Cleaning Clam Shells, Raising Children and Falling in Love

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/17440838.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Relationship: Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin
Character: Park Jimin (BTS), Min Yoongi | Suga, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Kim
Seokjin | Jin, Jeon Jungkook, Kim Taehyung | V, srry namjoon is only
mentioned i h8 myself
Additional Tags: im bad at tagging but, Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe -
Restaurant, chef Min Yoongi, kitchen hand park jimin, Slow Burn, Angst
with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Single
Parent Park Jimin, Getting Together, everyone thinks he's mean but
he's actually really fucking soft! min yoongi, Fluff, So much fucking fluff,
Alternate Universe, Park Jimin (BTS) Is a Sweetheart, Cute Min Yoongi
| Suga, Single Parents, Minor Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V, Minor
Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin
Stats: Published: 2019-01-16 Words: 49374

Cleaning Clam Shells, Raising Children and Falling in Love

by softsocky

Summary

After an accident leaves him the sole carer of his four-year-old niece, Park Jimin struggles
with grief, kiddy tantrums, parenthood, and trying to find himself—but after finding Yoongi
within this mess instead, he realises he might not be as alone as he thinks he is.

Notes

This is almost entirely based/inspired on the film 'No Reservations'. Those of you who've
seen it will see the similarities, but you'll also see how its rather different. This is my first
bts fanfic so pls...go easy on me. also, im shit at editing so :) have fun with that. ps this is
for dani ily baby angel uwu sorry that this is ucking terrible. also: many plot holes .

See the end of the work for more notes

See, the thing is, Jimin likes his job.

It’s not glamorous—not like his brother’s, who works in a fancy accounting firm just a short
distance from his uptown apartment—but it’s his and he got it all on his own and it pays well and
Jimin feels like he’s part of some kind of extended family.

Jin—he’s the owner and manager—learnt to cook in Paris like some character from a romance
novel, which would make sense given the way he presents himself, but he took a step back from
the actual kitchens and instead headed to business school. Jimin found that Jin is one of those
people that hits you with an instant sort of charm that’s unstoppable, spilling out the edges of all
his seams, and his voice—loud and high in pitch, kind of like Jimin’s own, but not quite so childish
—is one that can reach out to so many people that its constantly astounding him.

Jimin’s only been working here for a few months now, so he doesn’t have an accurate read on
everyone just yet, but Jin is definitely his go-to after work drinks buddy. Jin seems to think so too,
what with the way he’s always waiting out back with his car, ready to go on any adventure Jimin
deems for the evening. It’s never anything that extravagant—Jimin isn’t made of money—but it’s
always fun nonetheless, and he and Jin have built some kind of civil comradery when it comes to
posting photos of each other on each other’s social media.

It’s early, and terribly soon, and definitely not something he’s ready to tell Jin just yet, but he’s
positive that he and the young chef-turned-manager—essentially his boss—is also his best friend.
Jimin finds it a little bit romantic, in a platonic, older-brother kind of way.

Jin owned the restaurant, and was the one who sorted out his pay check every fortnight, but he
wasn’t the one who had interviewed or trained him. Jin was absent for that entire process, and in
his place was a man named Hoseok, intimidating and broad and the restaurants very renowned
sous-chef. The timidness that Jimin felt walking into the restaurant during closing hours was
unmatched to any other feeling he can quite recall, but it was all for nothing—the sous-chef was
giddy in the same way that a child is at Christmas, except the man was several years older than
him and it was only June.

He shook Jimin’s hand with serious rigour and treated him like a sibling more than a candidate for
a job, and showed him around the restaurant with extravagant gestures and making some terrible
jokes about the wine cellar, and even going as far as showing him the label-maker he had
purchased to make the pantry more organised. Hoseok had told him that he’d recently gotten
addicted to organising, putting a box of something into a jar and labelling it up all pretty so that
everything was much easier to find. Jimin didn’t want to mention that watching that many
YouTube videos was probably unhealthy, especially for a sous-chef who worked horrendous hours
as it was, but he kept his mouth shut and didn’t dare tell him that the original boxes might have
been easier to stack than cylindrical mason jars.

He wasn’t sure if this was how every interviewing process went, but Hoseok hadn’t even looked at
the resume he’d handed to him, didn’t even open the folder to see what it was, and he hadn’t asked
him any serious questions about his work experience or why he wanted to work for pina. Jimin did
his research for the interview—of course he did—but it wasn’t entirely needed. He knew all
about pina, as did most people in Seoul.

Pina was the best restaurant there was, with three Michelin stars and serving anything from
traditional Korean meals to underground dishes from Spain. There was a Western touch to
everything—from the food to the name to the décor—but there was an underlying sense of home to
everything that Jimin couldn’t deny as he was led through the empty restaurant.

It looked different vacant to when it did when it was full, which still surprises Jimin every time he
comes in after hours to set up the kitchen. Jimin had asked Hoseok about the origin of the name
—pina—as it was the one thing he couldn’t find in his research. Hoseok himself had even
shrugged, make a sort of choking sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a giggle. Hoseok
had just shrugged again, saying, “think Jin said something about drinking a Pina Colada when he
decided to go back to school.” Jimin, months later, and now knowing Jin better than he has ever
known anyone, doesn’t find that hard to believe.

At the end of the interview—if it could even be called that—Hoseok told him that he’d hear from
either him or his boss in a few days regarding the outcome of the interview, and Jimin left feeling
bewildered and confused and excited all at the same time. Mostly, though, he felt kind of upset
—upset because if he didn’t get the job, then he’d never get to see Hoseok again, and he was sure
that they’d be fast friends. Jimin thought that was kind of a sad revelation.

He didn’t have to be disappointed for long, though, as less than three days later Jimin’s phone was
ringing at one pm on a Tuesday, a disgruntled voice on the other end. “Where the fuck are you,
kid?”

It was an unfamiliar voice to him: deep and husky, gravelly at the ends of his words in a way that
wakes Jimin right up. He sits up in his bed, propped up on his elbow, and holds the phone away
from his ear. The number isn’t in his contacts list and its as unfamiliar to him as the caller is; so,
half asleep, he spits back, “who the fuck are you?”

Jimin would later learn that this was a terrible mistake, if anything by the snickering on the other
end was anything to go by. It wasn’t the original callers laugh, but rather Hoseok’s, Jimin thinks.
That laugh had been rather distinctive and even now, over a foggy slept-too-long phone call, Jimin
can decipher it easy enough. There’s a scoff from the original caller, voices talking off the line, a
crackle and a scuffle, before he’s being spoken to again.

“Jimin?” It’s Hoseok now, the phone obviously having been passed onto him. “Sorry about him,
he’s a ratbag in the morning. It’s Hoseok!”

Jimin doesn’t know who he is, who Hoseok’s referring to, but he pushes through it. “That’s okay,
uh. Is everything alright?”

Hoseok snickers again. “Of course, it is, my boy! But you need to get your ass here, your shift
started over twenty minutes ago! You’re going to make me look bad in front of boss!”

Jimin stills, confused, wracking his brain trying to figure out if Hoseok had called him to tell him
he got the job, or if this was some kind of sick dream, and he even ignores the ‘you already look
bad’ that comes from supposedly ‘boss’ down the line in favour of grunting.

“Uh, Hoseok? You—I mean. I never got a call saying I got the job?”

It comes out like a question, and Hoseok falls quiet on the other end. “Wait—what? Didn’t Jin—
no.”

Then, off the phone, “Jin, did you call Jimin?”

“Who?”

“Jimin? The new kitchen hand?”

“What about him?”

“Did you call him?” Silence. “Jin?”

A hesitant pause. “Yeah?”

“Did you call Jimin?”

Another pause, but then: “I uh, forgot Hoseok, darling.”

Hoseok gurgles a scream, returning to the phone. “Jimin, I’m sorry, Jin’s a total turd—”

“Oi!”

“—and forgot to ring. How quickly can you get here? You got the job, by the way, if that wasn’t
clear.”

