like the world knows time -- like classics and cliches -- like everything he’s always wanted, yoongi knows a million things when it comes to jimin.
he knows jimin’s eyes in different lights:
their usual steel under fluorescent tubelights in practise rooms, softening (just barely) through the years; exhausted but never exhausted enough, tinged blue and white in the backlight of phone and computer screens, 1am working its way up to 6 before jimin starts to drowse; honey when he’d look at yoongi, not so many years past, to cook dinner; arresting, with a glint of mischief, when he’s under the spotlight, when he’s standing in the pooled reflections of those thousands of glowing lilac balls in the audience; soft when he looks at yoongi in the middle of the night and they’re both awake and happen to look at each other, and happen to breathe, and happen to draw closer; beautiful when he smiles, and beautiful when he - and beautiful when - and beautiful -
he knows jimin’s arms and his shoulders, the feel of his skin under all their different outfits, under cotton pyjamas, under shower water, under pool water, under swimwear spandex, under sweat-stained, workout mishmash, under nothing. he’s known it for years, now - first just hot summer nights and then hot summer days and then whenever jimin felt like it and then - and now - and when yoongi feels like it and asks.
yoongi knows the arch of his spine, the drive of jimin’s hips, how his back dimples and the feel of jimin’s arms on either side of him, of jimin’s weight on him, comforting, bracketing, sheltering - the broad back familiar now, the smile in his neck something more like home every time.
yoongi knows the frown that settles all the way into his shoulders, the hunch that goes up to his ears, the occasional angered set to his mouth that sinks into the way he sits and shifts along with his knees, the way he bends his feet at the ankles when he’s nervous, the pick of his fingers at his jeans when he’s nervous-nervous-nervous.
yoongi knows when jimin says, no, sometimes and means, please, stay, and when jimin says, if you want, and means, go to hell, and when jimin doesn’t say anything and still manages to say, i thought higher of you. yoongi knows when jimin comes in the middle with lunch and breaks the air as if it’s nothing, that it’s something: that jimin comes to cut tension with his own, well-bridled, tense-shouldered, sweaty-neck tension (the need to do something, the need to do something useful and do it well, the need for peace and for quiet and for getting along).
yoongi knows about jimin at eight minutes past three in the morning, nineteen years old and talking about home. yoongi knows jimin, seventeen, racing right from the bus stop to the practise room, chucking his bag across and getting started. yoongi knows jimin at eight minutes past three in the afternoon, twenty two, standing sleepily at the stove and waiting for the water to boil. yoongi knows jimin, twenty, with his shirt off and shorts barely on, eyes barely open and already reaching for yoongi’s torso to pull closer. yoongi knows jimin, nineteen, at eight minutes past three in the evening, flicking his collar before straightening, standing back appraisingly before the mirror and (yes, yes) liking what he sees.
yoongi knows jimin, when he pulls yoongi closer and pushes yoongi away, on days when he says i love you, on mornings when he says maybe you’d better leave now. yoongi knows jimin in the shower and under him and over him, around and beside, yoongi knows sinking into jimin’s warmth, knows promising jimin forever, knows jimin promising back. knows jimin, trying to write for him, trying to fall asleep, trying to kiss it better, kissing it better, falling asleep, waking up, kissing again - knows jimin - knows -
“here, see,” jimin says, and it’s some time in buttfuck early morning, yoongi standing still and still managing to almost topple into jimin from exhaustion. jimin’s warm, tucks yoongi in closer, and they stand, side by side, and yoongi leans his head over so it bumps against jimin’s, and they both smile. “here,” jimin says, again, and points at the rising sun that’s beginning its path over the skyscraper, far into the east.
“here,” yoongi repeats, dumbly, and tilts his head over farther so he can get his head onto jimin’s shoulder.
he knows jimin’s smile, the way it lifts up his shoulders. “here,” yoongi says, one more time.
“happy birthday, huh?”
have at it, yrindor.dreamwidth.org!