baby.”

When Jeongguk smiled up at him, Jimin knew he’d do anything to keep that smile on his face. Keep both him and Namjoon safe and warm and happy.

Not for the first time, he wondered why his father hadn’t felt the same way about him.

“Yoongi, have you ever read The Princess Bride?” Namjoon asked, in a good mood now that he’d successfully stashed his octopus crackers amongst the other produce.

Yoongi huffed out a laugh. “I have, Joon. Is that your favorite book?”

Namjoon nodded. “Appa reads it to us all the time.”

“Yea! He does the best Princess Buttercup voice!”

Yoongi raised a brow, turned smiling eyes towards a flushed Jimin. “Does he now?”

“It’s not that good,” Jimin muttered.

“It’s the best,” Namjoon said solemnly. “My teacher tried to do it once but it wasn’t as good. I wanted to tell her but Appa said that would be mean.”

Yoongi threw his head back and let out a loud laugh.

Jimin couldn’t help but stare at the lines of his strong neck, enamored by the way the photographer’s face lit up when he laughed like that. Jimin wanted to see it again and again.

Yoongi ran a gentle hand over the top of Namjoon’s head.

Gentle, everything about Yoongi was gentle.

For reasons only known to Jimin, it had his chest tight with emotion.

Once they were past the checkout line, Jeongguk and Namjoon now both secure in the two toddler seats in the cart where they couldn’t run off, Yoongi and Jimin stopped by the store’s exit.

“I’ll come help you,” Yoongi motioned over to Jimin’s car that he just unlocked, meaning to help Jimin put in his groceries while he buckled the kids in.

“Oh, no, I’m okay,” Jimin smiled.

Yoongi reached out a hand and rested it on the handlebar of Jimin’s cart. “I want to help.”

Jimin hesitated, debated.

Didn’t want to give Yoongi the impression that he couldn’t handle being a single parent.

Wanted Yoongi to believe that he was a good dad, could handle everything on his own.

So he shook his head, offering a small smile. “I’m okay, Yoongi. I’ll see you later, okay?”

After a few more moments of hesitation, Yoongi let his hand slip from Jimin’s cart. Threw him a teasing smile.

“As you wish.”

☆

The third time Jimin saw Yoongi, it was under much less pleasant circumstances.

Though the city worked in magical ways, bringing Jimin brief flashes of serendipity in the form of Min Yoongi, that magic also had a dark side.

When Jimin quite literally ran into someone during his walk home after picking Jeongguk and Namjoon up from school, he quickly began to apologize.

When the man turned around and Jimin saw his father’s familiar face, he forgot how to breathe.

Jimin had thought, during the years they were apart, that with time the monster his father had grown to become inside Jimin’s mind would become less real, less scary.

Rationally, he knew that the man was like any other. Just an angry, terrible human being who had taken his anger out on Jimin when he was too young to know the difference between right and wrong and love and hate, when he was too young to know that love didn’t equal pain.

But now, after four years, seeing his father face to face brought back every dark, terrifying thought that he had as a child.

Clutching Jeongguk closer to his chest, and shuffling Namjoon behind him, Jimin froze, hoping the man would simply walk away without a word.

Instead, he stepped closer, and Jimin wanted to throw up.

All he could think about was protecting Namjoon and Jeongguk and so help him if his father even tried to lay a hand on them Jimin would fight back like he never had before, he couldn’t do it for himself but he would do it for them, would do everything physically possible to shield them from the ache and the fear and the darkness and the irrational guilt—

“I see you’re not doing well for yourself,” his father said as a form of greeting, eyes trailing down to Jimin’s ripped jeans and frayed sweater and Jeongguk and Namjoon’s off brand clothing.

So different to his father’s crisp tailored suit and Jimin’s old starched, expensive clothing he was dressed in as a child.

“I’m doing better than I ever have,” Jimin forced his voice not to waver.

Because it was true.

Though he was cut off from his inheritance, though he knew that soon Jeongguk and Namjoon would grow bigger and wouldn’t be able to share a room anymore, though he was making just enough money to get by through his freelance writing job that allowed him to work from home, Jimin was okay. As long as Jeongguk and Namjoon were safe and happy, Jimin would be okay.

“Appa? Who’s that?” Jeongguk whispered loudly in his ear.

Normally, Jeongguk would have asked the person directly, but he must have felt how tense Jimin was, must have seen the crease between Jimin’s brows, the frown on his dad’s normally smiling lips.

“No one, baby,” Jimin responded. “He’s no one.”

Jimin’s father lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? You don’t even want them to know their own grandfather?”

He stepped closer, imposing, familiar, suffocating, terrible.

Jimin let out a shaky breath.

“Back up,” he said.

“I knew since the moment you were born you were a disgrace, Jimin.”

“Back up,” Jimin said, firmer this time. Namjoon whimpered from behind him at the tone of his voice.

“Never could do anything right. Couldn’t even sit up straight at the dinner table, couldn’t walk without tripping all over yourself, couldn’t study something useful in school, couldn’t even hold on to the mother of your own children. Always such a fucking mess. Doesn’t look like anything has changed. Good riddance.”

With that, he heard his father walk away, the click of his dress shoes on the sidewalk growing fainter and fainter.

Jimin had never broken down before in front of Jeongguk and Namjoon.

Now, desperately trying to fight against his own emotions, Jimin lowered himself into a squat and set Jeongguk down, placed a palm flat on the floor to ground himself and tried to get his breathing under control, face wet and turned down, hidden.

“Appa, Appa,” Jeongguk was crying now, too. “’S wrong? Who was that?”

Namjoon was hugging Jimin tight, and he could feel Namjoon’s little arms trembling around him.

They must have been so scared, and confused, and Jimin felt terrible, he couldn’t even keep it together until he was in a room where they couldn’t see him fall apart.

“Jimin? Jimin, are you guys okay?”

No.

Not now.

Not now, not now.

A pair of shoes made its way into his line of vision, and Jimin turned his head down towards the ground even more, hoping that if he ignored the other man he would go away.

Hoping that if he ignored everything the world would just pause for a moment, give him a second to breathe.

“Yoonie!” Jeongguk cried.

Jimin felt one of Namjoon’s arms detach from his octopus hold he had on him so that he could pull Yoongi closer. “There was a mean man an’ he said things to Appa, and now something’s wrong!”

“I’m fine,” Jimin choked out. “It’s okay.”

He was mortified, felt terrible that he was scaring his babies, felt terrible that Yoongi had to stumble upon them during his weakest moment, felt terrible because so many haunting memories were knocking against every corner of his brain and trying to set themselves free.

“It’s okay,” Jeongguk repeated, patting Jimin on the head in a clumsy mimicry of the way Jimin would run his hands through Jeongguk’s hair whenever he was distressed. “It’s okay.”

“Jimin? Did you get hurt?”

Yoongi’s hand was gentle under his chin now, lifting his head so that they could meet eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jimin repeated.

“What happened?” A hand was under his elbow now, reaching past the tiny limbs that still clung on to Jimin’s, and suddenly he was swaying on his feet, his only support Yoongi’s hands grasping his arms.

Jimin just shook his head.

“Jimin,” Yoongi said, something darker in his voice. Concern, fear, irritation, Jimin couldn’t tell. All Jimin knew was that it ran a shiver down his spine.

“It’s not fine,” Namjoon said, slipping one of his hands in Jimin’s and the other in Yoongi’s once Jimin was steady on his feet. “You said—you said that whenever something’s wrong we should tell you. So you—you need to tell us what’s wrong this time!”