Jimin struggles to push his blankets away fast enough. He looks at his watch resting on the bedside
table, ticking ten minutes fast so he’s never really late, and gulps. “Give me thirty.”

“You’ve got twenty.” He goes to hang up, then says, “oh, and Jimin?”

“Yeah?”

“Congrats on the job.” Jimin can’t stop grinning the entire run to the restaurant.

Now, two months later, and Jimin is settling in rather fine—it’s hard work, of course it is, being a
kitchen hand is dirty, sweaty work and working somewhere as expensive as pina is no exception.
He works long hours at weird times and feels crusty and used by the end of it. He has out of whack
sleep patterns that bothers his landlord who lives in the unit below him, always screaming up at his
floor to shut up in the early hours of the morning when he’s dancing around unable to sleep.

He keeps forgetting to call his mother, more often than not, and the timings weird because she’s
travelling somewhere alone in Europe with a shitty mobile phone and no clear path, and she hounds
his ass whenever they do manage to catch each other days later than planned. His brother also gets
kicked to the curb—he’s more understanding than his mother, though, given the way he had seen
how tirelessly he had searched for work after being let go from the bakery, and before that the
library, and before that the coffee shop down the street, and before that the fuel stop on the
highway.

Truth is, Jimin hadn’t been able to keep a steady job, not since he dropped out of high school
before making it to senior year, and focusing on his love for dance more than anything else, only to
injure himself to the point of no-return. Dancing professionally was off the table, and for an entire
year Jimin had spiralled through cheap weed and cheaper beer, struggling to find some kind of
balance in the whirlwind and turmoil life had tossed him in. Even so, he dragged himself out when
his mother returned from Europe to smack him around the head, reaching out to some old contacts
to get him a job.

From then on in, Jimin had been in and out work, not really anything he enjoyed but work was
work and work paid, it kept him fed and housed and it kept him relatively happy with a gym
membership and a Netflix account. He didn’t have a relationship to fund—had never had one of
those, had never had to worry—and no pets, either. It was just him and occasionally his brother and
his brother’s wife; and later, extraordinarily, their little girl—his niece. He had a small but humble
little family that he felt like an important part of, and all of that stuck, but the work had not.

Going from job to job was hard, because some days Jimin would even forget where he was headed,
what his job even was, but when he saw the advertisement online for pina, Jimin knew he had to
apply. Not only because he was desperate and needed work, but also because it was something
he’d never done before—being a kitchen hand, but also working in an establishment of such high
standards and ethics—and the idea of it more than excited him.
When he got the phone call that his application was under consideration and that they’d like him to
come in for an interview, Jimin was over the moon. And then he met Hoseok, and Jin, and
Jungkook the third chef, and Taehyung the cute little waiter who was both so skittish and overly
confident that it gave him whiplash.

And then he met the rest of the staff, and then he met—he met him.

Him, the man who had called him on his first day to scold him down the phone line asking where
he was. Him, who Hoseok had referred to as ‘boss’ even though Jimin knew Jin owned the
restaurant and didn’t work in the kitchens.

Jimin was confused at first, when he saw the other two chefs almost cower when the other man
walked into the kitchen, Jimin not yet wearing an apron around his oversized t-shirt and running
tights, smiling wide and bowing at ninety degrees when the elder man entered. Jimin spat out a
giddy introduction, to which the elder didn’t respond to—in fact, Jimin noticed that the man said
nothing at all the entire time of his training, and had it not been for that initial phone call, Jimin
barely wouldn’t have even known what his voice sounded like.

He also noticed that not only didn’t he speak to Jimin, he didn’t look his way, either. At least, not
for the first few weeks, and definitely not properly. There were a few times Jimin would look over
at the elder, his hair then blonde stark against black roots, and his hands would be meticulously
working a pan or a saucer or plating a dish, but his eyes would be on Jimin’s ankles staring at his
pink socks, or on his arms where he wore a pride shirt for pride week, and when he’d jokingly
accepted the chef hat Hoseok handed him and put it on his head.

But never, Jimin noticed, would he look at his face. Jimin wasn’t too deterred. He’d heard the
rumours, of course, from between the chefs and online when Chef wasn’t around. Cold and mean,
a little scary at times, especially when he’s under-fed, under-slept and over-worked. They say he’s
stone-hearted, that he has no heart-beat, and while that may all be well and true, Jimin doesn’t find
himself bothered. Sure, it hurts a little when the Chef won’t even say hello back to him—
something Jimin never fails to do each time they cross paths—or say thank you when Jimin brings
him a coffee and muffin on his desk when he’s working on the set dishes each morning, but Jimin
doesn’t mind.

He doesn’t mind it—and it’s not because he’s so damn attractive it hurts, part brooding and
intimidating, but mostly kitten-like and all-too soft around the edges—because he gets to witness
his artistry, the art of food that he specialises in. Jimin gets to catch glimpses of such masterpieces
every time he works, and it never fails to amaze him.

Sometimes, Jimin will stop prep and watch him plate a dish in preparation for the night ahead,
watches as he samples different ways to lay out the meat, the vegetables, the sauce. He does it with
a fine hand, and if he catches Jimin staring for too long, he never comments. He never comments.
And, truthfully, he never says much at all, unless it’s to bark orders at him from across the kitchen
—never once addressing him by name, but rather just by yelling what he needs or wants done, and
he just expects Jimin to produce it within a tiny period of time or he’ll stall yelling again about
competency in the workplace and how replaceable he is.

It’s all very stressful and disheartening at the time, especially at the start when he’s still learning,
but after each night he finds himself smiling as he puts away the last pan and mops the floor out
behind him, being sure to leave the little lamp on by the door so that Chef—who is always
finishing up in his office when he leaves—can see the way out of the kitchen safely.

So, Jimin persisted, and he worked at it. He became close friends with Jin, and later Hoseok and
Jungkook, who later introduced him to Taehyung, and Jimin’s small world was suddenly feeling a
whole lot bigger. He’d visit his niece on weekend mornings or whenever he could squeeze her in,
even as much as bringing her to the restaurant one morning to meet Jin himself. As expected, he
was taken with her—as most people usually are—and gave her a cupcake and a cuddle and made
her swear to behave for her ‘Uncle Jimmy’ at all times. She loved him, too, and that was equally as
expected—Jimin thinks it would be impossible not to love the man.

She’d met Hoseok only once, but he gushed about her constantly when he was eventually invited
out to Jin and his post-work drinks, always demanding photos and stories that Jimin was eager to
share. It had only been two months, but Jimin felt a little piece of him cinch up and close, a broken
part of himself restored back to working order, and he couldn’t be more thankful that his old job
had let him go. Had they not, he’d never have met Jin, or Hoseok, or Jungkook, and he’d never get
to work under the strict and elusive head Chef. The head Chef, the one and only Min Yoongi, that
was as secretive as the ingredients he put in his delicious sauces, as delicate as the flower roses he
made from white chocolate, and as temperamental as the panna cotta. He was Min Yoongi, and he
was cold and ruthless and he was brutal, but Jimin felt like there was a fire somewhere amongst all
that, too, because the elder warmed him up as though he were seated in front of a furnace whenever
he was around.

Jimin comes before any of the other chefs, but never before Jin or Yoongi. Admittedly, Jimin isn’t
really sure what time Yoongi arrives, but he’s always over halfway done with the menu plan when
Jimin shows up at eleven, a whole five hours before the restaurant even opens.

Yoongi, upon first glance, looks like he never sleeps—but Jimin has learnt that the elder does, and
most often he does so in his office in the tiny spaces between the total chaos. Jimin’s always
amazed at the elder’s ability to power nap, and rejuvenate not only his own energy level, but
everyone else’s, too.

