Archive of Our Own

‘The Joy Downstairs’

~*~

The midsummer sun beat down on Jimin as he walked the last three blocks home from the metro station. He’d forgotten his earbuds that day, so he found himself taking in the city sounds as he walked. He didn’t realize how quiet it actually was; it was too hot for most of the neighborhood kids to be playing outside, and most of the cars driving by had their windows rolled up to keep in the air conditioning, so there weren’t even intermittent waves of loud music he recalled from his days in university when he had to walk to campus every day.

The cicadas were noisy, though. He cringed slightly as he walked past a small line of trees in front of an apartment building.

He’d already been dripping with sweat after training, but now with the sun shining down upon him, he could feel his clothes sticking to him more unpleasantly, and he had to keep brushing his damp hair off of his forehead. His roots were starting to come in under his blond locks; he’d have to touch them up soon, but he just hadn’t had time lately.

He shifted his bag to the side when he felt his phone buzz against his shoulder, where he kept it in the little pocket for easy access. The buzzing didn’t stop as he was tugging it out of the snug pocket, and he realized he was getting a call, not a text.

“Hey, TaeTae,” he sighed into the phone after glancing at the caller ID. “What’s up.”

“Chim, are you coming tonight?” his best friend ignored his question, getting straight to the point as usual.

“Tonight? What’s tonight?” Jimin tried to recall plans, but came up blank.

He heard a loud sigh from the other end of the call. “Everyone’s going out to Jin’s. The renovation is finally finished. Did you forget again?”

Jimin grimaced. He had. Seokjin, their longtime friend since just after university, owned a small bar downtown. He’d been working hard on expanding into the attached building, turning the small bar into a slightly larger restaurant, where he could finally put his culinary skills to use.

“Sorry, I just…don’t think I can make it tonight, Tae. I’m wiped out from this week.” He hated cancelling on his friends, but the closer he got to home, the more he could feel his body rebelling against himself. All he wanted to do was sink into a nice, soothing bath and listen to some music to unwind.

“Oh, come on, Jimin. It’s been ages since you’ve seen everyone.”

“I know. I’ve been busy. You know how it is during audition season. I need all the practice I can get.”

“You’re already perfect,” Tae insisted, and Jimin rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“You know that isn’t true. Stop trying to sabotage me, TaeTae.”

“But last time you were busy, too. And the time before that you were on your heat because you forgot your suppressants. And the time before that—”

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Jimin cut him off, starting to feel the pressure and stress that always came with the knowledge that he’d disappointed someone else once again. He knew they both knew he wouldn’t think about it; he’d go home, get comfy, and then text later on to say he wasn’t feeling up to going out.

There was momentary silence on the other end.

“Fine.” He thought he heard Taehyung huff as if he was pouting. “Just saying…it’s been ages since I saw you in person. You probably don’t even smell like me anymore,” he groused. “What omega doesn’t carry their best friend’s scent?”

Jimin couldn’t help the fond smile that spread across his lips. “I know. I know. We’ll…have to plan a cuddle date soon, okay?”

He turned the corner of the last block and raised his eyebrows when he saw a big moving van parked directly in front of his building. The engine was turned off, and the back door was wide open, the interior nearly empty except for a few wooden chairs and a couple of boxes.

He’d completely forgotten about the downstairs neighbors moving out. They hadn’t been particularly close, even though they crossed paths every now and then doing laundry or moving things to or from the joined basement.

He cut Taehyung’s next sentence off mid-word.

“TaeTae, I’ve got to go. Just got home and the new tenant is moving in. I promised the landlord I’d show them how the washing machine works so they don’t break it the first week.”

He didn’t see any sign of the new tenant (or tenants) when he walked up the steps to their porch, even though their door was wide open. The vague scent of alpha lingered in the air, but that could just be a moving guy if the new tenant had help. Not wanting to meet a stranger in his current state, especially if it was an alpha, Jimin quickly unlocked his door and slipped off his shoes before jogging up the curved stairs into his apartment.

The building set-up was both convenient and inconvenient. An old house had been renovated and split into two separate apartments; one on the second floor, one on the first. They shared the front porch, the basement, and the back yard—if the tiny bit of grass could even be called that—but otherwise were completely separated. Jimin had lived there for three years already, renting the top floor apartment all for himself despite it probably being meant for two people or even a small family. The house had lovely hardwood floors, and a large sunroom which he usually kept clear for practicing ballet or doing yoga if he didn’t feel like going to the gym.

The apartment was beautiful, and in a relatively convenient location, but there wasn’t much to muffle sounds between the floors, so Jimin had to constantly monitor his noise levels during certain hours; the couple downstairs had been older and sometimes got a little grouchy if he ran the vacuum or played music too late at night.

He quickly stripped out of his ‘commute clothes’ and hopped into the shower, muffling a slight groan as his muscles reacted to the hot water. He didn’t bother taking too long, only needing to get the sweat off of him, but despite the shortness of his shower, he was still feeling the exhaustion claim him when he got out.

The humidity of the air made it nearly impossible to dry off, and he gave up after several minutes, walking with damp skin over to his bedroom where he pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and comfy cotton drawstring pants that reached to just above mid-shin. He flipped through his shirts for a moment indecisively before pulling out a white and blue striped, linen-style button-down. He shrugged it on over a simple white tank. He unbuttoned the cuffs and shoved the sleeves up to his elbows before running his hand through his hair one more time. Then he hopped down the stairs again and slipped on his sandals before stepping outside.

The front door was still open to his neighbor’s apartment, but he didn’t hear anything inside, so he knocked on the open door and hesitantly called inside.

“Hello?”

He startled when the back door to the moving van slammed hard, and he turned to see someone he’d never thought he would see again. Min Yoongi. The alpha had a hand towel around his neck to catch sweat, and he tugged it off to rub at his dripping black hair. It was like he’d been standing out in the rain, despite there not being a cloud in the sky. His simple gray t-shirt had wet patches on the chest and armpits, and on the stomach where it was clear boxes had pressed his shirt against his sweaty skin. His ripped jeans were a little dirty with dust, but Jimin didn’t care about all of that.

The omega reflexively stepped back and bumped into the open door, inadvertently stepping into the apartment.