Jeongguk chimed his agreement on Jimin’s other side.

Feeling the fear and the desperation slowly leak out of him at all three of their comforting presences and voices, Jimin let out a light laugh.

“You’re right, baby,” he said.

And he was.

Though they were young, Jimin made a promise to himself when they were born that he would raise them with complete honesty and transparency, even when telling them the truth would be the harder route to take at times.

“That man we just ran into…was your grandfather,” Jimin said.

He ignored the way Yoongi’s eyebrows bunched together.

Namjoon’s head tilted to the side.

“Which means he’s my…Appa,” Jimin explained.

Jeongguk’s mouth popped open. “I didn’t know Appa had an Appa too!”

Though a part of Jimin was hesitant at the fact that Yoongi was there for this conversation, another part of him accepted it. Didn’t mind that Yoongi knew. Liked the way Yoongi held on to both of his sons’ hands in his big ones, completely engulfing their little fingers with his palms. Liked the way Yoongi’s voice never raised, liked the way a camera was always slung around his neck, liked the way he was observant and kind and there.

“Everybody has an Appa, Jeonggukie,” Jimin said. “But I don’t see my Appa anymore.”

Confusion filled both of his sons’ eyes.

“Does that mean…when we grow up we won’t see you anymore?” Jeongguk’s voice was panicked, his grip on Jimin’s hand tightening.

“No, of course not,” Jimin was quick to soothe. “You’ll have me forever, for as long as you want me. Don’t worry.”

“Then why didn’t you have your Appa forever?” Namjoon asked, voice curious and innocent.

Jimin bit his lip, unsure of how to explain.

“There are good Appas and there are bad Appas,” he said. “Mine happened to be bad. He was unkind, and so when I was old enough I decided that I didn’t want to see him anymore,” Jimin said.

Yoongi, with both of his hands still clasped in Jeongguk and Namjoon’s, stepped forward a bit, eyes dark and concerned and questioning, wanting to know more.

Jimin shook his head — not now.

But later?

Jimin had never debated telling someone else about his childhood.

Standing there with Yoongi, he somehow found himself wanting to trust, more than he ever had in his entire life.

“You’re the best Appa,” Jeongguk said, fire in his big eyes. “I’ll love you forever and ever.”

“Me too!” Namjoon huffed, a pout on his lips.

Jimin melted into a slow, loving smile, heart calming down and strength re-entering his limbs.

“And I’ll love you both for even longer.”

Yoongi insisted on walking them home, and Jimin couldn’t help but picture them as a little family, with Jeongguk sitting onto Yoongi’s broad shoulders and Namjoon swinging in-between the two adults, hands all entwined.

Kids were easily distracted, and so the two had no trouble filling the silence of the walk with their chatter, and Jimin was relieved.

He could still sense a tension in Yoongi’s shoulders, knew that the other wanted to know more, and Jimin didn’t know if he was ready to share so much of himself yet, no matter how much he wanted to.

Once they were back, Jimin knew Yoongi was lingering for a reason.

“Can we talk about it?” Yoongi asked once the kids were in their room.

Jimin bit his lip, then slowly shook his head.

“I don’t…I’m not ready.”

“Are you okay? Really.”

Jimin nodded automatically.

“Jimin, I just want to help,” Yoongi said. “Please. Seeing you on the sidewalk today…what did your father do?”

“Can you just go? For now? Please. I want to be alone.”

Jimin was standing with his forehead pressed to the doorframe, and he looked smaller than Yoongi’s ever seen him.

“Jimin…”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Jimin’s voice came out in a whisper. “Just go.”

After a few more moments of hesitation, Yoongi let out a breath and stepped back. Had to fight everything in him not to step forward again and pull Jimin into his arms when he saw Jimin slump out of exhaustion.

“As you wish,” he whispered.

This time, when he said it, there was no lighthearted laughter or teasing smile.

He waited until Jimin shut the door before he turned and walked away.

☆

There was a day in which the weight of the world seemed to drag Jimin down by his fingertips, the dampness in the clouds coating his skin like a bad mood that he couldn’t shake off, and fatigue ate at his bones like a man starving.

He supposed he was unused to ever having to work outside of home — but there was a client who demanded a meeting in person and Jimin knew they needed the money. So he had met with the client outside of his home even though it meant he had to ask Jin and Hoseok to babysit for the entire day.

When he trudged to their door to collect Jeongguk and Namjoon, he heard a familiar, deep voice.

Before he could knock, he realized that the front door was left open a bit, so he pushed his way in silently.

Jeongguk and Namjoon were curled around Yoongi the way they typically only curled around Jimin — sleepy and vulnerable and trusting. Jeongguk had two fingers in his mouth, eyes closed peacefully, another habit he typically only did at home, when he was tired and relaxed and knew that Jimin was there to tuck him in and kiss him goodnight. Namjoon was fighting sleep, eyes drooping then flying open ever so often.

In Yoongi’s hand was their tattered copy of The Princess Bride, and Yoongi had both of Jimin’s hearts wrapped around him as he read them their favorite bedtime story.

“There is no room in my body for anything but you. My arms love you, my ears adore you, my knees shake with blind affection. My mind begs you to ask it something so it can obey. Do you want me to follow you for the rest of your days? I will do that. Do you want me to crawl? I will crawl. I will be quiet for you or sing for you, or if you are hungry, let me bring you food, or if you have thirst and nothing will quench it but Arabian wine, I will go to Araby, even though it is across the world, and bring a bottle back for your lunch. Anything there is that I can do for you, I will do for you; anything there is that I cannot do, I will learn to do.”

Jimin watched as Namjoon smiled sleepily as he listened.

Knew this was his son’s favorite part, and his heart swelled at the thought of Namjoon’s enormous love completely enveloping somebody someday.

Yoongi’s deep, crooning voice filled the silence of the apartment, and there was just something so domestic and lovely and calm about the sight of his sons curled around the photographer that had Jimin’s chest aching.

“And with that, she dared the bravest thing she’d ever done; she looked right into his eyes.”

By the end of the passage, Namjoon was asleep, and Yoongi looked up towards Jimin.

Before their eyes could meet, Jimin let his gaze fall the ground, setting his bag down silently by his feet.

“They’re asleep,” Yoongi said quietly.

Jimin didn’t respond, just made his way over and carded his fingers through Namjoon’s hair, then Jeongguk’s.

“Where are Jin and Hobi?”

“They’re picking up some snacks at the convenience store. I told them I’d be fine with the kids here.”

Jimin nodded.

“Are you okay?”

Maybe Yoongi could see the lines around Jimin’s eyes, the downward twist of his lips, the slump in his shoulders.

Or maybe Yoongi was asking about him beyond his day — wanting to bare part of Jimin’s soul to himself in the dimly lit apartment that was full of good memories.

But after seeing Yoongi cuddled up on the couch with his children reading them The Princess Bride, Jimin was okay. There was something about the sight that had Jimin biting at his lip to keep from smiling too widely, to keep from pulling Yoongi into a kiss.

So he let out a long sigh, exhaled sadness and stress and nodded his head.

“Yea, I’m okay,” Jimin said. And for the first time in a while, it wasn’t a lie.

☆

Jimin should have been more careful.

He had heard Jeongguk and Namjoon arguing about something, but he had decided that there were times in which they needed to work it out for themselves. They had to learn how to compromise, and how to recognize when it was worth it to keep fighting or give in, especially growing up as brothers so close in age.

Typically they either forgot about their argument or one of them would run to Jimin crying, which is when he would intervene, but this time neither of that happened.