Jimin might be a little biased, but he thinks Yoongi is cool, with his now-black hair having
growing back in, and his tight t-shirts that emphasise the broad stretch of his shoulders, and the big
blue stone he wears on his finger before slipping off when they open shop. He’s handsome, that’s
for sure, but when he puts on his uniform Jimin nearly finds himself wanting to faint,
because shit, he’s so hot. He’s so cool and he’s so hot and he walks around with his arms and chest
wrapped in that tight black uniform with the stern look in his eye and his brow lifted, and damn,
sometimes, Jimin thinks he can feel the last traces of sanity leave his body.

Today is no different.

When Jimin lets himself into the restaurant, the front is as empty as it always is, save for Jin
throwing his head back and yelling loudly at him. Jimin giggles, as he always—a routine,
he has one—and the two embrace, careful not to spill the coffee Jimin is carrying, by the cashier as
the elder throws his head back again and makes a sound close to a howl.

And, as always, he hears Yoongi’s office door slam from behind the kitchen doors and the two
men giggle into each other’s necks. They have their routine, and it seems Yoongi has his, too.

When they separate, Jimin throws a look over Jin’s shoulder. “How is he?”

Jin sighs, over dramatic, as always. “Dear Jimin, every morning you bid me with the same
question, and I’m afraid, I must, yet again, give you the same answer.”

Jimin waits, staring dead-panned at Jin’s similar expression, which eventually clears and splits into
a wide grin.
“He’s in a shitty mood, darling. You may proceed with your offering but I must warn you,” he
stands a little taller, lifting a finger of guidance at him, as he retreats across the dining room to the
kitchen. “I must warn you,” he repeats, “he’s a fucking asshole, and he will not say thank you.”

Jimin snickers, holding up the drink and muffin, “keep saying that and he might just hear you.”

“Good,” Jin sniffs, “’bout time he heard it anyway.”

“Won’t be saying that if he leaves you,” Jimin adds with a snicker.

Jin scoffs, replying fondly, “he loves me too much, darling. Now scram, I have napkins to fold.”

Jimin bursts through the doors and into the vacant kitchen. Its spotless from where Jimin had left it
the night before: it had been wild that evening, sauce everywhere, Hoseok managing to even get
some on the ceiling. But, as always, Jimin was determined to impress not only his co-workers, but
Jin and even Yoongi, too. So, he had fetched the ladder out from the laundry and cleaned it all up,
leaving it as spotless as the day she was built.

Yoongi, of course, would never mention it—but Jimin always takes his silence as gratitude, even if
he doesn’t mean it to be.

He knocks on the speckled window of Yoongi’s office, and when he hears a rustle of papers, he
opens the door. He’s learnt by now not to expect a verbal response.

The first time Jimin had knocked, all noises inside ceased, and a moment later the door was yanked
open and Yoongi just looked at him confusedly. He went to speak, but found himself unable to, so
he just shoved the coffee and brown paper bag containing the muffle under his nose and smiled as
naturally as he could. Yoongi stared down at the offerings with even more confusion, before he
hesitantly took them. Jimin didn’t stick around to see if he was going to say anything, because the
moment the items were gone from his hands, he spun on his heel and back towards the kitchen to
set up.

Now, Yoongi doesn’t stop working and he doesn’t bother opening the door for him. Jimin knows
to just let himself inside and place the drink and muffin—always a varying flavour, depending on
what the café near Jimin’s place has baked up, though the passionfruit and white chocolate always
seems to leave the least crumbs—on his desk and go. This morning is no different.

Inside, Yoongi is hunched over his desk, wearing tight black jeans and white t-shirt, hair messy on
the top of his head, and his fingers—god, his fingers—spinning his pen around by his ear. He
doesn’t change position when Jimin enters, and Jimin bites back a smile at how this has become
somewhat of a comfortable routine. He places it at the top of his desk, the empty space closest to
the door, before retreating.

Closing the door behind him, he retreats back into the kitchen, to his work space, and preps the
kitchen for service.

When the other chefs arrive—generally an hour or so after Jimin himself—the kitchen surfaces
have been wiped down clean again, Jimin has sharpened their knives, sat out their aprons, and even
goes as far as pulling out the chef’s favourite pots and pans. Chopping boards are in place, and
staple, non-perishables within easy reach.

When the chefs enter, it’s always boisterous and fun. Hoseok will wrap his arms around Jimin in a
one-sided hug, though Jimin doesn’t hate it—quite the opposite, really, he just loves to test the
elder man—and Jungkook will ruffle his hair affectionately. They thank him, as always, for setting
up, and for doing more than what’s required of him. The thing is, Jimin not only wants to impress
them, make them want him to stick around, but he also genuinely likes them, and wants to help out
whatever way they can.

Jin comes in as they’re putting on their aprons, and like clockwork, the door to Yoongi’s office
opens and the head Chef steps out. Though they know not to really fear him—deep down,
they know—the chefs quiver. Hoseok, however, shivers the least. Yoongi pretends that they aren’t
friends, but Hoseok has confessed to having had a few beers with the elder man and had even gone
as far as calling him a ‘bro’. Yoongi, with his lack of emotion and affection, would never show it
openly, but he clearly felt the same way. At least, Jimin thought so.

When Yoongi emerges, and Jungkook straightens his back, and Jin clears his throat, Hoseok just
leans against the counter, and Jimin struggles not to clasp his hands together in excitement. Yoongi
enters the kitchen without a word, holding printed sheets of the specials menu he’s put together.
They have a regular that he changes every month or so, but each day there’s a new specials board,
and Yoongi never fails to amaze Jimin with his ability to invent creative meals each morning.

He walks the kitchen quietly, handing the sheets to everyone—excluding Jimin, who to this day
refuses to take it personally—and Jimin leans over Hoseok’s shoulder to read what he has
prepared. There’s fish and chicken and they all seem very French inspired, which the dessert that
Jimin can’t pronounce confirms. Everything sounds delicious, and Jimin feels hungry reading it.

“Waah,” he says, “it looks great Chef!”

Hoseok snickers, as he always does, because Jimin’s never been shy about hiding his admiration to
the chef. Hoseok always calls it his ‘crush’, but Jimin doesn’t think that’s what it is, at least
not really—he just genuinely admires the workmanship the man has, and thinks the elder deserves
to know about it, that’s all.

Yoongi doesn’t even glance at him; doesn’t say thank you and doesn’t even acknowledge that
anyone had said anything. Instead, he leans back against the counter, allocating different jobs to the
chefs, and Jimin just watches on, awe-struck, whipped and maybe a whole lot in love.

And that’s just how the routine goes.

Jimin arrives early, gets coddled by Jin, ignored by Yoongi, and praised by Hoseok. He does his
job, he sweats, gets yelled at by his boss, then he cleans up. Then he goes home. And tomorrow,
he’ll come back—and he’ll return the next day too, and the next, and forever, hopefully, or at least,
until he finds a better version of whatever that is, or whatever he decides to make of it. He just
hopes that these people are written into that story somewhere. They’ve already made such an
impact on the workings of his life, and he’s not quite sure he’s ever going to be ready to give that
up.

One night, when things are so incredibly hectic Jimin can barely think straight, Yoongi walks
around the pass and back into the kitchen. He peers into the sink farthest away from where he had
been standing, glancing at each one quickly as he passes all five of them. Jimin watches curiously,
but doesn’t really pay full attention, given the way the dishes and pans overflow the sink, and
water slops on the floor by his feet.
“Hoseok, where did you put the clams?”

For a second, Jimin thinks Hoseok mustn’t have heard Yoongi ask, because there’s no response,
but then he hears a splutter from the sous-chef.

“Clams? What clams, Chef?”

Jimin, where’s he’s working away at a pot, gulps. The clams, he thinks to himself. He eyes the
wash basin in the other room, the interconnecting laundry-esque room, where Jimin spots the large
metal tub sitting by the sink. The tub itself had been drained of water not twenty-minutes before,
and Jimin turns to point this out, when Yoongi suddenly slams his fist down on the bench.

“What clams? Hoseok, are you deaf? Did you not listen to me this morning?”