“Don’t tell me you’re the upstairs tenant,” Yoongi said, coming to a stop a few feet away and putting a hand into a pocket. He swung the towel back up to hang over his shoulder and absently held onto it with a large, veined hand. A shiny Rolex watch slid a couple centimeters down his wrist with the movement.

His lips quirked briefly like he was considering smiling, but his eyes remained blank.

Min Yoongi was stupidly handsome, Jimin couldn’t deny it. But Yoongi was also the man who had caused an entire semester of stress and anger back in university.

“Yes. I am. Is that the reception I get for coming down to welcome my new neighbor?” Jimin responded. He wouldn’t be intimidated. He’d been intimidated back in university, but he was a full grown, successful adult, now.

Yoongi snorted slightly and shook his head. “Right.” He stepped past Jimin to go into the apartment, and Jimin had to move out of the way to let him by.

He was hit in the nose by strong, musky pheromones, intensified by the humidity and probably by his sweatiness. Jimin lifted a hand to cover his nose—not because it smelled bad, but because the heady scent of alpha sometimes gave him a headache—like being in close quarters with someone who didn’t know how to use cologne properly.

“So,” Yoongi called back to him as he walked through the front room—formerly filled with all kinds of leafy green plants, now filled with boxes of all sizes and a single armchair with a matching ottoman, “I know that the landlord told you to show me some things. I assume that’s the only reason you’re not running off right now; am I wrong?”

Jimin pouted as he followed Yoongi into the apartment after hesitantly shutting the door.

“The washing machine,” he said, eying the various disassembled furniture and boxes scattered through the next room—the one directly below his sunroom, with identical three-panel windows to let in as much light as possible. He almost tripped over a dustpan on his way into the kitchen. “It’s in the basement. We’ll be sharing it,” he warned.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Yoongi shrugged. He had the same, uncaring attitude he used to have back in university.

Jimin had changed a lot since university. He was no longer the bubbly, carefree omega he’d been back then. It didn’t seem that the alpha had, though. He tried to not let his annoyance show too much as he led the way down the stairs into the basement, flicking on the lights by the two breakers—one for each apartment—as he passed them.

It was nice and cool in the basement, and Jimin shivered as some of the moisture on his skin finally evaporated.

“Watch your head, the ceiling is kind of—short,” Jimin ended his automatic warning abruptly, glancing at him and remembering that they were basically the same height. “Never mind.”

He didn’t miss the unamused look he got from Yoongi at the jibe at his height, but he just ignored it.

Once they reached the washer and dryer, Jimin quickly pointed out all of the functions and explained in which order Yoongi was to use it: clothes, switch on, then put in the correct amount of detergent and shut the lid. He felt himself getting antsy with the absolute silence of the alpha, so when he finished, he turned to him and put his hand on his hip as he raised an eyebrow.

“Questions?”

Yoongi scoffed. “I could have figured it out on my own. You can go off and do whatever—I don’t think I need your help with anything.”

Jimin didn’t try to hide his annoyance this time. “Well. I know when I’ve been dismissed. Wow.”

“What. I can tell you don’t like being here,” Yoongi pointed out as he followed him back upstairs, flicking the lights back off as they retraced their steps.

“What are you talking about?” Jimin stomped up the stairs, his sandals not made for going up and down stairs easily.

“Your scent,” Yoongi said bluntly. Jimin’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open a little in offense. “Your scent is sour right now,” the alpha continued without being prompted. “Go on; I won’t keep you.”

Jimin didn’t need to be told twice. He didn’t bother going back through Yoongi’s apartment; he just continued on up the stairwell to the second floor and unlocked his kitchen door, quickly shutting and locking it behind himself.

He took a deep breath, and then immediately wrinkled his nose. He could still smell the alpha.

Jimin had forgotten all about him.

It was a Saturday, and Jimin didn’t especially want to be at the library, but he had to work with his partner for the semester project in his Musicology and Theatre Studies course. The professor had paired them alphabetically, leaving Min Yoongi and Park Jimin together. Jimin hadn’t even noticed his fellow classmate until today. Yoongi was one of the quietest students in the class, not often speaking up unless called on, and never hung out with the others after class. Jimin just figured he was shy, or super studious. He hadn’t really given it much thought until now.

He spotted Yoongi sitting at a table in a corner of the first floor, and bounded over to him with a grin. He noticed the subtle but pleasant scent of alpha hanging in the air. He hadn’t known beforehand what rank his classmate was; he’d sort of assumed he was just a beta.

“Hey, what’s up?” he greeted friendlily. Yoongi raised his eyebrows at him from under his dark hair, and then looked back down at his laptop.

“You ready to work? You look like you’re heading to a rave.”

Jimin glanced down at his clothing. It wasn’t anything in particular; just his normal skinny jeans, black currently with rips up the legs, and a nice flowy shirt Taehyung had gifted him for his twentieth birthday. It was also black, with sparkles scattered all over the silky material like stars.

“I’m not going to a rave—but it’s pretty, right?” he grinned with a little flourish, sitting down in the chair immediately next to Yoongi.

The alpha grunted noncommittedly at him.

“Are you planning on working, or chatting?”

“Working!” Jimin smiled, bringing out his own laptop and setting it down beside Yoongi’s. The alpha shifted away from him slightly, and Jimin pouted.

They got to work on the project, barely talking—even when Jimin offered some ideas, Yoongi scoffed at them.

“That’s literally just reiterating what the professor told us already in class,” he rolled his eyes. “Can’t you think of anything yourself?”

Later that evening, Jimin sprawled across his dorm room bed, complaining to Taehyung.

“Why does he have to be such an asshole? I’m just trying to be friendly,” he whined. “But he seems to think I’m an idiot.”

As the semester passed, Jimin’s frustration with Yoongi only grew. It wasn’t even that the alpha was that mean. But it was impossible to impress him or get him to take Jimin seriously.

“It feels like I’m looking at a robot sometimes,” Jimin sighed one afternoon after getting back from the library.

“Let me guess; your favorite alpha again?”

“Ugh. Like…on first glance, he’d kinda cute, right? But then his eyes are just…dead,” Jimin shivered slightly.

Taehyung gave him a look. One of those, ‘what are you going on about’ looks. “At least it’s almost over, right?”