Jimin stood immediately from his work desk when he heard the front door slam open then shut. He hurried into the living room to see Namjoon fuming, a book clenched in his arms, his entire face and neck red the way it got when he was extremely angry or embarrassed.

“Joon, what happened? Did Jeongguk just run out?”

There were angry tears beginning to drip down Namjoon’s cheeks.
“He’s so dumb! I hate him!”

“Joon,” Jimin said, looking around wildly. He had hoped that one of them had simply slammed the door to emphasize a point, but after a couple of moments he realized that Jeongguk really had left the apartment. “Joon, Jeongguk just left? I have to go look for him, okay? We’ll talk this out later, okay? Don’t cry.”

Jimin knew his frantic voice was making Namjoon even more teary and emotional, but he didn’t have time to deal with it then.

Jimin knew that even at his young age, Jeongguk was a fast runner. And he loved running down the stairs of their complex — he continuously begged Jimin to take the stairs instead of the elevator every time they left the apartment building.

The thought of Jeongguk tripping and falling, or being taken away, or getting lost, had Jimin’s heart beating twofold.

He was about to rush out when he remembered Namjoon, Namjoon, who was also still just a child despite his above average intelligence, who was upset and emotional and probably confused and needing Jimin but Jimin was about to leave him behind.

Hurriedly scooping Namjoon up in his arms, he rushed to Seokjin and Hoseok’s door down the hall and knocked continuously until Seokjin opened it, confused and concerned.

“Jimin?”

“I’m so sorry, could you watch Namjoon for a bit? I need to—Jeongguk ran off, and I—I need to look for him, please take him, I’m so sorry,” during this Jin was already reaching out, hoisting Namjoon into his arms, and Jimin had to ignore the clench in his gut when Namjoon began crying in earnest and reached a hand out for him.

“I’ll be right back, okay baby? I’ll be back,” Jimin said, then spun on his heels and ran towards the stairs.

When he made it into the lobby of his building, there was no one but the receptionist in sight. He made his way out onto the street, choking on his own fear and regret, wishing that he had gone to them the minute they started shouting at each other, should have been doing his work where he could keep an eye on them, should have been more careful. More attentive.

And it was so hard, working and trying to be there for his kids and attending school events and parent teacher meetings and having to make ends meet with rent and food and electricity and water bills and Jimin just wanted to be a good dad who could keep his children laughing and warm and safe but there were days when it was all too overwhelming.

There were days when it felt as if he had completely failed, and that feeling of failure and loss was eating Jimin alive as he looked up and down the street and couldn’t find Jeongguk’s familiar head of hair through the crowds.

He’s two blocks away from his building when he gets a call.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he’s about to hang up when he sees that it’s Yoongi.

“Yoongi, I can’t—”

“He’s here.”

“What?”

“Jeongguk, I’ve got him. I was looking out the window of the coffeeshop I was in and I saw him run past, so I ran after him and took him here. He’s okay.”

Jimin let out an embarrassing, watery sob. “Are you serious? Thank god. Yoongi.”

“He’s okay, he’s okay, Jimin. It’s okay.”

“Text me the address, please. I’m on my way.”

When Jimin ran into the relatively empty coffee shop, panic pulling him forward like a hook in his pockets, he saw Jeongguk sitting on a chair, small legs dangling in the air.

When Jeongguk looked up and saw him, his face crumpled and he ran straight for Jimin.

Falling to his knees, Jimin caught Jeongguk close, his heart thundering wildly in his chest. Jimin’s hands were shaking and he pressed his baby closer, nosing into the warmth of Jeongguk’s hair and cheeks.

“You scared me,” Jimin whispered. “Baby, you scared me.”

“Appa,” Jeongguk whimpered out. His tiny fists clenched into the material of Jimin’s shirt. “Didn’t mean to. Appa, don’t be sad.”

Belatedly, Jimin felt the wetness against his cheeks, and pulled back, rucking his sweater over his hands to dry them.

“Sorry,” Jeongguk said miserable, tears brimming in his own eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Jeongguk was the most emotional out of Jimin’s two boys — he cried whenever someone else cried, even when someone was crying on the TV. It took Jimin forever to explain that the actors were just pretending, and even still seeing someone else sad made Jeongguk unexplainably emotional.

So Jimin forced a smile onto his face, dropping a long kiss on Jeongguk’s forehead, breathing out a long sigh of relief and the desperate fear only a parent can understand. “It’s okay, baby. I’m so glad you’re not hurt. But we need to talk once we’re home.”

Jimin felt a presence on his right, and he looked up to find Yoongi smiling softly at him.

“Hey.”

Jimin stood, Jeongguk latching onto his side and burying his face into Jimin’s neck.

“Yoongi,” Jimin breathed out, still shaken. “Thank you so much. For calling me.”

“Figured you must’ve been looking for him,” Yoongi said.

“I’m so glad you just happened to look up when he was running past. If you hadn’t…”

Jimin saw Yoongi’s eyes trace over his face, his red-rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks and brows that still haven’t relaxed.

Tried to ignore the feeling that rose in his chest at the look of concern prevalent in the photographer’s brown eyes, protective and questioning.

“He got in a fight with Joon,” Jimin felt the need to explain himself. To prove to Yoongi that he wasn’t a bad dad. “He ran out when I wasn’t looking. This hasn’t happened before.”

“Hey, you’re fine,” Yoongi said, his voice deep and soothing and everything Jimin wanted but wouldn’t let himself hope for. “I wasn’t…I’m just glad Jeonggukie’s safe.”

“Yea,” Jimin breathed out. “Yea. Thank you. Again.”

After the whole ordeal, he was tired, his body buzzing with leftover adrenaline, and Jimin could hear Jeongguk snuffling quietly into the skin of his neck.

“I should take him home,” Jimin repositioned Jeongguk a bit higher on his hip. Dreaded the walk all the way back to their apartment but dreaded the thought of putting Jeongguk down even more.

“Do you want me to drive you?”

Jimin wished he could allow himself to say yes.

“You don’t have a car seat,” Jimin tilted his head towards a dozing Jeongguk, half an explanation and half an excuse.

Yoongi seemed to want to argue, but held his tongue.

Instead he reached out a hand and stroked a gentle thumb across Jimin’s cheek, clearing a stray tear that had refused to fall all the way.

“Ah, right,” Yoongi nodded, stepped back. “Text me when you’re home? So I know you’re safe.”

Jimin bit his lip. The words felt like soft kisses on his skin. Like rain on land that hasn’t flowered in a hundred years.

“As you wish.”

When they got back to their building, Jimin collected a worried Namjoon from an even more worried Seokjin, who Jimin explained everything to, and he gathered his boys and sat with them on the couch, heart heavy. As a parent, he knew that things weren’t always going to be candy floss and rainbow bubbles, but the darker sides of parenting were hard. And Jimin, not for the first time and definitely not for the last, wished that he didn’t have to do this alone. Wished that there was larger hand in his that could ground him, wished there was a gravel-rough voice and stern but gentle eyes next to him to help him with the difficult parts of being a dad.

But also to be there for the beautiful parts that made everything worth it, that felt like sliding down rose petals and sinking into a pool of honey, that felt like stepping out during the first snow day and finding peace in the sudden silence after a year full of chaos.

Jeongguk was still latched onto him, and Namjoon cuddled his way underneath Jimin’s other arm. Hooter was curled up in Jeongguk’s lap, and the boy’s small hands were stroking her fur softly. Prince Humperdinck was pressed against Namjoon’s thigh, snoring softly in his sleep.