Hoseok, ever the bravest, snickers sarcastically. “Oh, I heard you just fine, Chef, what with the
eighty other things you have me do today!”

Yoongi shakes his head, tongue-in cheek. Jimin shakes by the sink, pulling his hands out and
wiping them on the ass of his pants.

He heads to the tub as he hears Yoongi yell back, “that’s your fucking job, Hoseok. You’re
my sous-chef.”

Before he can even finish, Hoseok’s laughing, all sarcastic again, “like I could even forget it for
a minute!”

He hears Yoongi ask about the clams again, and Hoseok just tells him he knows nothing about
clams, and honestly, Jimin wants to side with Hoseok on this but Yoongi had asked him to this at
their briefing over the special’s menu—but, Jimin would, always, at the end of the day, support his
friends, even if that means going against his mentor. Even so, Jimin would find a way to mend it,
so in a moment of panic, Jimin hurries back from the laundry and into the main kitchen, scurrying
with the heavy tub—arms wobbling a little under the weight of it—and as he tries to lift it upward,
Hoseok instinctively helps him heave it to the bench.

The slam of the metal tub against the metal benchtop causes a silence in the kitchen. Pans are still
frying and exhaust fans still turning, but no one speaks, and no one moves. Jimin stares at his work
shoes—steel-capped and black, worn nearly to the sole already, and shiny wet on the surface from
the dishes. In his periphery, he can see Hoseok’s hand shaking, as though itching to grab onto one
of Jimin’s. Jimin doesn’t know if it’s for comfort on his behalf, or for Jimin’s own. Either way,
Jimin watches it shake, but doesn’t make a move for it—not now, when he can feel the anger
radiating off his boss.

This was the boss Jimin had heard stories about; this was the boss the rumours stemmed from. He
could make seconds of silence feel like years of solitude, and something about the way he could
speak ten million insults by saying nothing at all was a power Jimin was glad he witnessed very
rarely. This Yoongi—this Yoongi that exudes anger, and shifts quickly into sheer bile, he rarely
came out to play.

General, surface-level annoyance masked as anger was more than common, the most common
thing, actually, but this was not. Jimin didn’t fear him, but he wasn’t exactly excited to see him,
either. But then the most surprising thing happened.

Instead of yelling or shouting or shoving the tub to the ground, Yoongi spoke again: voice much
softer, by no means calm, but curious. “Who cleaned these clams?”
The question, realistically, was pointless. They all know who cleaned the clams. Hoseok, a joker,
was by no means a liar when in serious situations: he told Yoongi he knew nothing about the
clams, and he meant every word of it. At that meeting, Jimin had noticed how Hoseok was
distracted by the large list of requirements Yoongi had for him. Truth be told, they all had it under
the hammer this evening, what with a food critic supposedly dining with them, but Hoseok really
copped it—and Yoongi, of course, was not sympathetic.

Because of this, Jimin noticed the way it was skipped from the notes he was jotting down on the
side of the special’s menu. And yes, Jimin knew that realistically he should have told Hoseok that
his job was to do the clams as well, but seeing how extensive his list was—and Jungkook’s—he
brought it upon himself to do the job at hand.

He had done it before, whether or not it was to Yoongi’s liking he was uncertain: he doubted that
Yoongi did approve of them, but at least, to some extent, Jimin had tried. He hoped—though he
knew it would be pointless—to hope that with Yoongi now. Yoongi expected perfection each time;
and, if it was anything less, then it wasn’t worth the resources.

“I said, who cleaned, these clams?” It was directed at him now, everyone knew it, Jimin himself
knew it.

He learnt to clean clams in the Japanese method from his mother when he was young, and had
retained it ever since: it happened to be just chance, or even just good old luck, that Jimin knew
exactly what to do today. Even still, Jimin knows it wouldn’t be good enough.

Dimly, Jimin raises his hand—not fully, just enough that it was parallel to his face, which was still
downward facing. He could feel all the eyes in the room on him, and immediately it was a feeling
he never wanted to experience again.

“I-I did, Chef. I cleaned the clams.”

He was met with silence, then, “you did? You cleaned these clams?”

Jimin, unlike Yoongi, doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, Chef.”

“What method did you use?”

“Japanese, Chef.”

“Did you let them soak afterwards?” He asks it as if he’s caught him out; as if Jimin wouldn’t
know to soak the clams after salting them, as a means of removing the salty taste.

But, see, Jimin knew this method, so of course he had soaked the clams. “Yes Chef, for two hours.
Drained them not long ago.”

There’s more silence, but this time, it extends onwards and upwards and all around the room until
Jimin feels as though he’s suffocating inside of it. He hears a hand raking through the tub, the
shells knocking together gently.

“And why aren’t you cooking those clams yet, Hoseok?” That was Jin’s voice—Jimin hadn’t heard
him come in.

Jimin suddenly feels ashamed that his friend had to witness what had just happened. Jimin, up until
now, had well and truly stayed in his lane and obeyed orders—he messed up, sure he did, but he
had never felt ashamed of himself like he did now. Even though he had seemingly helped, they
clearly weren’t up to Yoongi’s desired standard, and the special menu would be ruined—along
with Yoongi’s reputation. Jimin’s palms started to sweat profusely, and his gut was twisting
painfully.

“Hoseok,” Yoongi starts, voice almost back to normal. “I want you to start cooking these clams.
Now. Can you do that?”

Beside him, Jimin feels Hoseok salute, “Yes, Chef!” before he turns away from Jimin’s side and
grabs the tub to drag to his station.

Then, as if on cue, everyone else in the kitchen picks up where they left off, as if the predicament
had just been a tiny blip in time. Jimin hears Jin mutter Yoongi’s name, and Jimin tenses when he
senses Yoongi—still standing in front of him—look down at him.

Jimin doesn’t dare raise his head, instead bows ninety degrees—just like the day he had first
introduced himself—and spun away on his heel, back to the growing pile of dishes, back to where
he didn’t touch the clams or the sauce or anything in between. Back to where he was just the
kitchen hand, after all.

When the restaurant closes, and the waiters and chefs say their farewells, Hoseok draws Jimin in
for a hug that lasts far longer than usual. He squeezes him tight—almost too tightly, and kisses his
forehead for good measure.

“You saved my ass, Jimin,” he says, voice surprisingly soft given the seriousness of his face. “I
owe you big time.”

Jimin shakes his head, “no you don’t. It was no trouble at all.”

Then, the Hoseok that Jimin knows returns. His grin is big and infectious, and he grabs at Jimin’s
shoulders as if sizing him up like an Aunt he hasn’t seen in ten years. “Well clearly, it wasn’t a big
deal, Mr Chef Jimin, you! How did you know how to clean the clams like that?’

Jimin shrugs, bashful, but loving the praise nonetheless. His small hands cup the sides of his face,
and he can feel his cheeks burn beneath his palms. “My mother taught me when I was young, and
it was my job on the rare times we managed to get some clams from our fishing trips. I guess it just
stuck.”

Hoseok gasps out his mother’s name—which he doesn’t recall telling him, but he isn’t bothered—
and slams his shoulders again. “I want to meet her Jimin, I want to ask her for your hand in marr—”

“Be a dear and go home would you, Hoseok?” Jin, the ever-sarcastic being he is, strolls into the
Kitchen while looking down at his phone. His coat is on and his bag packed, clearly ready to turn
in for the evening.

Tonight, Jimin knows, will not be a night they catch up after he’s finishing cleaning—the night
was too hectic, too full on, for any kind of relaxation over alcohol. Instead, Jimin assumes all of
them will be returning to their beds.

Hoseok grunts, and Jimin just smirks; he hasn’t much energy left, and he still has to clean up the
remainder of the kitchen before he can go home. He wants to get started, and them two bickering in
the kitchen is stopping him. He shoves at their backs playfully, aiming the tea towel at Jin’s legs,
Hoseok laughing at the outraged yelp he lets out.

