peach | yoonmin

one.

Nine years.

Nine years, two months, and not a word.

You'd think that after the passing of so much time, Yoongi would be over something as meaningless and short-lived as what he shared in high school with an asshole who had, in the end, made him feel incredibly naive.

It would seem that he's wrong, as per usual.

When he sees Jimin again for the first time, with warm eyes and blonde hair that manages to be messy and neat at the same time, even now, there's that foolish something inside of him that twists. Something in his heart that aches.

Nothing was supposed to come out of tonight. Nothing more than a drunken stupor, maybe. It was supposed to be a break from everything. Seokjin has been talking his ear off lately about breakups and drama and celebrities, and Yoongi can't spend a second alone with himself in his apartment without the TV on in the background and let's just say he needs alcohol.

Sheesh, if he'd known this would be the outcome of trying to escape connecting with everyone - including himself - he'd have sat on his couch and suffered.

Because right now, sitting at this bar in a club on Friday night, (he's not big on clubs, but the drinks here make it almost worth the earache) he can't help but be surprised - and mildly horrified - to see Jimin's face.

It's like all those dumb romance movies. Time seems to stop, and Yoongi could swear he's eighteen again, young and full of hurt and not ready to forgive.

And when their eyes meet because Yoongi's making it impossible for that not to happen, Jimin looks nothing short of shocked, pursing his lips, gaze shifting down to his hands in order to fidget with them like a lying witness in court.

Seems they were both unprepared to see each other. Here, in this place, in this instant.

Unprepared doesn't stop Jimin, though. Hell, what does?

Somewhere in that head of his, he finds the courage to stand up and approach, and Yoongi, true to form, stiffens in both surprise and dread, lowering his head so his black bangs drape over his face.

There's nothing he wants less than to talk to him. Here and now. Maybe ever. But unfortunately, there's not much he can do about that, because he's frozen like a deer in headlights, and Jimin's a talker. Always has been.

"Hey," he hears the voice say from beside him, every bit as smooth and sweet as he remembers. It's just loud enough to be understood over the music and chatter.

He near cringes as the sound meets his ears. It's hard not to remember that voice saying other things.

He should've left fifteen seconds ago, because now, he's fresh out of options that don't involve speaking. To Jimin. "Hey," he mutters, void of emotion as he takes a swig of his drink, as if this, all of this doesn't bother him.

It shouldn't. So many years have passed, he should be over that whole mess by now, but what can he say? He's as petulant as Jimin is talkative.

"Haven't seen you in a while," the blonde man next to him points out like it's fucking news to Yoongi. "You look-"

"Like shit?" he offers, setting his glass down. 'Setting' isn't the right word; a better fit would be slamming. Lucky it didn't break.