“Sorry I called Hooter stupid,” Namjoon said, patting Jeongguk’s cheek in apology, then moving to clumsily give Hooter a few pats as well.

Jeongguk looked up at his brother, eyes wide and shiny and trusting. “Sorry she peed on The Princess Bride.”

Namjoon shrugged, looking down at the well-loved, battered book on the coffee table that Jimin had found at a yard sale when Jeongguk was barely three months old. “Jinnie blow dried it for me and sprayed it with his rose perfume. So it’s okay.”

Jimin grimaced a little, the thought of the artificial perfume mixing with the scent of cat pee not an appealing one, but he let his babies make up.

“No more running away, okay?” Jimin pressed a kiss to Jeongguk’s head, then Namjoon’s. “You could have gotten seriously hurt today, Gukkie, or lost. I never want you to leave the apartment without telling me again, do you understand?”

Jeongguk looked up at him with wide, guilty eyes, and he nodded.

“Even if we fight, families talk things out. We don’t scream, and we don’t run from our problems.”

“Yea, Westley didn’t run from his!” Namjoon exclaimed.

Jeongguk nodded vigorously, cheek smushed against Jimin’s collarbone. “He went and saved Princess Buttercup! He didn’t run! We’ll both be Westley next time we fight!”

Jimin smiled fondly, love like an ache in his chest. He pulled his babies in closer and squeezed them tight, and made a mental note to buy them a new copy of The Princess Bride for Christmas.

☆

Since the Jeongguk incident, Jimin and Yoongi had been spending more and more time together. Something had just clicked in both of them, and everyday texts and meals and check ins became normal.

Every time Jimin’s phone pinged he had to will himself not to lunge for it like a lovesick teenager, even though this was the first time he’s ever allowed himself to feel so strongly for another person other than his children.

When he thought of Yoongi he felt blushy and floaty and hot inside and it was all new to him, this feeling of excitement and comfort and beauty all wrapped up in the skin of another person.

Seokjin and Hoseok were called more regularly and asked to babysit, and every time Jimin knocked on their door, snack bags and toy bags slung over his shoulder and a child hanging off each arm, Seokjin waggled his eyebrows suggestively as Jeongguk and Namjoon bounced into his and Hoseok’s waiting arms.

Somehow, with Yoongi, Jimin was unafraid. Unhesitant. Open. Everything that he wasn’t before, he was with Yoongi.

The night he told Yoongi about his past they were bundled up in coats, Christmas was approaching and the glow of the streetlights made Yoongi’s eyes look golden.

Jimin didn’t want to, but he watched that gold become cold and dark and angry when he spoke of his past, of bruises on his little body and of expectations that came along with having a family with more money than they could ever spend and therefore with expectations he could never fulfill, of dark flashes of pain that accompanied not sitting up straight or forgetting to place his napkin on his lap during dinner or saying something out of line at a dinner party or asking for a pet for his birthday so he would feel less lonely or doing better on his English test than his business test or telling his father that he didn’t want to marry the girl his parents had set him up with for financial gain or when he had to tell his parents that that girl left after their second child because she found out Jimin liked boys.

And Jimin spent a lot of his life confusing pain and love and heartache and desire and childhood dreams and sexuality until it all became a dark mess in his head, a black scribble, a never-ending scream.

And during this Yoongi was quiet but he didn’t let go of Jimin’s hand and when Jimin was done Yoongi tipped their foreheads together and slowly, slowly pressed their lips together, warm hands winding around Jimin’s waist underneath his coat.

It said enough.

You’re not alone anymore.

I see you with all your pain and desperation and chipped corners and beautiful colors and I don’t want to stop looking.

“Tell me something happy,” Yoongi said.

Breathed warmth into Jimin’s soul.

Took the endless cacophony of noise in Jimin’s head and soothed it, put it to sleep like a baby.

They sat side by side on a park bench and Jimin talked about his happiness, about how high he felt holding Namjoon for the first time. Then Jeongguk. How they were small beating hearts in the palm of his hand that he had created and was responsible for at such a young age all by himself, but if anything they saved him. If anything he was the luckiest man on earth, being gifted with two souls that loved him wholeheartedly and taught him about himself and the world more than anything or anybody else. How he felt when he picked them up from school every day, but every day neither of them failed to run at him in glee as if they hadn’t seen him in months. How he felt when he decided to leave his family once he decided he deserved more than a life of darkness, and even though he was cold and alone with two babies to take care of and unsure about absolutely everything, he was free and that was enough to make him cry with joy.

Didn’t notice the entire time he was talking that Yoongi was flipping his lens cap in his palm over and over again.

☆

“Joonie.”

“Yea?”

Jimin paused outside of the boys’ door when he heard Jeongguk’s tone of voice.

Though it was a bit strange, sometimes his toddlers had the funniest conversations when he wasn’t around, and occasionally he liked to listen in. Sue him.

“Don’t you think Yoonie is kinda like Westley?”

“Westley?”

“Yea. Strong and brave and nice and he loves Princess Buttercup a lot a lot! The most in the world.”

“If Yoonie’s Westley, then who’s Princess Buttercup?”

“Appa! Duh.” Jeongguk’s tone hinted that he was scandalized Namjoon even had to ask.

“Do you think Appa knows?” Namjoon asked.

“Knows what?”

“That Yoonie is Westley?”

Jeongguk laughed then, the sound strangely intelligent for a four year old.

“‘Course not, Joonie. The book would end too fast if he did.”

Namjoon laughed then, and Jeongguk quickly joined in, losing themselves in a fit of laughter that only children had the ability to fall into.

Jimin backed away from the door, thinking to himself that that was the last time he would allow himself to eavesdrop on their conversations again, ignoring the fact that his entire face felt hot.

☆

There were days in which Yoongi needed a little help, as well.

There were days in which things just didn’t seem to fit together, where every little thing frustrated the photographer, where he would beat his own insides black and blue for every tiny mistake he made, insecurities and sadness a demon that he fought with relentlessly.

And Jimin hated it.

Hated it because the pain in Yoongi’s eyes broke his heart but accepted it because it was just the way Yoongi was sometimes and he would take Yoongi any way he could have him.

And when Jimin had stopped by Yoongi’s studio one evening with dinner and saw Yoongi crouched on the floor with his head hidden in his knees, he simply set the bags of takeout aside and leant Yoongi his neck to breathe all of his frustrations and self deprecation into. Carded his fingers through Yoongi’s hair the way he often did for Namjoon and Jeongguk and allowed Yoongi into the safety of his heart, offered comfort through whispered reassurance and warm touches.

“The exhibition,” Yoongi had gasped out. “Too soon. Too much.”

“It will be beautiful, Yoongi. Everything you create is.”

“Not good enough,” Yoongi muttered, lines of stress marring the spot between his brows. “Not good enough. Never good—”

“You’re enough for me,” Jimin said. “More than. You fill every empty space that I never knew I had and…and now I feel like I’m overflowing. You’re enough.”

And in the moment when Yoongi shuffled closer and pressed his lips to Jimin’s neck and stayed like that, the fluttering of Jimin’s heart thrumming underneath his mouth, they were giving each other the most vulnerable parts of themselves and trusting the other to keep it safe.

☆

“Jimin.”

Jimin looked up from his laptop.

Saw Yoongi in the doorway with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his shirt a bit damp.

He had just given the boys a bath and put them to bed, and the heat from the bathroom had Yoongi’s cheeks flushed in a way that had Jimin staring.

“Hey. Thanks for helping out tonight,” Jimin said, standing and stretching and making his way over to Yoongi like it was second nature.