Before they both turn to leave the restaurant, Jin opens Yoongi’s office door—without knocking,
perks of being the boss, Jimin has learnt—and merely says ‘Yoongi,’ before jerking his head
backward, towards Jimin himself, then he closes the door, waves farewell to Jimin and the mess of
the kitchen with a sympathetic pout, then walks out the back door with Hoseok in tow.

When the door shuts behind them, Jimin sighs, turning to the mess that awaits. It’s not drastically
bad—there’s no sauce on the ceiling, at least—but there are still pots and pans and Hoseok’s never
been good at keeping his hot plates tidy. Jimin rolls his sleeves up a little higher, not that it matters
given they’re already saturated, and starts to work. He’s about fifteen minutes into washing the
remaining dishes, almost seeing the bottom of the stack now, when Yoongi’s office door opens.

Genuinely, Jimin forgot he was still here—but of course he was, he practically lived here. Jimin
had never seen him leave and never seen him arrive; he was just always at the restaurant, and lately
Jimin had started to suspect that maybe he actually did live here after all, and not just as a joke.
Yoongi is tugging a scarf on around his neck, but his hands are shaking just the tiniest bit, and his
cheeks are a bright shade of pink. Jimin would think he was getting sick—and even goes to make
such a comment—when the Chef turns to him, and Jimin catches the look in his eyes.

Oh. He’s not cold, he’s not sick: he’s embarrassed. Or at least, he’s blushing, and his eyes look
incredibly shy and meek.

He steps up to the bench almost gingerly, and Jimin kind of suspects what’s coming, given the way
Jin had addressed him earlier—and even though it’s about to be something Jimin has wanted for so
long, he realises now, he doesn’t want it.

See, Jimin would love nothing more than to hear a thank you from Yoongi, but he wanted a
genuine thank you even more. He wanted to earn it; earn it without prompting; hear it fall from
Yoongi’s mouth like he genuinely meant it. And if that meant waiting forever, then so be it.

Jimin steps away from the sink, and before Yoongi can even open his mouth to speak, Jimin bows
again. And then again, and again; until he’s bowed three times at a ninety-degree angle, and his
head feels a little dizzy from the fast actions.

“I apologise for the slip up tonight, Chef. It won’t happen again, but I want to thank you for the
experience and entrusting me with the clams, Chef. Thank you,” he utters again, voice high and
loud and spoken almost militarily.

The words don’t feel all that genuine coming from his mouth, because it wasn’t like Yoongi had
actually given him the option that morning, but he didn’t want that thank you.

At least, not yet. And not like this.

The next time they have clams on the menu, it’s a month or so later.

Jimin’s been working at pina for nearly four months, and his routine is like firm concrete. Yoongi
is talking monotonously, voice just as gravelly as it had been all those months ago, firing off duties
to each of the chefs. As usual, Jimin is curved around Hoseok’s side, leering around his shoulder so
he can read the special’s menu.

Then, suddenly, Hoseok is ramming him in the ribs with his elbow, and Jimin’s pulling himself off
his friends’ body with a hiss. He’s about to ask Hoseok was his problem was, but Yoongi’s looking
at him with a stern expression, and Hoseok’s widening his eyes as a means of communication in
the now-silent kitchen.
“U-uh,” he starts, but Yoongi sighs.

“Did you hear what I said?” Never uses his name, never meets his eyes. “I want you to clean and
prepare the clams for service.”

Jimin can feel the moment his jaw drops. A rush of air escapes him, and there’s a slight ringing in
his ears. Hoseok is shaking his shoulder excitedly, Yoongi’s annoyed look be damned, because
Yoongi wants Jimin to clean the clams—not Hoseok, not any of the other chefs, but Jimin.

“Yes, Chef! I—I won’t let you down!”

Yoongi, ever the silent one, gives him a one over. Jimin quivers under his penetrative gaze, but
says no more, and lowers his eyes to the floor.

He watches Yoongi’s shoes inch further back as he moves to leave the kitchen, and then he said, “I
know you won’t.”

Jimin knew that this wasn’t being said affectionately—wasn’t said because he genuinely knew
Jimin would do a good job and wouldn’t let him down—but rather said as a threat. And, honestly,
Jimin doesn’t want to find out what the threat is—all he knows is that he’s going to get these clams
as clean as Yoongi has ever seen a clam in his life. So much so, that Yoongi will have no excuse
not to thank him.

In the end, he doesn’t let Yoongi down.

He doesn’t get a thank you, but the pasta dish with clams makes an appearance on the next
month’s regular menu, and from then on in, it’s Jimin’s job to always clean the clams.

Jimin realises that he’s been waiting for a thank you all this time, and maybe Yoongi wouldn’t say
it in words, but he put it on the menu—and maybe that’s enough.

Jimin’s brother, Park Jihyun, met his now-wife Hannah when he was in Ireland.

He went on a post-high school holiday, splurging all his summer job savings on a teenager-targeted
tour across Europe. In Ireland, he met Hannah working behind a bar. She’s a few years older than
him and didn’t speak a lick of Korean, and truthfully, his English hadn’t been all that great. But,
something must have clicked, because he got her contact details and started English lessons when
he returned to Korea a few weeks later, and soon she was travelling across the world to visit him.

They made several trips back and forth, and Jimin was wondering when the day would come that
one of them would make the move. Jimin thought that Jihyun would be the one to leave, as his
English was far better than Hannah’s Korean ever was, but in the end, she moved out of her run-
down apartment in small-town Ireland, and shifted what little belongings she had with her.

She got work easy enough: English was well sought-after and so working in the city in a tourism
centre was certainly a job she could do easily. On the side, she was learning Korean faster than
ever, desperately needing it despite the accessibility to English in her workplace.

A few years on, and Jimin can definitely see how far she had come with it. She was more or less
fluent, and Jimin only ever heard her speaking English when she was on the phone or when he
occasionally made a visit to her work. She was petite in the same way that Jimin was, though
where his line of work and mild disregard for his appearance made him look a tad messy and
uncaring, she always looked polished and well-presented. She had a love for fashion which Jimin
truly admired; though, admittedly, her fashion tastes were those of back home, which differed
slightly to what made it into magazines in Korea. Truth be told, he found that all the more
interesting, loving visiting her at home and watching her parade around in her latest purchases.

Together, they’d drink wine and they’d gossip like old friends until Jihyun got home; and, by that
time, they would always be more than a bit tipsy. Back then, Jimin would crash in the spare
bedroom, right on top of the covers, and whenever he woke up in the morning to the sound of his
phone alarm, there’d always be water and pain killers sitting on the bedside unit—courtesy of
Jihyun, no doubt, who would have had to put both of them to bed.

Hannah was hilarious, sharing a similar sense of humour to Jihyun, which is why they probably
clicked all those years ago in Ireland. Jimin loved her all round, and knew she was a perfect match
for his younger brother, which was why when she showed Jimin a positive pregnancy test on one
of his visits, he could do nothing else other than cry.

He was going to be an uncle.

When the child was born, Jimin was there—he was also right in the room, much to his brother’s
distaste, who was on the other side. Jimin didn’t want to be in there—he didn’t want to see a much-
loved friend and family member writhing and screaming in pain, but when she went into labour
over dinner, and as Jihyun was driving them to the hospital, she had gripped his hand so tightly and
begged that he be in the room, too. He couldn’t deny her—not only because he knew not to say no
to a pregnant woman, but also because she was important to him.

So, he said yes, and watched their child being born in a way that was both horrific but also the most
beautiful thing he had ever seen. They didn’t want to know the sex, so it was a surprise for all of
them, and when he got to hold his niece for the first time—little baby Madeline—he wept so much
he couldn’t see her face anymore.

From then on in, he was undeniably whipped for her: buying her toys and clothes and taking her
out on dates even though there wasn’t a chance she’d ever remember them when she was older. He
supposed they were more for him than they were for her, but he had come to accept that. He was
okay with being a whipped uncle at this point. His brother, though younger than him by several
years, had his life clearly headed on the right path.