“Yeah. Thank god.” Only a week left, and then Jimin wouldn’t have to deal with the alpha ever again.

The last week was the icing on the cake. They hadn’t met up that often, honestly, preferring to communicate between text or email, only meeting up around two or three times a month. Jimin had thought they were working somewhat equally on the project. But then the day before the project was due, they met to finalize everything, and—

“What the fuck, Yoongi-ssi? Where’s all the stuff I sent you?”

Jimin looked through the report over and over, and couldn’t find hardly any of the input he’d given.

Yoongi just shrugged. “It ended up not working. There wasn’t time to do it again together, so I just did it myself. It’s fine, you’ll still get credit; I don’t care about that. But I wasn’t going to hand in that level of mediocrity. I’ve got some pride, you know.”

Jimin stared at him, mouth open. He couldn’t decide whether to shout or cry. He’d worked hard on his part, sacrificing precious rest he needed for ballet. It had been an exhausting semester. This wasn’t one of the most important courses for his degree, but he still cared about having a rounded education. Yes, ballet was his main focus, but still. He didn’t need to be belittled like this.

He wasn’t an idiot.

The moment the project was done, the moment the entire report was in their professor’s hands, Jimin deleted Min Yoongi from his phone, and after the last class, he never even thought about the alpha ever again.

Life went on.

It took about a week and a half, but eventually Yoongi got everything unpacked and reassembled in his apartment. Due to the nature of his new job, he was home half the time, working both in the studio and at home. He had his electric piano set up in the center room, but ended up moving it to the front room when he discovered that Jimin used the room upstairs to jump around at random hours, bounding from side to side while listening to the kind of music Yoongi didn’t enjoy unless he was trying to fall asleep.

He wasn’t being prejudiced toward classical music, but there were only so many times he could listen to the same song over and over and over again. He vaguely wondered if Jimin was a dancer. He couldn’t remember what the omega had been studying in university; they might not have ever even talked about that.

Yoongi had been in a bad place that semester. He didn’t really remember it all that clearly, but he did remember how annoying it had been dealing with the overly bubbly, chatty omega who didn’t understand what personal space meant. All he remembered was that after they finished that torturous project, he’d never heard from the omega again, and he honestly hadn’t thought about him after that.

He hadn’t expected to move into the same building as him all these years later.

As the weeks passed, and Yoongi got used to his new life in the city, nothing much of note occurred. He only really saw Jimin when they both decided to do their laundry on the same day—and the omega seemed to do his laundry every other day, practically. Yoongi didn’t want to know how he managed to get them so dirty all the time.

He tried to ignore the sweet and musky smell of slick whenever the omega washed his bedding, often holding his breath or tugging his collar up over his nose when he happened to be down in the basement on one of those days.

Over those weeks, despite not having many interactions with his upstairs neighbor, Yoongi did notice how different the omega seemed to be compared to when they’d been classmates all those years ago.

Jimin was relatively quiet upstairs—if not for the jumping around, that is—and wasn’t even home a lot of the time. But when he was home…sometimes, Yoongi could hear sobbing in the shower. Or immediately following the ceiling thudding, there were stuttered movements and muffled crying.

He didn’t know what was up with the omega, and he didn’t know if he should interfere—it wasn’t as if Jimin was alone, having a friend or two over once or twice—but he did find himself concerned more than he expected.

Then, one day, it all changed, and he became involved.

Audition. It was here. Jimin had practiced every day; day and night until he could barely tell one from the other. He was ready. He was in perfect form. Everything was perfect. He wasn’t nervous. He knew the moves by heart. 

He had his eyes on the main role. He’d been working his way up, getting better roles each time. He wasn’t one of those genius dancers. He had to work for his skill.

Jimin had the talent, of course. But he got it through his hard work. None of it was effortless.

He hadn’t had a main role in years. Not since his accident.

He stood on the stage, the bright lights heating his scalp and already starting to draw sweat to the surface.

The violins began to play.

Some people liked to say that the music took over their bodies, that they lost themselves to the notes. Jimin wasn’t like that, though. He consciously kept his posture, consciously knew exactly which position he was taking.

Jimin always felt the eyes on him, too.

He didn’t mind them. They didn’t make him nervous; not anymore. But he was conscious of them.

A minute into the dance, Jimin began to feel the twinge. Of course, he was putting more strength and effort into his moves compared to usual, but he didn’t think it would be a problem. With multiple leaps and knee bends, the twinge turned into a soft pulse of pain, and he began to feel his heartbeat skyrocket. He missed the beat on the next few positions, and his vision blurred. He stumbled when a sharp twinge shot through his knee, and the next moment the song was over. He bowed, smile painted on his face, tears welling in his eyes.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Thank you; you may go now. Results will be posted by the end of the day.”

There were hands around his waist, a stack of chairs suddenly beneath his palms, and he didn’t know how he got there. A hand massaged his neck, moving between there and his shoulders.

“You’re fine. You’re fine, Jimin-ssi. You were great. Don’t worry.”

Once the panic passed, Jimin brushed off the concerned touches of his fellow dancers, and went to change.

The day passed slowly, but as usual. Finally, there was a scurry of movement, of excited voices, and he realized the results had been posted. Suddenly nervous, he purposely forced himself to take on the cool exterior that got him through the constant stress of his profession.

Jimin didn’t push through the crowd, waiting for a gap to appear. Soon enough one did, and he stepped forward. It took only a moment to find his name. He was so far down the list that he was surprised he wasn’t in the corps de ballet, but he found it easily enough.

Demi-soloist.

Jimin knew he shouldn’t belittle the lower-ranking roles. He knew every role was important. He knew every single dancer completed a production. He knew this.

That didn’t stop him from the crushing disappointment.

It didn’t stop the anger from bubbling up.

He returned to the lockers and grabbed his jacket and bag. He threw the strap around his shoulder, tugging it tight against his chest before kicking the door shut.

It took him a moment to realize it was raining outside. Of course.

He was soaked and on the verge of tears again by the time he got home, slamming the front door and stomping up the stairs. He dropped his bag on the floor right at the top of the stairs and stripped out of his wet clothes. He grabbed the first things he could find, vision blinded by the tears now streaming down his face. The moment he got fully dressed, the omega crawled onto his bed and pulled the blankets around himself, burying himself deep underneath their nearly suffocating warmth.