And maybe it was now.

To wander and wander until he turned into the circle of Yoongi’s arms and could finally settle.

Yoongi squeezed him tight and affectionate around the waist, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against Jimin’s cheek.

“The boys are asleep.”

“Mmm.” Jimin pressed closer into Yoongi’s warmth, the smell of the boys’ children’s shampoo still stuck to his pale skin.

“Jeongguk spent the entire bath trying to convince Namjoon that ducks are cooler than crabs.”

Jimin let out a short laugh.

“Namjoon cried a little bit.”

Jimin laughed even harder.

“He has too much love for those freaky crustaceans,” Yoongi murmured.

Sniffing, Jimin huffed. “You’re the one who brought them to an aquarium last week. You started the obsession.”

Yoongi pulled back, a smile forming on his lips. “I honestly checked his pockets before we left the place. Really thought he was gonna snag one from the tanks.”

“He would,” Jimin said.

After a few more moments of silence, in which they basked in the calm and the quiet that was so rare with two young boys always around, Yoongi pulled back to look into Jimin’s eyes.

Unwound one arm from its grip around Jimin’s waist and placed a large hand against Jimin’s cheek.

“I never want to see you hurt,” Yoongi said, the sentence whispered like a secret that would burn away once the sun rose.

Jimin knew what Yoongi was alluding to and he just nodded.

“I wouldn’t,” Yoongi said.

Hit you.

Jimin didn’t have to ask him to elaborate.

“Yoongi. God, Yoongi, I know.”

“Do you? Do you trust me?” Yoongi asked, burning desperation in his eyes. “I want you to trust me. Always.”

“You’re not my family. I know that. I know,” Jimin said.

And he did.

He knew Yoongi would never hurt him, or Jeongguk or Namjoon.

Knew that Yoongi somehow placed himself into their little family and fit so well that Jimin could barely remember a time before his boys asked for ‘Yoonie’ to come over every morning.

Knew that Yoongi would rather cut off his own arm rather than use it forcefully against any three of them.

Knew that the people who claimed to love him in the early years of his life were violent and abusive but the people who loved him now were gentle and beautiful and golden.

And Jimin was so relieved, so full of love that felt right and painless and endless.

So he tilted his head up and kissed Yoongi deep, dragged his hands underneath Yoongi’s shirt. Yoongi pulled him closer and closer until Jimin felt dizzy and drunk off his taste and his scent and his noises.

Jimin lead Yoongi to his room and shut the door and in a big starlit city Yoongi pulled him closer still, and Jimin finally felt love the way people wrote about and sang about and cried for and died for.

☆

Jimin felt empty without the warmth of Jeongguk and Namjoon by his side.

But it was already past their bedtime, and this event was fancy and respectful and Jimin shuddered picturing himself bringing his children to the showcase and having to pay $5,000 for something that Namjoon accidentally knocked over.

So, after dressing up in the one suit that he owned and styling his hair for the first time in months and putting up with Jeongguk nuzzling into his neck for ten minutes straight because of the cologne he had sprayed on, Jimin kissed his babies goodnight and left them at Seokjin’s, making sure they had their favorite stuffed animals and pajamas on.

Seeing all of the people dressed so nicely had Jimin a bit uncomfortable, thinking back to his childhood when every event he attended was all stiff and polite small talk and long floor length dresses and tie clips and a million painful secrets hidden under fake smiles and old money and gleaming chandeliers.

But Jimin pushed past that because he knew Yoongi was inside, knew how hard Yoongi worked for this, knew how much this night meant to Yoongi. Also, Jimin had never really seen Yoongi’s work, just small glances and snippets, and he desperately wanted to.

Wanted to see part of Yoongi that he’s never seen before.

Wanted to see the world through Yoongi’s eyes, wanted to see what Yoongi thought was beautiful.

So Jimin drifted in to the gallery after giving his name to the man by the door.

Soft piano music was playing.

Someone took his coat and bag and gave him a small ticket stub so that he could collect them later.

The room was aglow with golden light, and the warmth of it had Jimin’s previously cold cheeks and fingers thawing.

There were people milling all around, champagne glasses held delicately between adorned fingers, low murmurs filling the air, all eyes directed towards the photographs lining the walls.

Jimin knew Yoongi would be busy, as one of the photographers that were part of this exhibit, so he didn’t immediately seek him out, not matter how much he wanted to.

So he went from room to room, looking at the photographs framed on the wall.

Found some uninteresting, found some moving, found some confusing.

The entire time, he would look at the photograph first, trying to guess and see if it was Yoongi’s or not before looking at the artist’s name card and description displayed to the side.

Each and every time, Jimin could tell that the piece wasn’t Yoongi’s.

There was always something off.

Not expressive enough, too colorful, too bland.

It was when he finally got to the very last room that Jimin knew.

And he knew because he saw the past two months splayed out in front of him in various frames.

Jimin looked up.

Saw the title of Yoongi’s collection sprawled on the wall in bold letters.

As You Wish.

Jimin felt like he’d lost his breath.

Because he was surrounded by himself, and by Jeongguk, and Namjoon, and Taehyung and Seokjin and Hoseok and Jimin didn’t know what was going on.

It was like a small timeline.

Each piece had a title.

When We Began.

The very first time they met, the dinner at Seokjin and Hoseok’s apartment. It was a picture of Taehyung and Jimin swinging Namjoon and Jeongguk around in dizzying circles, their bodies a happy blur. You could see Seokjin thrown into a full body laugh in the background.

When I Realized Love is a Person and I Met Them Through You.

The day at the park, when they first ran into each other. Jimin sitting on the bench, head tilted towards the sun, soft smile on his lips, eyes closed.

Next to it, a picture of Jimin, Jeongguk and Namjoon at the diner after they had finished their food. Their cheeks were pressed together, the two toddlers nuzzling their cheeks against their father’s, all three of their faces lit up with the exact same smile.

When I Remembered What Love Is.

The only photograph Yoongi was in, and it was just his hand and his lap. Jeongguk was curled up on his thighs, asleep, just a wild mop of bedhead and a fragile small neck that disappeared into bunny pajamas, tiny hands wrapped around two of Yoongi’s fingers. Peeking out from underneath their entangled limbs was their battered copy of The Princess Bride.

The First Time I Realized Being Alone Was Lonely.

All of them gathered in Hoseok and Seokjin’s living room, Jeongguk and Namjoon dancing on the coffee table in their footed Christmas patterned onesies, four pairs of hands reaching out to steady them in case they fell, wide smiles and crinkled eyes on every visible face.

When I Realized Your Pain Is My Pain.

A still, lonely shot of Jimin’s apartment building. It looked small against the other buildings in the city. Yoongi had captured the streetlight that never worked and the abandoned flower shop on the very corner of the street. It was the night Yoongi walked them home after Jimin ran into his father, and Jimin had forced him to leave.

Beside it, in black and white, Jimin’s silhouette framed by a streetlight. The night they had gone out and walked until late and Jimin told Yoongi everything about his past and they both shared tears and hope and pain underneath the stars like two lovers splitting a bottle of wine.

A Love I’ve Never Felt Before.

Namjoon and Jeongguk sitting side by side in matching outfits. Jeongguk was clutching Hooter to his chest and Prince Humperdinck was sprawled across Namjoon’s lap. Both of them were looking beyond the camera, towards Yoongi, dimples indenting both of their cheeks, smiling so hard their eyes were tiny starbursts.

When I Realized Love Loved Me Back.

Just Jimin, this time.