He loved his job and he happy with where it was headed. He had a beautiful, albeit small, new
family and they holidayed enough for it to remain exciting but not too rarely that they ever had the
chance to fully miss it. Jimin knew that he was part of that family, but sometimes, as he stood on
the outskirts and looked in, he couldn’t feel a little out of place.

His position in life was at the other end of the spectrum: he hated the majority of the work he did
but he didn’t know what else to do, didn’t know what else he could do. He had no clear direction
and no real motivation, and when he went home, he went to an empty, run-down apartment
building with a leaky tap and cold, creaky floorboards.

There, in his apartment, he felt brutally alone—his mother was only a phone call away, and his
brother’s place a short ten-minute drive, but Jimin felt so burdensome that he didn’t dare attempt it
most of the time. And, truthfully, he knew he had to learnt to be alone, because one day—and
hopefully one day soon—he’d have all that himself. A job he loved, a husband, a child—
a family. Now, though, he just had to wait it out. Soon couldn’t come quick enough, but Jimin had
come accustomed to patience.
“I told you to just use your key, Jimin—why do you make me get off the couch to let you in?”

Jimin grins, opening his arms and embracing the young woman. “Ah, Hannah, we don’t want a
repeat of last time, do we? I saw some shit I did not need to see.”

Hannah smelt of pastry and lemon, her cheeks red from his comment, and he knew that she’d been
cooking again. Like him, she had an underlying love for the craft; but, also like him—and his
brother, admittedly—she wasn’t all that great at it.

She had been borrowing some of Jimin’s cookbooks to build up her repertoire of dishes she could
make successfully, because currently Jimin could count that number on one hand. She steps aside
to let him in, and he locks the door behind him, knowing the drill now.

It was late, too late for Madeline—Maddy—to be awake, but still, he couldn’t help himself. He
drops his work bag and kicks off his shoes by the door, then sneaks his way down the hall to his
niece’s bedroom.

The guestroom had been converted into a nursery before she was born, and Hannah had enlisted
Jimin’s help with the painting and decorating and general heavy-lifting. He had out-right refused
payment, but once the work was done, he found a wad of cash shoved at the bottom of his
backpack, with no proof that it had been her to put it there.

Now, when he gets drunk here, he has to sleep on the couch. He’d have it no other way, though,
because when morning broke, little fingers would jab at his face and his niece would crawl up onto
his chest, little face tucked into his neck and puffs of air tickling his skin. They’d fall back asleep
together, at least until Jimin’s alarm went off, and then he’d get up and make them eggs on toast,
and they’d giggle at the kitchen table like a pair of twins.

Jihyun and Hannah would emerge later, demanding breakfast of their own, which Jimin would
always deny them, then he’d put his shoes back on, grab his bag, kiss his niece goodbye and he’d
be out the door again. Lately, he’d been seeing his niece less and less, and his heart felt empty and
sore at the thought of it.

Thankfully, tonight, he was staying overnight—he’d brought a change of clothes and everything,
though he didn’t have to pack much, as Hannah had set aside a drawer for him in the bathroom full
of amenities and even a toothbrush—and he’d get to wake up to his niece’s beautiful face again. He
hadn’t had that experience in a while, and honestly, he was excited to go to bed because of it.

Inside Maddy’s bedroom, the only source of light was the nightlight beside her bed. It was a small
cloud with a smiley face on it, and Jimin remembers the three of them seeing it in the store, and
collectively they had lost their shit—it was adorable, and Jimin smiles fondly at the memory. In
the bed, Maddy slept with her hands above her head sprawled out on the pillow. One leg was still
trapped underneath a mountain of blankets, and the other kicked out and sitting on top of it. Her
mouth was open, letting out little puffs of air, and her long black hair tangled around her neck.
Along the side of the bed pressed against the wall was a row of stuffed animals—from elephants to
ducks to birds to dolls. She’d always been fond of them, and occasionally she’d drag Jimin into a
tea party or a dinner date and he’d be all-too happy to oblige.

Slowly, as to not wake her, Jimin sits on the edge of the mattress, careful not to make it dip too
much at the side. With gentle, calculated movements, Jimin leans down to brush the hair from her
forehead, so he can place a soft kiss onto her skin. She smells warm and like home and the soap
Hannah uses for sensitive skin. He leaves the door ajar just slightly, before making his way back
down the hallway to the living room.
Jihyun and Hannah are curled up on the couch, some mindless home renovation show playing
quietly in the background. He plots right down onto his brothers lap, who lets out a groan and a
curse, but holds Jimin’s hips nonetheless. Jimin was twenty-five years old, and Jihyun was well
aware of his antics by now.

“So, Big Jimbo,” Jihyun starts, using the childhood nickname to make Jimin curl in on himself
with a small giggle. “What are your birthday plans?”

Jimin froze for a moment, suddenly realising he had nearly forgotten that his twenty-sixth birthday
was just a few days away.

Jihyun and Hannah must have sensed this through his hesitation, and the latter snorts. “A bit young
to be forgetting your birthday, aren’t you?”

Jimin slaps at the part of her leg he can reach playfully. “Old enough to kick your ass,” he says,
and Jihyun snorts into the back of his head.

“Bullshit, Big, you can’t even kick your own ass, let alone Han’s—she’d win in a fight.”

Jimin gasps, mock-offended, but he shrugs. “Birthday’s aren’t all that exciting anymore. But
Hoseok mentioned drinks after work in the kitchen, if you want to come to that. Some kind of
tradition they have for everyone’s birthday, or something. Or we can just organise lunch with
Maddy another day. I don’t want her to miss out.”

Hannah coos, and Jihyun quickly joins in, flicking at his ear and tightening his arms where they’re
wrapped around his waist. “We’d love to come! I want to see your workplace,” Hannah adds,
pressing her toes against Jimin’s thigh. “We’ll bring Mads, she’ll survive being sleepy for one
night.”

Jimin smiles widely, but before he can say anything, Jihyun buts in, “will your boss be there?”

Jimin knows where this is going, so he plays dumb. “Jin? Of course, he would be organising it, I’m
sure.”

“No, not Jin. The other boss. The mean one you said has a perky ass—”

“Oh my god I did not say that!”

“Yes you did. You told Hannah who obviously told me.”

Jimin gasps, betrayed. “Hannah! You bitch, you said you wouldn’t tell!” She throws her head and
laughs, nearly sloshing her glass of wine onto the carpet.

Jihyun snickers, arms squeezing. “I don’t know why you like him so much. Whenever you talk
about him, you get this look in your eye as if you’re talking about a peace prize winner or
something. But the words that come out of your mouth just make him sound like a dick.”

Hannah holds her drink up to that, as if she were saying ‘cheers’ and takes a mouthful. “He likes
him because he’s hot, clearly,” she says after she swallows, shrugging when Jihyun gives her a
bashful look. “What, I love that brooding, broad-shouldered, husky-voiced aesthetic. Oof,” she
makes a crude face, “gets me hot.”

Jimin blushes, and Jihyun groans at his wife’s antics, but he asks again, “so will he be there? Kind
of want to meet the hunk.”
Jimin ignores the comment, and shrugs again. “I don’t know. I doubt it. He doesn’t seem the type
to say happy birthday, let alone go to a party.”

Hannah hums, considering. “You know, you’re probably right. But,” she says, gaze wavering as
the wine kicks in, pointing a finger at him from around the glass, “he might just surprise you.”

The next morning, Jimin wakes up to fingers jabbing at his cheek. He opens his eyes to his niece,
who shoves her hands over her mouth and shakes on her feet. She’s four and a half, turning five in
a few months, but she doesn’t speak a whole lot—just words and phrases here and there, reserved
only for when things are important. Jimin feels honoured that his name is on that list, and she says
it frequently.