Then Jimin let himself cry.

He fell asleep after a while, waking up to darkness. He sat up, face feeling swollen and numb. The anger had disappeared, and all he was left with now was emptiness. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Don’t push yourself so hard out there, okay? You’ll be fine.”

“I’m not going to push myself too hard, Tae. All dancers have to push ourselves hard all the time. It’s no different.”

The look he got from his best friend made his skin crawl with the truth beneath his words.

“I won’t.”

He did.

The play was nearly finished, nearly to its finale. This was only Jimin’s second principal role, but it was as thrilling as if it were his first.

He couldn’t remember how it happened. One second he was in the throes of the dance; one with the character, no longer Jimin. The next, he was on the ground, blind with excruciating pain. He remembered smelling blood, and he remembered screams, and hands on him.

He didn’t remember the ambulance ride to the hospital, but he remembered the bedrest and weeks upon weeks of recovery and rehab; the meetings pulling him out of the main troupe. The countless auditions, trying to get back onto that stage.

He was so close.

He had been so close.

With the anger gone, Jimin dragged himself out of bed and began to gather up the piles of laundry he’d needed to do two days ago but hadn’t had the time for with his training schedule. The basement was blissfully empty when he got downstairs, so he shoved everything into the machine and poured in the detergent before shutting the lid and heading back upstairs. It was far past a reasonable dinner time, so he sliced an apple and absently munched on it as he skimmed through social media on his phone and ignored all of the messages he’d received. He muted the account of the dancer who had landed the part he’d wanted.

He returned to the basement to transfer everything to the dryer. He could hear soft footsteps and creaking wood overhead, but he didn’t think much about it. He clicked the door shut and twisted the dial. The low rumble of the dryer was soothing in a way nothing else had been, and he found himself staring off, listening to nothing but the thumping of his laundry rolling in circles as the machine hummed.

Yoongi had been working with his headphones on when the front door to Jimin’s apartment slammed shut loudly, startling him. He blinked and glanced at the wall as if he could see his neighbor pounding up the stairs like he was trying to scare someone away. There was another loud noise like something heavy had been dropped, and then there was silence.

He returned to his work.

A few hours later, after a simple dinner of chicken and tossed salad, Yoongi realized that he’d forgotten to do his laundry earlier. Jimin often did his at night, so Yoongi tried to get his done during the daytime, but he hadn’t heard any movement from upstairs, so he hoped it was safe.

Yoongi knew the omega didn’t like him, and he had no intention of being ‘that alpha’ who purposely made an omega uncomfortable in their own home.

Opening the door to the basement, it was immediately apparent that he’d been wrong. The low hum of the dryer was audible—but he didn’t hear the washer, so hopefully the omega was nearly done. He headed down the stairs with his basket, only to find the omega standing in front of the dryer.

He was just standing there. Completely unmoving. Absolutely zoned out.

Jimin didn’t even react as Yoongi walked up to the washer and began to load in his clothes into the empty washer. When he was done and shut the lid, Jimin startled slightly from the noise.

Almost immediately a choking, distressed scent reached him, and without even thinking about it, Yoongi automatically released calming pheromones to counteract the unpleasant scent.

Jimin turned toward him slightly, eyes filling with tears. He whined softly, and swiftly becoming more concerned, Yoongi put a cautious hand on Jimin’s shoulder, about to ask him what was wrong.

He wasn’t expecting it when the omega stepped forward and fell into his arms. He could feel Jimin taking deep breaths, as if he was inhaling Yoongi’s scent fully. The alpha hesitantly put his arms around Jimin’s back, carefully patting him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, mentally rolling his eyes at himself. Of course Jimin wasn’t okay. But he didn’t know what else to say.

Jimin’s breath hitched, and Yoongi could feel the way the omega’s small fingers were fisting themselves in his shirt.

“I should just g-give up buh—” his breath hitched several times before he could finish the word, “ballet.”

It was like a sudden influx of connections locking together. Abruptly, the pounding and jumping upstairs made sense. The twice-as-much laundry. The way the omega held himself. The way he was hardly home. His figure. The reason he’d been taking a ‘Musicology and Theatre Studies’ course in the first place despite not being a musician at all.

Yoongi belatedly realized he hadn’t responded when Jimin started to pull away, wiping at his face.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I know you hate me,” tumbled out of Jimin’s mouth, as his face crumpled up and more tears leaked out.

Yoongi’s eyes widened. “No—wait, what? I don’t hate you,” he frowned, resisting his urge to put his hands back on the omega’s shoulders.

“Yes, you do,” Jimin insisted, lips pouting out as he looked up at Yoongi—how he seemed so much smaller in that very moment was beyond Yoongi’s comprehension, but it just made him want to comfort him even more. “Y-you don’t want anything to do with me. You never did. You were always so mean to me,” he choked around a sob.

“I—look, I don’t remember much about being classmates; I’m sorry. But I can assure you I don’t hate you. I thought—I thought you wanted me to give you space. I thought you weren’t happy about having an alpha living downstairs. I’ve been trying to respect your privacy,” he ended.

Jimin’s tears stopped falling; he seemed to be in so much shock over the new revelation that he forgot to be sad about whatever he’d been sad about—something having to do with ballet, apparently.

Yoongi hesitated. He didn’t want to make the omega cry again, but he wasn’t ignorant; he knew that quitting something like ballet was a huge decision; not to be taken lightly. “Do you…want to talk about…why you think you should quit ballet?”

The effect was almost instantaneous. Jimin’s eyes welled up again, and the unpleasant, bitter scent filled his nostrils once more.

He shook his head, though, and backed up.

“I’m gonna go,” he whispered, and then before Yoongi could say anything, Jimin hurried out of the basement, footsteps thudding on the stairs over Yoongi’s head.

Yoongi heaved a heavy sigh and glanced absently at the washer before turning to go back into his own apartment.

When he returned to transfer his clothes to the dryer, it was still full of Jimin’s clothing, and the basket was still sitting beside the dryer. An alpha touching an omega’s fresh clothing without permission was not the best idea, but Yoongi didn’t want to bother Jimin, and his own clothes needed to be dried. So he dragged the basket closer and unloaded the clothes into it and set it aside before he cleaned out the lint filter and then tossed his own clothes inside. He switched on the machine and then heaved up the basket.