Jimin looking at a point above the camera with his lips tilted up but not fully smiling. His expression was stunned, awestruck. He had an arm extended, his fingers linked with Yoongi’s outside of the frame, a blush on his cheeks and trust in his eyes.

They had been standing in Jimin’s kitchen, and early morning light made Jimin’s skin look like it was awash with fairy dust.

“Let me see you, Jimin,” Yoongi had said that day, face hidden behind the camera he was pointing towards the writer.

Jimin had his head tilted down towards his feet.

“Stop, Yoongi,” he had laughed. “You’re seeing me. You’ve always seen me.”

“Jimin.”

“Yea.”

“Jimin.”

“What?”

“I love you,” Yoongi said.

And with that, Jimin did the bravest thing he’s ever done; he looked right into Yoongi’s eyes.

The shutter clicked.

Chapter Text

Yoongi was wholeheartedly surprised at how much of his happiness depended on one single fat cat.

For days now, Prince Humperdinck has been irritable, tired, and unlike his usual hyper self.

When Jeongguk tried to bait him into playing with his favorite toy and Prince Humperdinck just shut his eyes and set his big fluffy head back down onto his paws, Jeongguk had looked up at Yoongi and Jimin and burst into tears.

Which then caused Namjoon to look up from his book, a eyes huge and scared, head looking back and forth from Jimin and Yoongi to Jeongguk to Prince Humperdinck.

Jimin moved to console Jeongguk, a frown marring his lips now, too.

So, in short, when Prince Humperdinck was in a bad mood, that would put Jeongguk in a bad mood, which would then throw Namjoon and Jimin into bad moods, and ultimately had Yoongi feeling very concerned and very upset and very much Needing To Make His Boys Feel Better.

That’s how he ended up here, in the parking lot in front of the veterinarian’s building, trying to calm down an extremely anxious and agitated Prince Humperdinck.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” Yoongi said, blindly sticking a finger into the cat’s carrier in a last-ditch attempt to soothe him.

Prince Humperdinck had started to freak out the moment he caught sight of the building, remembering that the last time he was taken there he had gotten three very painful shots. The feline hadn’t let any of them except Jeongguk touch him for a week straight.

“Ow! Prince Humperdinck, you absolute fucker,” Yoongi jerked his finger out of the criss-crossed wires after he felt little sharp teeth chomp around his skin. “I’m just trying to help, you brat.”

Not for the first time that morning, he regretted telling Jimin he’d be the one to take Prince Humperdinck to the vet.

But Jimin had looked so tired, and when the younger had offered to switch tasks with Yoongi and have the photographer take the kids to school and have Jimin take the cat to the vet instead, Yoongi had taken one look at the resigned expression on Jimin’s face and was quick to volunteer his mental (and apparently physical) wellbeing to get the cat checked out himself.

Prince Humperdinck let out a little yowl of anger and distress, and Yoongi threw him a deadpan expression.

“I don’t want to be here either, okay? Let’s just get it over with. In and out then we’re done.”

Ignoring the tiny pinpricks of blood beginning to build on the surface of his finger, Yoongi turned off the engine and picked up the carrier.

The yowling got louder, and if strangers looked at him oddly as he chanted, “Shut up, you’re fine, we’re fine,” during his entire walk across the parking lot, Yoongi pointedly did not make eye contact.

The entire affair was stressful and annoying and if someone had told him six months ago that he’d be in a vet’s office with a huge cat screaming at him in anger while having to tell the vet with a completely straight face that the thing’s name was Prince Humperdinck, he would have choked at the ridiculousness.

But here they were, Yoongi fishing out his credit card in order to pay for a consultation that confirmed Prince Humperdinck was suffering from an upper respiratory infection, unfortunate but not severe, and that he would get better within the week with a lot of rest and food and water.

When the two of them were finally back in the car, the carrier on the passenger seat and Yoongi in the driver’s, the two of them made long, unamused eye contact.

“You didn’t handle that very well,” Yoongi finally said.

Meow.

“I don’t think you deserve any treats once we get home, if I’m being honest.”

Meow.

“You bit my finger, you ingrate.”

Meow.

Prince Humperdinck spent the rest of the afternoon lazing in a sun spot in the apartment, tail swinging slowly as he munched on the two treats laid out on the carpet in front of him.

☆

Though Jimin hardly admitted it to himself, being a father was somehow simultaneously his greatest pride yet also his greatest insecurity.

Not that he was ashamed or regretful towards Jeongguk and Namjoon — quite the opposite, actually — but there were times in which he didn’t feel good enough.

When he went to pick them up from school and the rest of the kids’ moms and dads smiled at him thinly, anything but inviting or friendly.

Being a single dad was hard, especially when the rest of the parents and teachers looked at him like he was something to pity. Especially when he was handed birthday invitations and had to decline because he had to work and didn’t have time to even let his kids have a bit of fun with their classmates. Especially when he got a call thirty minutes past their designated pick up time because he had fallen asleep at his work desk, fatigue dragging his eyelids down like anchors. Especially when he felt like he had a million tasks to do but only two hands, especially when he was cooking but Jeongguk began crying in the living room, especially when he was in the shower and Namjoon needed help with homework, especially when he felt like he couldn’t breathe because everything was coming at him so quickly and overwhelmingly that he could barely blink.

And the entire time, though he rarely showed it, Jimin was constantly, constantly afraid.

Afraid of being a bad father, afraid of neglecting his work and running out of money, afraid of neglecting his children and making them feel as if he didn’t love them enough, afraid that Namjoon and Jeongguk would have to share a room even when they got older, afraid that one of the cats would get sick and he wouldn’t have enough saved up for a vet visit, afraid that one day Jeongguk and Namjoon would wake up and realize that they’re missing something, and yearn for that something that is beyond Jimin, afraid that his boys would grow up and realize they had a terrible childhood because Jimin hadn’t done enough, hadn’t been enough.

And this all spiraled into big black holes that ate away at the light inside of Jimin when things were at their worst, when he barely made the rent for the month or when he forgot to get Jeongguk’s banana milk during their weekly grocery shop again.

Jimin bit down hard on his lip, the sight of Jeongguk’s tiny shoulders slumping in disappointment hitting him hard.

“I’m sorry, Gukkie,” Jimin said.

Jeongguk’s bottom lip was extended into a pout. “You forgot last week, too.”

“I know,” Jimin closed his eyes. “Appa’s really sorry. I’ll get you two cases next week, okay?”

Jeongguk didn’t say anything, just walked out of the kitchen and clambered onto the couch, sadly scooting Hooter into his lap and petting her.

“Guk,” Jimin called.

Even though he knew that Jeongguk was only four, and that the art of reassurance was not yet a concept his toddler could understand or master, Jimin felt desperate for something.

For an ‘it’s okay’, or for an ‘I love you’, or even a tiny spark of excitement over the prospect of getting extra of his favorite drink the following week.

Jeongguk gave him nothing, not even looking up at him, continuing to pet the cat sadly.

Though Jimin knew that his son could have reacted much worse, could have thrown a violent tantrum or cried or screamed, for some reason this hurt him more.

Jeongguk was just disappointed, and it was Jimin’s fault.

The moment Yoongi and Namjoon came back inside from collecting the mail, Jimin left the boys in Yoongi’s care and beelined towards their bedroom, feeling heavy and hot and achey and sad.

The sun had just set, and Jimin should start making dinner now, but the room was cast in a blue twilight shadow and Jimin wanted to wrap it around himself like a quilt and hide for the rest of the night.

Taking a deep breath, Jimin slumped down on the floor and against his bed, sitting in the space slotted in-between it and the window.