He reaches over to her, grabbing one of her wrists and pulling it away from her mouth. He tugs her
closer, smiling at the sound of her squeal, and hauls her onto the couch. She flops down onto him,
her face against the squishy flesh of his tummy, and she mumbles his name over and over again
into the exposed skin. He wraps his arms around her so they rest on her back, patting the scraggly
mane of her hair back into place.

After a while of lying there, Jimin finds himself halfway back to sleep. But then, Maddy starts
climbing up his body, just narrowly missing kneeing his crotch in the process, and then she plops
back down close to his face. She kisses his cheek once, then again, and then again and again until
she’s got Jimin giggling. He turns to kiss her back, grinning wide into her skin.

“I love you, baby,” he mumbles, pouring out whatever love he can into the small awareness she
has. She grins back, shaking on top of him in excitement.

“Uncle Jimin!” She squeals, loudly, and there’s no way her parents didn’t hear, but he doesn’t
silence her as she starts chanting it—it’s been too long since he last heard her, and to hear words
spill from her mouth that make her so happy, there’s not a chance in hell he’d ever put a stop to it.

He leaves to work that morning after spinning his niece around one too many times, over-kissed
and full of love, with the promise of seeing them all again in a few days at his birthday drinks after
his shift at the restaurant.

Things have never really worked out for Jimin, though.

On the day of his birthday, Jimin’s running the tiniest bit late. He hit snooze one too many times,
and he’s paying for it now. Not that it matters, given Jimin arrives too early on a normal day, but
this job is different. The routine Jimin has each morning affects more than just himself. There’s a
coffee and a muffin that he supplies to Yoongi each morning, and normally Jimin has that delivered
to him on his desk like clockwork, between eleven and eleven oh-eight each morning; today,
however, its nearing half-past eleven and he’s only just squeezing in through the kitchen’s back
doors.

He forgot to brush his hair in his hurry this morning, but he didn’t forget the treats for his boss:
those were clutched in a firm grip in his hands, as though they were the most important artefact he
could ever possess.

That morning, on his brisk walk to work, his mother had called him and wished him happy birthday
—she called him her ‘big boy’ and proceeded to try for the entire fifteen-minute walk. Supposedly
turning twenty-six means you’re a grown up, and she apologised that she couldn’t be there to
celebrate it with him: she sent her best from her next destination in Europe—Jimin can’t keep track
—and then they said their farewells.

Entering in through the kitchen, Jimin is met with the usual silence. If he trains his ear hard
enough, he can hear the faint scratch of Yoongi’s pen against the paper, and the slight creak of his
desk chair as he shifts in his movements. He drops his bag by the door, remembering to pick it up
later, and heads to Yoongi’s office.

He knocks just as he would any other morning, and upon hearing the same grunt and rustle of
paper, Jimin opens the door. He goes to place the coffee and muffin in the usual spot—right at the
top left-hand corner of the desk, which was right by the door—but something was already in the
spot.

Instead of an empty corner—albeit for a coaster which had suddenly appeared there one morning,
making Jimin smile at Yoongi expecting Jimin to just bring him coffee and not wanting the heat of
the cup to damage his antique desk—there was a white rectangle lying flat across the coaster. He
was momentarily frazzled, unsure of where to place the drink since papers and books were strewn
across the rest of the surface. Beginning to panic that he’d be bothering his boss, he went to shift
the paper that was in the way, when the writing caught his eye. Jimin’s hand tightened on the cup,
and his breath caught in his throat.

There, in the centre of the rectangle, was two words—printed in fine cursive, one that Jimin saw
every morning, thin and elegant and emerging from the hand of a genius. Park Jimin.

Picking up the paper now with his spare hand, Jimin realises it isn’t just a rectangular sheet of
paper—it’s an envelope. And it has Jimin’s name on it. And it’s Jimin’s birthday. With a shy
smile, Jimin tucks the card under his arm, placing the coffee on the coaster, and muffin off to the
side of the beverage with shaking hands, before closing the door behind just as if it were any
normal morning.

Giddy, Jimin scurries over to the bench, arms shaking with excitement as he tears open the
envelope—careful not to damage the way his name is written on the front, wanting to keep it
forever as a memento. Perhaps Yoongi wouldn’t say his name, but he could finally have proof that
he at least knew it. The card itself was fairly basic: nothing funny or too personal.

The card was heavy-duty card and looked relatively hand-made, which was confirmed when a slip
of paper fell from the inside of the card, explaining that it had come from a fair-trade store on the
other side of the city. Jimin momentarily wonders if Yoongi lived out that way, or if he had
purposefully made the trip for Jimin’s birthday. Either way, Jimin bites down on his bottom lip in
an attempt to dial down the intensity of his smile.

On the cover of the card, made from layers of different coloured and texture blue papers, was the
shape of a yacht—in the background there was also a sunset, and though it was fairly simple, it
was utterly stunning. With a nervous thrum, Jimin opened the card, and his heart nearly leapt from
his chest. The message inside was short, and straight to the point, but it was something and Yoongi
had taken the time to write it—and somewhat think about what to say—and Jimin felt so happy that
he could die.

Park Jimin, wishing you a happy and safe birthday. You are a valuable member of this team, and
your hard work has not gone unnoticed. Min Yoongi.

And then there, just below where he had signed his name, was one last thing. One last thing that
made everything he had done here at pina worth it. Xo. Yoongi had left him a hug and a kiss.

Jimin looks over his shoulder at the closed door of Yoongi’s office. If things were different, Jimin
would run right in there and kiss Yoongi’s scowl right off his face, and utter his thanks to him over
and over again until Jimin was sure Yoongi believed him. But, Jimin liked his job, and he liked his
boss, so he didn’t run in and ruin all that he had managed to build for himself here.

Instead, he sighed dreamily, and turned to get the kitchen ready for the day.

Things are a lot less calm in the kitchens after everyone else starts arriving. Jin always started late
on Thursdays, but when he did turn up, he had two armfuls of helium balloons in varying colours,
and Jimin shuddered in fear at the sight of them.

As per usual, Jin throws his head back and howls, long and tiresome, before releasing both hands
of balloons. They float to the ceiling, their strings of silver ribbon glittery in the morning light,
before he’s got an armful of a screaming Jin in his face. Jin proceeds to tie the balloons all around
the kitchen, which Jimin is sure is a safety hazard, but no one seems to comment—not even
Yoongi himself.

Rather, the chef just eyes them sternly, before returning to his work. Hoseok grips him in a tight
hug, and proceeds to spin round until they’re both dizzy, and Jungkook—the youngest in their team
—starts complaining. The night is busy enough for them to all forget about Jimin’s birthday, with
Yoongi yelling at them across the pass and waiters in and out of the kitchen so quickly Jimin gets
dizzy.

When the nights done, the chefs—except Yoongi, who disappears back into his office as if it were
any other day—pitch in to get it a good enough standard, rather than leaving Jimin to do it alone as
usual.

Then, suddenly, someone’s deeming the kitchen good enough, and another is popping champagne
and shoving a glass into his hand. There’s singing and a cake, and Yoongi emerges from his office
to watch him blow out the candles, before he’s disappeared again.

An hour or so into their get together, Jimin gets a text from Jihyun. He tells him that they’re on
their way to the restaurant, telling him they love him, followed by a photo of Maddy in the
backseat of their car holding a bouquet of flowers much larger than she is—Jimin can just see her
face as she peers around the flowers, eyes big and mouth wide open in what he knows is a scream
of glee.

Jimin’s body scrunches up in his own happiness, and he sends back his own love before pocketing
the phone, excited for his family to meet his co-workers and friends in a short amount of time.
Maddy was sure to love everyone she had yet to meet, and Hannah was definitely going to win
everyone over in a few short seconds—and Jihyun. Jihyun would pretend to be annoyed, but he’d
secretly love everyone doting on his older brother. Though, admittedly, the young parents would
no doubt be disappointed that Yoongi had slinked away into the night. Another time, perhaps.