Just outside the basement, he paused. He set the basket down on the floor and stepped into his kitchen for a second. He grabbed a small chocolate bar from his pantry, and a sticky note from the fridge. He scribbled a few words and then returned to the basket.

It was quiet behind the door to Jimin’s apartment. Yoongi didn’t bother knocking; he just set the basket far enough away from the door so that the omega wouldn’t trip over it on his way out. Then he flattened out a shirt on the top of the pile, and carefully set the note and chocolate bar on top.

Then, he quickly returned to his own apartment, leaving Jimin be.

It was late into the night when Jimin realized he’d forgotten his laundry downstairs. He had escaped the unexpectedly comforting presence of his downstairs neighbor, returning to the nest that was his bed. He didn’t sleep; his brain kept bringing him back to the feeling he’d had, and the conversation that had taken place.

One thing he couldn’t get over—even before their miscommunication was cleared—was how safe and good Yoongi made him feel. Jimin had never experienced such a feeling before. Of course, spending time with his best friend always felt good, but it had been so different with Yoongi just then.

Jimin opened the door to his landing and froze when he saw his laundry basket, full of clean clothes, sitting right there. His eyes flicked to the stairwell, but of course it was empty. When he stepped forward to pick up the basket, he noticed a tiny chocolate bar—one of those bite-sized pieces—resting on top of a pale yellow sticky note. He brought the basket into the kitchen and shut and locked the door before taking the chocolate and note.

In scrawled letters, the note read, ‘I hope you feel better. Knock on my door whenever.’

He bit his lip. How had he been so wrong about the alpha? It didn’t feel like he was being tricked, either. Everything Yoongi said felt so genuine.

It was late, and he should have already been asleep, but Jimin slowly unwrapped the small piece of chocolate and slipped it into his mouth. The sweetness and warmth he felt as it melted on his tongue made him close his eyes as he recalled the way he had felt with Yoongi’s arms around him. Like he was protecting him from everything bad and wrong.

Jimin went to bed feeling exhausted but relieved, and slept well curled up in his nest of blankets.

It would have been nice to suddenly be over his audition disappointment, but the truth was that returning to training only made Jimin reminded of how much of a failure he’d become.

He didn’t spend much time at home, but he found himself running into Yoongi more often just outside the apartment, or he’d notice that the alpha’s kitchen door was open slightly when he was getting things from the basement.

One day, his curiosity got the better of him, and he hesitantly knocked on the door, inadvertently causing it to swing open even more. Yoongi was at the sink, pouring water over a head of lettuce. He looked up and smiled at Jimin, and the force of it—the sheer, unadulterated friendliness of it—smacked Jimin in the face. He fought down a blush.

“Hi,” he started, fidgeting. “Your—did you realize your door was open?”

Yoongi shut off the water and shook the colander a few times before setting it down in the mostly empty drying rack. “Yeah, I know. I like leaving it open. I feel like people are more likely to stop by and say hello.”

His smile turned a little funny, quirking up more on one side than the other, as Jimin processed his words. People…stop by…say hello.

Literally no one else but Jimin would go past that door. Which meant…he’d been waiting for Jimin?

He bit his lip and smiled hesitantly.

“Are you busy?” Yoongi asked. “I was just making dinner, but you’re welcome to join me. I thought it might be a nice change—ya know, since I always just eat alone here.”

Jimin glanced around the kitchen, at the small table where there were two chairs and one place set up.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want,” Yoongi said, and Jimin turned to him when he realized he was much closer than before. “But I’ve got plenty for a guest, and I’m pretty sure it’s food you’d be allowed to eat.”

Jimin frowned, momentarily confused. “What?”

“Don’t you have to eat certain things as a ballet dancer? Protein-rich and low-calorie and whatnot?”

Had the alpha looked that up? It was almost…endearing. Jimin nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he murmured.

“Great. I’m just putting together a salad right now, but the salmon should be ready soon.” He gestured to the oven, which was turned on. Jimin couldn’t see what was inside. Salmon, apparently.

“Um.” Jimin fumbled with his sleeves. It’d been getting chillier lately, and he was back in his beloved giant sweaters again. “I have—I need to just—I’ll be right back.”

Why was he so nervous around the alpha, now?

“Yeah, no problem. Take your time. I’ll get a plate out for you.”

Jimin nodded and then slipped back out into the stairwell, running up the stairs to his apartment. When he got back inside, he paused. His heart was pounding. He could still see the alpha’s smile, and his warm eyes.

Yoongi was clearly making an effort to be friendlier; perhaps feeling bad or worried after Jimin’s crying episode. But his friendliness was so contrasting to his indifference in university—something that easily prevented Jimin from even considering the other man as a potential—no, he wouldn’t think about that.

He took a deep breath and went into his bedroom, only to not remember why he had needed to come upstairs in the first place. He tugged at his sweater, and straightened the shirt he had on underneath, itching to change his clothes but knowing that it didn’t make any sense to do so. He settled on checking his hair in the mirror, flattening it down…only to fluff it up a second later in embarrassment.

When he cautiously returned down the stairs and tapped on the wide-open kitchen door, he was welcomed with a delicious-smelling array on the small, two-person table.

There were herb-seasoned salmon filets, the garden salad with balsamic vinaigrette, steamed green beans with sliced almonds, and a small bowl of blueberries and strawberries.

“I made rice, but I wasn’t sure if you—” Jimin shook his head, and Yoongi cut himself off. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Didn’t want to assume, though.” He put one of the bowls he’d had sitting empty on the counter back into the cabinet, and opened up the rice cooker to scoop himself out a healthy serving of white rice.

“Everything smells so good in here,” Jimin found himself saying as he took a seat at the table, and Yoongi grinned as he sat down across from him. The omega curled his toes under and shifted his feet closer to his chair so that their bare feet wouldn’t touch.

It was a somewhat quiet but not terribly uncomfortable dinner. The food was delicious, and made Jimin a little envious that he didn’t know how to cook so well—but he often just threw together simple, bland meals that fit into his diet. The entire time Jimin couldn’t help thinking about how it felt like a date, but Yoongi was giving no indication that he was interested in Jimin in that way. He was just…unexpectedly kind and warm.

