daybreak | yoonmin

may 18th.

5:43 a.m.

"넘어와."

The sound of him is covered in molasses, all sleepy and slow. Jimin is stunned, but what did he expect? You answer a phone call from the man who ghosted you, you have to deal with bullshit. He has half a mind to hang up. Half a mind to say nothing at all. But he's wanted to talk to him for too long.

"You're bold saying that after not responding to me for a fucking week," He says, and his eye twitches.

"I was in Korea for the last week. I just got back on the 30th."

"Oh and your phone doesn't work?"

"I had to take out my SIM card and put in my travel SIM so I'd have data when I was there. I got a new number when I did that," Yoongi murmured, his voice indifferent and yet still gravelly with sleep.

His voice, on its own, was enough to disarm Jimin. This deeply sleepy drawl was running circles around him in spite of his efforts to remain focused. He bit his lip and ignored his hormones, retorting.

"You expect me to believe you got a whole new SIM for a five day vacation? I'm not stupid. You can just say you were ghosting me. And go fuck yourself for that."

"It wasn't going to be a five day vacation."

"What does that mean?"

Yoongi sighed.

"넘어와."

"No. I'm done with you, Yoongi."

"No, you aren't. We're done when I say we're done." Emotionlessly he started on a bitter note, but how clear it was that his words sang another tune. "I can be toxic too."

The call dropped. Jimin looked at his phone and huffed.

Toxic? A bit, perhaps. But he was grabbing his jeans jacket off the dining room chair nonetheless, grumbling and complaining all the time.

5:58 a.m.

It was only then, standing at Yoongi's door in business casual, that Jimin realized it: he really had some re-evaluating to do. He made it to the apartment before the sun made it to the top of the sky. Damn, he thought, looking down to the end of corridor window that let all the light in. That's embarrassing. Looking like he doesn't have priorities or anything better to do. This was so bad for his image.

Yoongi swung the door open. Jimin didn't know what he was expecting, but after all these days it wasn't an, "I'm gonna go shower."

He ghosts you, asks you to come over before work, before the sun is up, and all he says is that he's going to wash his sweaty fucking balls? Then goes to wash his sweaty balls? Jimin's eyes narrow at the back of Yoongi's form, sharp enough to pierce through bone.

He should leave... but he's too curious to hear what he has to say-- what else he has to say, that is.

They diverge at the dining room. Yoongi goes to the bathroom as promised, stripping from his tee and joggers while he moves; Jimin takes off his shoe and heads to the white leather sectional in the living area. He halts however at the sound of a snap accompanied by the repeated syllable, "야."

When Yoongi's fingers snap again, Jimin looks back. He points him in the direction of the bedroom. Jimin doesn't agree, but fine. He'll wait for him in the bedroom.

And he waited, so now he was complicit in the crime. What started out as a little squat on the bed's edge became impatient; he took off his socks and then he sprawled over the sheet, relaxing more and more the longer Yoongi's shower took. In his gut, he knew he shouldn't be here and that he needed more self respect. It almost made him cringe how much of his pride was sacrificed to be here in Yoongi's apartment that looked surprisingly practical and smelled like the lavender in the diffuser.