He didn’t realize how long he had been sitting there until he felt a warm hand run up his back and squeeze the back of his neck gently.

“Jimin?”

When Jimin didn’t respond, Yoongi physically scooted Jimin’s body forward a few inches so he could fit himself in-between Jimin and the bed, slotting Jimin in-between his legs.

Wrapping his arms around Jimin tightly, Yoongi squeezed reassuringly, lips pressed firmly to Jimin’s nape, and the younger felt a low sob escape him. And everything was warm then, wrapped up in Yoongi’s universe, the starlight veins and moondust skin and rainstorm breath.

“Too much?”

And Yoongi just. Yoongi just knew.

Could take one look at the line of Jimin’s spine and understand what he needed.

Understand that there were times when Jimin broke apart a little too far and needed someone to hold him together, just for a bit. Needed someone to fill those hairline cracks with a steady presence and gentle kisses and honey eyes.

“Forgot,” the tiny word slipped from Jimin’s lips like a confession.

“Hmm? What?” Yoongi hugged him closer, mumbled the words into Jimin’s skin.

Another sob wracked Jimin’s body, unreasonable amounts of devastation destroying the lit up cities in his mind, leaving behind ash and dust and ghost towns.

“I forgot Guk’s banana milk again!” Jimin wailed, burying his face into his own knees as best he could within Yoongi’s tight hug.

Despite himself, Yoongi let out a tiny laugh.

“You’re laughing at me,” Jimin cried, bringing a hand down and swatting at Yoongi’s arms. “It’s not funny. He was so disappointed, and—and last week I promised him that this week I’d buy it for sure, and now he thinks I’m a terrible dad and—”

Jimin’s voice lilted up in a telltale sign of another sob coming, and Yoongi hushed him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s not funny,” Yoongi’s voice was grave now, and he brought his large hands up to blindly wipe at Jimin’s cheeks, unable to see with his own face pressed against Jimin’s neck. “Jimin, baby.”

“I’m tired,” Jimin confessed. “I keep forgetting important things and I’m never good enough and—”

“Stop, Jimin. Hush,” Yoongi crooned, his voice quieter and gentler and not unlike the voice he used to soothe Jeongguk and Namjoon to sleep. “You’re okay.”

Jimin quieted then, sniffled and let his head hang.

“You are their entire world, Jimin, do you understand me?” Yoongi whispered fervently into Jimin’s neck. “There is not a single person they would rather see at any given time. They miss you when you’re not with them, and even when you are, they can’t get enough of your attention.”

“I could be better,” Jimin whispered.

“You’re already the best,” Yoongi argued. “Just the fact that we’re here, having this conversation proves that. You love them so much, Jimin. In the end, once they’re grown up and independent and looking back on their time with you, that’s what they’ll remember. Not the amount of toys they had or whether or not they had banana milk. Your love is what they’ll cherish. Everything you have done and will do for them is done out of pure, inexhaustible love. They’re young now, but they’re both already bursting at the seams with the kindest hearts and souls I have ever known. And that’s because of you.”

“…And you, now, too.”

The way Jimin said it was an unspoken invitation, a question, a hand stretched out hoping for something strong and reassuring and familiar to grab back.

When Yoong kissed the back of Jimin’s neck three times, Jimin wanted to crawl into Yoongi’s heart and stay within that safety for a short while. He realized he was grateful because these arms would always be home to him, this scent would always be familiar.

“Of course,” Yoongi said. “I’m here now, too.”

☆

Christmas was fast approaching, and the snow falling outside the window had the entire city feeling like it was trapped inside a snow globe, quiet and serene and beautiful.

Jimin had come up to him one cold morning as Yoongi stood in the kitchen making coffee.

He felt arms wrap around his middle and a face nuzzle into the back of his neck, Jimin’s breath hot against his nape.

“Yoon,” Jimin rasped out.

“Morning, baby,” Yoongi muttered back, eyelashes still weighed down with leftover sleep. Yoongi reached up to pull down a second mug.

“I jus’ thought of something,” Jimin murmured. “That we need to do as soon as possible.”

“Mmm?”

“A family Christmas card,” Jimin said.

“A family Christmas card?”

“We need one.”

Yoongi’s heart did an embarrassing schoolgirl flutter in his chest at the sound of Jimin calling them family. He knew it was a term Jimin didn’t throw around lightly. Knew that it was a miracle that the boys had been taken with him since the beginning, with no qualms about having to divide Jimin’s time with Yoongi. Though it was pretty recent that Yoongi had moved in with them, things became familiar and routine in the best way very quickly.

The two of them woke up together, a tangle of cold feet and noses and sleep-rumpled shirts, always to shrill shrieking, and whether it was the shrieking of a phone alarm or of two toddlers depended on the day.

On the weekdays, Jimin made breakfast and packed the boys’ lunches and made sure their backpacks were in order while Yoongi helped them eat, a flurry of sticky hands and dropped forks and an abundance of soiled napkins. Then it was school uniforms shuffled over complaining heads and cold arms, thick socks on feet and shoes double knotted tied tight and goodbye kisses all around. Yoongi and Jimin switched off walking them to school, and when they got back home the other will have already cleaned up the boys’ mess, their own breakfast neat and panic-free laid out on the table.

The two of them could usually eat leisurely with their freelance jobs, hands intertwined and feet resting on top of each other, nursing their steaming mugs of coffee until the very last dregs were drained.

It was during these moments that Yoongi would take in his fill of Jimin without fear of being disrupted. Jimin, who was beautiful all the time but even more so underneath gentle morning light. When the sun was soft and treated everything like it was fragile. When Jimin looked back at him with starry eyes lit up with the promise of a lifetime full of mornings just like these.

And Yoongi knew during these moments that he waited his whole life to feel something like this. Knew that even when he doubted himself and inspiration felt like a finish line that was too far away, all he would have to do would be to look at Jimin and grab onto the feeling of safety and fondness and utter love that built inside of him and things would be okay.

Better than okay.

So now, with Jimin peering at him with wide, hopeful eyes, Yoongi could do nothing but nod his consent.

That was how they found themselves piled onto the couch that weekend in terrible matching Christmas sweaters.

Jeongguk kept pulling at the collar, whining that it was itching his neck, and Namjoon had completely ruined his combed hair by nuzzling his head passionately against Prince Humperdinck’s in greeting when he had gotten to the living room.

Jimin was trying his best to keep his sons and their cats in place, and if he was being honest the felines were easier to control than his hyper boys.

Yoongi was behind the camera, sat up on a fancy tripod that has been in danger of being knocked over nine times and counting, setting the self timer and getting ready to rush towards the couch once the countdown started.

“Are you guys ready?”

“Appa.”

“Guk, honey, please sit still, this will only take a second okay?”

“I’m pressing the button now.”

“Appa?”

“Say cheese!”

“Appa, Hooter is peeing on me!”

“Yoongi! Shit, Yoongi, are you okay?”

A week later, Seokjin and Hoseok opened an envelope and pulled out a cheery little photo.

It was bordered with green and red, Happy Holidays from Jimin, Yoongi, Jeongguk, Namjoon, Hooter, and Prince Humperdinck! written in swirling white font at the bottom.

In the frame, there was a large blur taking up the bottom half of the photo. You could see Yoongi’s pale skin and flailing arms, black head of hair hurtling straight towards the ground as the photographer had tripped trying to quickly make his way towards the couch.

Namjoon’s face was one of absolute horror, tears of disgust and shock beginning to brim in his normally happy eyes, and he had Hooter halfway picked up, trying to get her away from him as a stream of pee could be seen collecting on the toddler’s lap.