Jimin found himself seeking out Yoongi’s company more and more often over the passing weeks, trying to not look at the piles of dishes he didn’t have the mental energy to deal with, the take-out containers stacked precariously beside the sink. He stepped around the clothes he had tossed off and not bothered to pick up. He wrung his wardrobe nearly dry, snatching up only the essentials to wash when he needed them.

He just…

By the time he returned from ballet every evening, he didn’t want to think about anything. He didn’t have free time to even see his friends. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. He didn’t have time.

He had time to spend with Yoongi. When he was with the alpha, Jimin was able to laugh and joke around. They had taken to watching TV together on Yoongi’s sofa, sitting dangerously close for two friends.

Jimin liked the way Yoongi grew comfortable enough to tease him; he even liked it when the alpha decided to tickle him, even though he shrieked and slapped him and called him out for being unfair.

But whenever Jimin returned upstairs at the end of the night, he left the joy downstairs.

The production came with little fanfare from Jimin’s part.

He danced his role. The show closed without any more drama than usual. The night after the last show ended, he went out for drinks with some of his fellow dancers.

They started at one bar before moving onto the next, steadily growing wilder as the hours passed. The omega dancers created one tight, giggling tangle of steamy dancing on the dance floor, gathering wolf whistles and cat calls, but the alphas and betas in their group kept off any unwanted advances.

They had each other’s backs in this moment. The stress, the rivalry, the tension—all gone, washed away by glass after glass of alcohol.

Jimin was flying high, a giggling, stumbling mess by the time he was dropped off at his apartment by a taxi paid for by his own money pulled from his pocket by one of the alphas who could hold his drinks better.

Jimin nearly fell out of the taxi, letting out an undainty guffaw as he tripped over his own feet and managed to catch himself on one of the stair railings. When he finally got himself up to his door, and found his keys, the door wouldn’t open. He kept trying over and over again, shaking the door knob and whining loudly in frustration—when the door suddenly opened up from inside.

“Yoongi-hyung!” he exclaimed, bursting into giggles at the horrible bedhead hair the alpha was sporting. “Hehehe you’re so cute! So—so—so—!” he lost his balance, and immediately snuggled into the strong arms around him. “Mmm smell gooood. Yummy.”

“Seems like you’ve been having fun,” the alpha’s dry, low tone filled his ears in just the right way, and he didn’t even protest as his keys were pulled from his fingers. He stumbled a few steps, and then suddenly he was at the bottom of his own stairs.

“Are you okay from here?” the alpha asked, prying Jimin’s hands off of his sweatshirt.

Jimin pouted. “Stairs.”

Yoongi snorted, and then stepped inside. “Right. Come on, then, you big baby.”

“Hyung,” Jimin trilled, grabbing hold of him and trying to get another whiff of the alpha’s scent. It was so strong, like he’d just rolled out of bed, and—ohh, he probably had. Jimin giggled. “Did I wake you up?”

“Yes.”

His foot slipped on one of the stairs, and Yoongi’s arm tightened around his small waist. Jimin preened. When he was sat down at the top of the stairs, he whined loudly in protest.

“I’m not coming up into your apartment when you’re like this, Jimin-ah. You’re not in your right mind right now.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Yeah, I know that.” The alpha turned on the stairs, having not even come all the way up. “Drink water, Jimin-ah.”

“Diminie,” the omega whined petulantly.

“Jiminie,” Yoongi amended, and Jimin pressed his hands to his warm cheeks as another giggle spilled out. “Drink water, Jiminie. Goodnight.”

After the front door clicked shut, Jimin turned and half crawled, half dragged himself into his bedroom, where he stumbled around his room and pulled off his shirt and pants. He had to sit on the floor to kick his pajama pants on, and he gave up on trying to tie the drawstring—there was elastic, after all. They wouldn’t fall down. He grabbed the first comfy-looking shirt he found—one with a wide neck that always slipped off of his shoulders—and wriggled his torso into it, fighting with the sleeves for a moment.

Abruptly he recalled Yoongi’s words.

“Water,” he mumbled. “Water, water, water.”

He stumbled into the kitchen and of course there were no clean cups. He opened the cabinet above the stove and climbed up on the kitchen stool to reach up into the cabinet. His fingers curled around the handle of the mug Taehyung had given him way back when he first decided to seriously pursue ballet.

Jimin had never been able to decide whether it was a beautiful mug or an ugly one; it was hefty and handmade, with the handle formed by the body of a ballet dancer arched back on pointe, arms connected to the rim of the mug. Roses and other flowers adorned the rest of the surface of the mug. It was definitely gaudy, if nothing else.

Clutching the mug tightly in both hands, he turned to jump off of the stool, and the too-long hem of his pajama pants caught underneath his heel. He gasped as he slipped and lost his balance, knocking over the stool as he fell. He managed to instinctively catch himself on the edge of the counter before he could fall completely.

The sound of shattering pottery was like an explosion, leaving his ears ringing with silence in the seconds immediately following.

He felt like his heart stopped as the sight of his mug scattered over the entirety of the kitchen met his eyes. Glossy shards of flower petals and rough clay so broken that there was no way it would ever be repaired.

So broken, so ruined it would never be fixed.

He didn’t realize he had sunk down to the floor in shock, eyes wide but quickly filling with tears. His breath hitched painfully until he couldn’t hold it back anymore, and he buried his face into his knees, too shocked and devastated to make a noise as he cried.

When there were loud footsteps up the stairs and sharp knocking a moment later, he just pressed his face into his knees even harder, clutching his legs with white knuckles.

Yoongi was just getting comfortable in bed after the front door interruption when there was a spectacularly loud crash upstairs. He sat up, listening for any sound of footsteps, but he didn’t hear anything. The sudden silence after listening to the shuffle and creak of floorboards overhead was unsettling, and he threw the covers off as he quickly got up. He shoved on some slippers and sprinted up the stairs to the second floor landing.

“Jimin?” he called through the door, knocking sharply on the wood. He didn’t get an answer. “Jimin, I’m going to break down this door if you don’t answer me,” he warned loudly through the door. “Jimin? Jimin, open up!”

