SUNSHINE, jihope. [fin.]

9; are grey

Jimin is beautiful.

He’s thought it before, thought it countless times, but there’s something about Jimin’s eyes shining in the club lights and his body rolling with abandon, fingers hooked in his belt loops, that makes Hoseok’s breath catch. He’s gotten used to the Jimin who always has a faint twinge of worry in his eyes. Seeing him so free pumps Hoseok’s veins full of air.

But then he goes to get a drink and when he comes back someone else’s hands are on Jimin, someone else’s mouth is on his neck. Eyes drifting shut, Jimin looks like he’s enjoying it. Hoseok feels sick. He stumbles back to the bar. Jimin isn’t his. He should have expected this. He isn’t the only one who thinks Jimin is beautiful, judging by the looks that have followed him all night.

When a guy approaches him, he takes advantage of it, trying to forget about how his heart drops and how Jimin’s still out there pressed against someone else. He’s losing himself when Yoongi pulls him away, a furious set to his mouth.

“What the hell—” Hoseok starts, but Yoongi fists a hand in his collar.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hoseok flinches back from the venom in his voice. “Do you even know where Jimin is?”

Doubt settles on him, slowing down his limbs. “He’s—he’s dancing.”

“He’s sitting at the bar. He just got hit on by some creep and I think he’s panicking.”

Hoseok pulls away, makes a beeline for the bar. In his mind’s eye he sees how Jimin gets when he’s nervous, worrying his lip and wringing his fingers. Reality turns out to be even worse. Jimin sits as if trying to make himself so small he’ll disappear. His knee bobs up and down anxiously, and his finger robotically moves through water drops on the counter. His whole body trembles.

Hoseok’s never fucked up this bad in his life.

All he wants to do is pull Jimin into his arms and tell him he’s sorry for leaving, but he doesn’t want to scare him. He talks him through it, threads their fingers together and leads him out of the club. Jimin clings close to his side like he fears Hoseok will leave again. The fresh air seems to help; Jimin relaxes a little once they’re out and walking down the street.

They don’t talk much on the way back. Every now and then Hoseok makes sure to rub Jimin’s back or drag his fingers through his hair, just so Jimin knows he’s there. By the time they near campus, Jimin has stopped shaking entirely.

“I’m sorry for ruining your night,” Jimin murmurs, not looking at Hoseok as they exit the bus.

“You didn’t ruin my night.”

“I kind of did.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about leaving me. I’m a grown ass adult. That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“But it is,” Hoseok says, carefully. Jimin walks a few steps ahead of him, fists clenched at his sides. “You know it’s okay if it is, right?

“It’s not okay. Look at what happened—I ruined your night—I can’t even fucking have fun at a club like everyone else does—”

“Hey.” He grabs Jimin’s wrist, turning him around. “You don’t have to have fun at clubs. I’m the one who made you go.” But Jimin still won’t look at him, fuming, lost in self-hatred. “Wanna go to the terrace? It’s only a few hours until sunrise.”

Jimin’s lips are pursed as he stares at the ground but finally, he nods. “Yeah. I don’t really want to go back to the apartment anymore.”

The air up on the Visual Arts building terrace is cooler. It feels distant, quieter, like the problems they had below don’t apply so high up. Hoseok lies back on the hard cement, not far from the painted rocks, stretching out his arms like a starfish. He might have forgotten it in the panic but he’s actually still pretty drunk and it feels nice to have a solid surface under his head. Jimin stands near some of the lavender shrubs, scuffing his toes against the ground.