Jimin was looking towards Yoongi, face morphed in concern, mouth open in a cry of shock.

Jeongguk was completely poised and beaming at the camera, Prince Humperdinck a fat furry lump in his lap, ignorant of the chaos around him, his missing front teeth proudly on display.

☆

The only downside to Jimin’s apartment complex was the lack of individual laundry units. The entire building shared one laundry room tucked away in a corner of their first floor, and Jimin dreaded laundry day more than he probably should.

Jeongguk, strangely, loved it.

Every Sunday, he would wake up with a burst of energy, stars in his eyes and cheeks spread wide, shouting cheerily about it being ‘lawn-dy day, Appa, it’s lawn-dy day!’

Jeongguk adored the laundry room.

The noises the machines made, the scent of fabric softeners that lingered in the air, the way some of the machines would shake and rumble if the load was a tad too heavy, the bright noises that the buttons made when you pressed them, the warmth of the clothes right out of the dryer — everything in that room was stimulating and exciting to the four year old, and if Jimin let him he would probably play in there all day.

Before Yoongi, Jimin would have to carry all of their clothes down by himself, often having to make two trips. Lugging around the detergent and baskets while simultaneously trying to keep track of two hyperactive toddlers had always been exhausting, but now that Yoongi was there laundry day was a lot easier for Jimin.

Yoongi would help carry a basket, often even letting Jeongguk sit in it on top of all of the dirty clothes, despite Jimin’s protests that the basket handles were going to snap off with the added weight. But in the end, neither of them could deny Jeongguk’s cheerful whoops and ecstatic laughter when Yoongi swung the basket back and forth, rocking it like a sailboat.

During these times, Jimin would kiss Namjoon’s head and show him a little extra affection, knowing that his six year old was a smidge too big to be hauled around like that anymore.

Sometimes they would go back upstairs while their clothes washed, but other times they would stay in the room and Yoongi would chase them around with a towel over his head, hands outstretched into pretend claws, while Namjoon and Jeongguk screeched and knocked over baskets and ran through the maze of laundry machines, barreling into Jimin’s torso for protection.

Jimin would swoop them up and pretend to try to make a run for it, and Yoongi would grab hold of all three of them, hoisting them up and spinning them in a full circle.

Once he set them down he would pull the towel around them, their bodies huddled together, a mess of giggling and tangled limbs and to an outsider they would just see flurries and lumps of movement underneath the towel held together by Yoongi’s pale hands.

And for a few minutes the world would be made up of the familiarity of their heads pressed together and fuzziness of the towel brushing their cheeks and their shared warm breaths and laughter and Jimin attacking all of them with kisses, uncaring of where or who his lips brushed next.

And that apartment complex’s laundry room became a tiny pocket of warmth and love that the two toddlers grew up and took away with them, and in the future on Jeongguk and Namjoon’s hardest nights sometimes they would lean back and close their eyes and smell lavender fabric softener and feel the towel wrapped around their bodies hoisted into their fathers’ arms and remember the way their bellies ached from laughter, and the two of them always found peace and comfort in this little memory of home.

☆

Jimin sighed as he closed the trunk of his car and moved to the driver’s seat, starting the engine and beginning the drive home.

He was turning thirty-nine that day, and he honestly just couldn’t wait to go home to Yoongi so they could order unhealthy takeout for dinner and drink an entire bottle of wine each.

Jeongguk and Namjoon, 20 and 22 now, couldn’t make it home for their Appa’s birthday, university piling on more and more assignments for them both.

Jimin was okay with it. He understood they were busy.

Too busy to even give Jimin a call, even though it was more than halfway through the day. Even though the sun was setting and there was a tiny pit of sadness in his stomach as he drove through the streets of New York, and Jimin had to blink away tears when he drove past the neon orange Hooters sign.

Making his way to their home lying on the outskirts of the city now, Jimin parked the car in the garage and got out, yelling for Yoongi to come and help with the groceries.

Stepping inside, the walls were littered with picture frames.

With a professional photographer as a husband, it wasn’t surprising that almost every moment of their life since Yoongi had come into it was captured.

Photo albums stuffed to the brim were haphazardly labeled and lining every shelf.

“Yoongi, there’s more bags in the trunk, could you get them?” Jimin tried again, making his way to the kitchen.

He dropped the produce onto the counter.

“Want me to get them, Appa?”

Jimin’s head shot up at the sound of Namjoon’s familiar voice.

Both his sons were taller than him now, having shot up at alarming rates during their teenage  years and growing broader as they aged, and Jimin had to tip his head back a bit to look his son in the eyes, shock brimming in his and devilish delight in Namjoon’s.

As a literature major and philosophy minor, Namjoon definitely looked the part, with his purple hair and kind, smart eyes and unique fashion sense that was full of baggy pants and brightly printed shirts and funky hats and chunky glasses.

Jimin stared at his son standing in the kitchen as if he were an apparition created by the fading light and Jimin’s nostalgic heart.

“What?”

“Too late, I already got ‘em,” Jeongguk sang from behind Jimin, coming into the kitchen with the rest of the bags, five on each arm in a blatant proud display of strength.

Jeongguk, who was studying to become a veterinarian, was also part of so many music clubs that Jimin could hardly keep track of them, and the boy was always either singing or listening to music, his days and nights defined by the songs that he listened to.

Namjoon rolled his eyes at his younger brother, and Jeongguk grinned back, a lifelong camaraderie prevalent in the easy teasing way they treated each other.

Even as they grew up, they never drifted apart.

Time brought them together, unlike with many other siblings, and Jimin was happy that his sons were still best friends, even in early adulthood.

“You’re home,” Jimin let out a half shriek, half sob, and did a strange hop in which he tried to crash into both of his children at once, opting for a hand outstretched to Namjoon and his arm around Jeongguk’s torso, who was within reaching distance.

“Surprise!” the two said at the same time, and the way both of their eyes lit up in glee the same way they would when they were younger had something devastatingly sad yet happy swell in Jimin’s chest.

Watery smile on his face, he was crushed between Jeongguk and Namjoon, the two of them mumbling out ‘Happy Birthday’s and pecking the top of his head.

“I thought you forgot,” Jimin confessed, breathing in their scent and hugging them as hard as he could.

Once they pulled back to protest, he immediately began fussing, smoothing down a lock of Jeongguk’s styled hair and fiddling with one of Namjoon’s swinging earrings.

“I told them to keep it a surprise,” Yoongi’s voice came from the entryway, and three heads turned to see him leaning against the counter, warm smile on his face.

Though there were smile lines and crow’s feet etched into Yoongi’s skin now, Jimin thought the man was just as beautiful as the first day they had met.

Loved the way Yoongi still had a camera permanently swinging around his neck, the way his cheeks were always red in the mornings, the way his body fit against Jimin’s so effortlessly that it seemed like they were born from the same star.

“You knew,” Jimin gasped out, affronted. “You knew how sad I was when they said they couldn’t come home.”

Yoongi shrugged, laughing, coming over and planting a kiss right on Jimin’s pouting lips, ignoring Jeongguk and Namjoon’s groans of protest.  “Thought my angel would enjoy a little surprise.”

Jimin huffed, turning his back on all of them and beginning to unpack the groceries.

“I want Chinese tonight,” was all he said, and three sets of familiar laughter bounced against the walls of the room and Jimin soaked it up like a flower soaking up sunlight, bottling it away like ambrosia within his ribcage and keeping the precious sound as close to his heart as possible.

“As you wish.”