There was still no answer.

He didn’t want to think about what might be on the other side of the door; he quickly squashed the images his mind conjured up of the omega lying in a pool of blood, and looked around the landing for something he could use to get through the locked door. There was a hammer lying nearby, next to a vacuum cleaner and a snow shovel, both looking as if they’d just been discarded without much thought.

Yoongi snatched up the hammer and returned to the door.

“Jimin?”

Still no response.

He turned the hammer around and used it to pry the hinges right off of the door, the screws pulling out splinters of wood with them. When they were off, he pulled the door open backwards, just barely keeping it from crashing down the stairs.

He barely registered the state of the kitchen, eyes honing in on the omega curled up against the oven, heaving with silent sobs. The thick scent of distress he was giving off nearly suffocated Yoongi as he stepped into the kitchen, careful of the shards of some kind of pottery spread across the floor.

“Jimin,” he breathed, moving as quickly as he safely could toward the trembling omega. He grabbed his shoulders and pulled him out of the ball he was curled into. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

He noticed that the shirt Jimin had on was inside-out and backwards, and barely staying up on his shoulders. He tugged one shoulder back up to cover him a little better.

“Y-Yoongi-h-h-hyung,” Jimin barely managed to choke out. “I—” he swallowed and opened his mouth again, “I’m broken. Just, just like that, like that—” He burst into uncontrollable weeping, and Yoongi grimaced.

It was then that he noticed the full state of the kitchen. It looked like no one had cleaned in a while. Dirty dishes on the counters and in the sink, take-out containers mixed into the mess. There was a lifelessness to the entire room that he didn’t like.

“Come on,” he urged quietly, drawing Jimin to his feet, noticing that he didn’t have any slippers on. The omega didn’t protest when he was scooped up into the alpha’s arms, and Yoongi moved through the apartment, looking for the bedroom.

Dirty clothes and jackets, open boxes from the post, papers, and envelopes…so many things were lying around as if no one cared enough to put them away where they belonged. This wasn’t just the result of laziness or sloppiness. This was the result of someone not having the energy to care about the state of his living space.

The omega’s bedroom wasn’t much better, but at least the bed seemed all right.

Yoongi glanced down at the way Jimin had buried himself against his chest, still quietly sniffling into his sweatshirt. It was then that Yoongi made a decision he would never have comfortably made before.

He shifted Jimin in his arms and grabbed up one of the fluffy blankets from the bed, tossing it over his shoulder and momentarily shaking his head as a cloud of omega filled his nostrils. Then he turned and walked back through the apartment, flicking off lights as he went, until he reached the door-less doorway to the stairwell.

It was a little difficult traversing the stairs with Jimin in his arms, but he somehow managed it. The stairs creaked dangerously at one point, but then Yoongi was in the safety and calm of his own apartment…just with a distraught omega in his arms.

“Jiminie,” he spoke softly, “do you want to sleep on the bed, or the sofa?”

Jimin coughed slightly, and Yoongi realized that he was probably horribly dehydrated by that point.

“Bed,” was the answer he got, though, so he dropped the omega’s blanket onto his bed and then carefully helped Jimin lie down on top of it.

“I’m going to get you some water,” Yoongi told him. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Jimin sniffled, but nodded, pulling his blanket around his shoulders and shifting around as he tried to get comfortable. “’Kay.”

When Yoongi returned a moment later with a bottle of water, Jimin had managed to wrap himself in both his own blanket and Yoongi’s, and was clutching Yoongi’s main pillow to his chest like a lifeline.

“Jiminie, I’ve got water for you. You need to drink it.” He twisted off the cap and held it out to him.

Only after he drank a good portion of the water did Yoongi let Jimin pass the bottle back to him to set aside nearby.

“I’m going to go sleep on the sofa if you need me, okay?”

Jimin tensed. “No—don’t, don’t leave; stay with me,” he begged.

Yoongi sighed and carded his fingers through Jimin’s hair. “Are you sure?”

“Please. I don’t wanna be alone.”

The alpha stared down at him for a while, before he finally gave in. “All right. But don’t punch me in the morning if you don’t remember how you got here,” he half-joked, not even bothering to smile.

Jimin just scooted enough out of the way to make room for him. The second Yoongi had settled under the covers, with the smell of omega now mixing into the overall alpha scent of his bedding, Jimin wriggled around until he, too, was underneath the covers and was pressed close against him.

Yoongi took a deep, deep breath and slowly let it out. Then he turned his face and gently nuzzled into Jimin’s exposed neck. He felt the way the omega’s tense, trembling body finally relaxed, and a moment later he swallowed tightly as Jimin nuzzled back, finding his scent gland with ease and spreading his own scent onto Yoongi.

Jimin woke up to pain. It was like someone was crushing his skull between a vice, had rubbed sandpaper all around his throat, and sucked all the moisture from his tongue. He let out a loud whine and tightened his hold on the warm body beside him, snuggling impossibly closer and rubbing his face in to take in the delicious, comforting scent that was wrapping around him.

He felt the body shift slightly, arms tightening around him briefly and the feeling of lips on his scalp—

He gasped and sat up so fast his head spun.

Yoongi was blinking up at him, bleary-eyed and puffy faced, hair a complete mess. He still had the same sweatshirt on from the night before, although the hem had ridden up just enough to expose a hand’s width of skin above the waistline of his pajama pants.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin sputtered, eyes wide despite the crushing pain in his head.

“Good morning,” the alpha croaked out, voice scratchy with sleep. “Did you sleep all right? How are you feeling?” He grimaced and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

Flashes from the previous night shot through Jimin’s head, and he involuntarily looked up at the ceiling, as if he could see the mess upstairs. His eyes caught on Yoongi’s hand reaching up toward him, and he stopped breathing. When the alpha tugged the collar of Jimin’s shirt back up onto his shoulder from where it’d slid down nearly low enough to reveal a nipple, he swallowed tightly.

Why did this feel so…right? He didn’t feel scared. He didn’t feel like he was going to get taken advantage of in this intimate situation. And despite the knowledge that he’d been out of his right mind while Yoongi had brought him downstairs into his own bed, saturating him with his scent, Jimin didn’t feel like the alpha was trying to possess him.

He only felt safe, and cared for.

“You okay?” Yoongi tried again, sitting up a little more and touching Jimin’s cheek gently. The omega involuntarily leaned into it before pulling away in embarrassment.

“I—” he broke off abruptly when his throat scratched painfully, and he coughed.

“Water,” Yoongi murmured, handing him the bottle from last night. Jimin gulped down the whole thing at once.

“My head hurts,” Jimin said, finally, and pouted when he got a soft laugh in response.

“Okay. Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

Yoongi slipped from the covers, scratching at his belly as he shuffled out of the room. In his absence, Jimin rearranged some of the blankets more to his liking and settled himself down onto the space the alpha had just vacated. He unconsciously snuggled into the spot, rubbing the scent into his skin, purring a little at the calm sensation it gave him.

There were footsteps, which abruptly stopped at the doorway. He opened his eyes.

A slight flush was in Yoongi’s cheeks as he looked down at Jimin lying in his bed. He had a cup of water and two tablets in his hand.

“I got you some aspirin,” he mumbled, finally walking in completely and then sitting on the edge of the bed. Jimin sat up and took the pills gratefully, hoping they’d start working quickly. In the meantime, though, pressing his face into Yoongi’s neck seemed to help. “Oh—um.”

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispered against him, shifting so that Yoongi could climb back onto the bed more and he could get closer. “I’m sorry I’m such a screw-up. I’m sorry you have to take care of me.” He paused, and tightened his fingers in Yoongi’s shirt. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Yoongi gently pushed him away, and tilted his chin up so they could make eye contact. “What happened last night?”

Finally, Jimin told him. He told him about his injury years ago. About struggling to get back onto stage, back in the ranks, back to where he had already worked so hard to reach. About letting go after the production concluded. About the shattered mug. About seeing himself in the irreparable wreckage.

They stayed in bed for another hour, talking until Jimin’s throat hurt even more and all he wanted to do was mold himself to the warm body of the alpha beside him, but eventually they both had to get up. Yoongi went with him upstairs, where they surveyed the damage on the door, and worked together to sweep up the broken mug. Then, after quick showers, Yoongi came back upstairs—with two cups of coffee—and proceeded to help Jimin clean up his apartment.

While Yoongi took care of the kitchen, Jimin sorted through the mess on the floors, organizing papers and flattening empty boxes. He created yet another pile of laundry that needed to be done, and fixed up his bedroom so it didn’t feel as suffocating. Once he was finished, he returned to the kitchen.

Jimin paused in the doorway to silently observe the alpha as he sorted through the now clean take-out containers, figuring out which recycling to put them into. Never before had Jimin met an alpha who would do what Yoongi had done for him. At this point, Jimin could barely believe there had been such animosity between them at first. Yoongi was clearly such a sweetheart, capable of being so caring that Jimin nearly didn’t know what to do about it.

Except…maybe he did.

He stepped into the kitchen and went over to Yoongi’s side, nudging him slightly so that he’d look at him. When the alpha glanced at him with a simple, “Hey,” Jimin wiggled his way underneath Yoongi’s arm. “Oh,” the alpha amended, readjusting the awkward angle, so that his arm was properly around Jimin’s shoulders. “Did you need help with something?”

“No, I—” Jimin hesitated, but when Yoongi’s hand curled comfortingly around his shoulder cap, he gathered the courage to continue. “Yoongi-hyung, I don’t know if this is the right time to say this, but…I really…like you.”

Yoongi didn’t immediately respond, just looking at him in that way that Jimin had learned meant the alpha was thinking about many things, and concentrating very hard; rather than ignoring him the way he’d thought all those years ago.

Jimin didn’t let it bother him this time. “As more than just a friend,” he expanded hopefully. “What about…you?”

Yoongi moved them back from the counter slightly, letting go of Jimin’s shoulder for a moment.

“As more than a friend?” he repeated. He raised his hand to brush a few strands of Jimin’s hair out of the way.

“I know I’m…not the perfect omega, but—”

Yoongi quickly shushed him with a finger gently placed against his lips. It wasn’t there long; sliding down from his upper lip to his lower and stroking across until the corner, where one finger became a palm, curved around the swell of Jimin’s cheek.

“Don’t say that,” the alpha said softly. Jimin had never noticed before how truly beautiful his eyes were. Right now they were slowly moving all over Jimin’s face. “You are perfect because you’re you. That’s all that matters, Jimin-ah. You’re you, and that’s all I care about.” He paused. “That’s all I want,” he finished, with a small smile.

His hand slid back to cradle the back of Jimin’s head as he leaned closer. Jimin let his eyes slip closed, and the moment he felt warm lips on his, he reached up to hold onto Yoongi’s shoulders to brace himself.

It certainly wasn’t Jimin’s first kiss, but it was his first kiss with Yoongi. The man who had grown to be so important and essential to his life over the past few months.

They didn’t move at first, just breathing each other in, the way their scents were changing and wrapping around each other. Strengthening and weakening to complement the other. Then, Yoongi shifted just barely, and increased the pressure. Jimin let his lips pop open, wanting to taste.

His heart was pounding loudly in his ears, a steady thrum Yoongi could probably feel through the hand on his neck. They slowly held and tasted each other, loosely holding each other where they stood in the kitchen.

When they finally pulled away, it was with a soft sigh. When Jimin lowered his face, Yoongi raised his to rest his lips against his forehead. Nuzzling his nose into the omega’s hair. Jimin slid his hands down to wrap around the alpha’s torso, pulling himself closer. Yoongi shifted to allow the movement, and Jimin settled his chin upon his shoulder.

“I really, really like you,” he murmured, feeling a kind of content he hadn’t felt in a while. “Will you be mine?”

He felt Yoongi’s cheek as he smiled against the side of his head. “As long as you’ll have me,” he replied.

Maybe life wasn’t perfect, and maybe it would take time and hard work for Jimin to get back to a better place, but this first step gave him hope. Knowing that he wouldn’t walk this path alone, knowing that there was someone there for him even in his worst moment was enough.

He held on tight to Yoongi, only loosening his hold when he straightened up to have another kiss.

It was just as sweet and soft as the first. He knew there would be many more to follow, and they would only continue to be more and more perfect.

~*~

The End.