He made a mental note to tell them about the birthday card he had received from him. He’d make
sure to point out the hug and kiss at the bottom, and maybe he’d even photocopy it for them so
they had proof that Yoongi did care after all.
After thirty minutes, Jimin was starting to worry—from Jihyun and Hannah’s apartment to the
restaurant, it was a ten-minute drive at most, fifteen, maybe, if traffic was bad. At this time of
night, though, nearing midnight, there was hardly ever anyone on the roads and they’d get a clear
run.

Maddy wouldn’t have put up much of a fight, loving sitting in the back and watching the lights
rush by; loving getting to see her uncle even more. Still, as his friends around him proceeded to get
more and more tipsy as the evening ran on into the morning, Jimin felt sick to his stomach.

He sent a few more texts, which went unanswered, and his palms were beginning to sweat.

Jin was watching him from across the kitchen with a curious eye, one that Jimin shook off and
asked for more champagne. For a while, Jimin made himself calm down—surely, they were fine,
they always were, and they’d be here soon. Knowing them, they’d forget their wallet or phone or
maybe were picking up some elaborate gift for him as a surprise along the way.

But it was at twelve twenty-two that he got the phone call. It was at twelve twenty-two that he
learnt the truth.

Jimin was sure there were three others in the car with him, but everything was such a rush in his
eyes and ears that he couldn’t be quite sure.

The taxi had come quickly, and Jimin got in the front while the others piled in the back, and he
doesn’t know who told the driver where they were going, but it definitely wasn’t him. But the car
was moving and Jimin could see the dreaded glow of the building lights up ahead, and he had the
sudden urge to throw up. He gagged, but swallowed it down, refusing to make a greater mess of
himself or of the car.

When the car came to a stop, he felt his head roll against the window. The glass was cold against
his blazing skin, and he hissed when the door was suddenly yanked open, and a body was reaching
around him to unbuckle him from his seat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a wad of cash being
thrown at the driver, and words were said but they were muffled and Jimin felt himself try to speak
—he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, everything feels so disconnected, but nothing comes out
anyway.

His tongue is no longer attached to his mind and his mind is no longer his own; it’s floating around
somewhere far, far above him and he’s sure that’s the reason he’s stumbling over his own feet,
nearly falling to the concrete of the car park. There are arms either side of him, hoisting him
upward, and a hand is buried somewhere in his hair. There’s a soothing voice in his ear, muttering
something he can’t quite decipher, and then somewhere distant there’s someone yelling. The voice
is familiar, but the tone is different and he’s never heard it quite like this, then he’s soon sitting in
what he vaguely realises is a wheelchair.

There’s elevator music that he thought was playing in his head but is actually coming from around
him, and it’s irritating him and he yells out, the hand returning to his hair, scratching along his
scalp down to his nape, but it does nothing to calm him. If anything, it agitates him, but someone is
blowing cool air across his face, and there’s something cold pressing against his forehead and
temples, and he can’t bring himself to yell at whoever is touching him.

They arrive at whatever floor the elevator had taken them too, Jimin couldn’t see—didn’t want to
see—and honestly didn’t need to see. Whoever is pushing him is rushing, but their hold on the
wheelchair is steady and practiced, as though they had done it many times before. Jimin wants to
turn his head to see who it is, but his joints feel stiff and he can’t get his neck to move without
wincing.

There’s rushing in his ear again, and it sounds like he’s pressing seashells against his ears. Clam
shells maybe, he thinks, and had this been any other time, maybe he’d think about Yoongi, and
maybe he’d laugh.

But this is now and this is the hospital, and the doctor he can vaguely make the outline of in front
of him is trying to explain to him that Jihyun and Hannah are dead, but he can’t make sense of any
of it.

He tries to tell the doctor that he’s wrong, that they’re back at the restaurant waiting for him with a
big bouquet of flowers, but someone is shaking his shoulder rather violently, and suddenly there
are more than one set of eyes in front of him.

He recognises them now, placing names to the blob of colours in front of him—Jin’s there, he’s the
one holding his hand, and Hoseok, who is standing just behind the doctor. Jungkook is there too,
and he must be the one with his hand in Jimin’s hair, because its tucked up behind him and out of
Jimin’s line of sight, but there’s still someone scratching at his scalp like he’s at some kind of day
spa.

Jin’s saying something. He can see his mouth moving and Jimin’s tracing the movement as best he
can with his eyes, but he can’t hear anything he’s saying. He tries to read his lips, but that just
makes his head hurt more, so he squeezes his eyes shut tight. The rushing in his ears has quickly
turned into ringing, and he clasps his hands over his face and screams. He’s not sure how loud it is
—isn’t sure if he’s even making a noise at all—but it’s making his chest feel good and the hand
finally leaves his hair.

Then, suddenly, he hears another noise.

He perks up, his spine straightening on instinct, eyes opening. He forces his heavy head upward,
notices that the doctor has stepped aside and out of his line of sight—maybe he walked away and
isn’t even there anymore—and Jimin hears the sound again. His ears are still rushing and ringing
but this new sound is louder than the rest and it’s making more sense to his ears.

He hears it again, over and over and over again, and he can’t feel himself do it, but suddenly he’s
throwing himself from the wheelchair. He falls to the linoleum of the hospital hallway, hands and
knees, but when he sees the source of the noise up ahead, he falls backward, onto his backside,
arms limp and buckled at his side. His legs are twisted at awkward angles, but he can’t feel any of
it, the only thing he feels is relief mixed up with all the remaining madness.

He hears the noise again, and it’s clearer this time, his ears catching just the tail end of the word,
“—in—in!”

The source grows clearer and as it does, Jimin tries to push himself to his feet, but he falls back to
his knees. He knows that any other time, that would’ve hurt—but he feels no physical pain
anymore, aside from the agony in his chest that feels both hollow and overflowing at the same
time.

“—Jimin, Uncle Jimin!” The sound is louder, clearer, so clear in his ears that he can no longer
deny himself of what he’s hearing. For all he knows, perhaps this is all a dream, and it’s the worst
dream of his life but the angel running towards him now is making it all that much more bearable.

The angel has small hands and tiny feet, and her small arm is wrapped in bandages and there’s a
bandage across her forehead and temple. Her hair is messy and her eyes red and angry from tears.
Then, alongside the angel’s screaming—the angel screaming his name as she runs towards him, a
nurse chasing after her—he hears another scream, his own voice this time.

“Maddy!” It’s hoarse and Jimin can notice that it hurts, but he doesn’t stop screaming her name.

He tries to get to his feet again, but he falls again, and again, and soon Jin is there trying to help
him, but he feels three times his usual weight, and he sags to the ground as the body collides with
his.

Immediately, his senses are overwhelmed with the familiar scent. His arms go around the small,
frail body without a second to spare, squeezing tightly and holding her impossibly close to his
chest. He falls backwards, onto his back, his niece gripping at his body with all the strength her
tiny body can produce. Jimin can hear himself wailing in between the times he yells her name.

He can hear his tiny niece, not even five years old, screaming his name over and over again—his
niece, who rarely says anything at all, especially not in front of so many people, not hesitating for a
second in a moment such as this. Jimin feels like he wants to die. Feels like he’s already found
death, and he’s drowning in it.

But she’s yanking him back—or maybe she’s trying to come with him. He isn’t sure, but he’s
holding her so tight he thinks his skin might rip apart. That wouldn’t be the worst thing.

The wailing doesn’t stop, and their grips on each other doesn’t lessen, but soon there’s something
soft behind his head, and he’s no longer underneath the bright lights of the hallway, and instead in
a darkened room. His nose is buried in Maddy’s hair, and his hands gripping at her back where its
exposed by the hospital gown.

Jimin wants to die, but he thinks Maddy does, too, and at that moment, Jimin knows that’s the only
reason he’ll keep himself alive.

At exactly eleven forty-eight on Thursday evening, a drunk thirty-eight-year-old man driving a

stolen car ran a red light at a busy city intersection and collided with another vehicle. The drunk-
driver died on route to the hospital, whereas the other vehicle flipped three times before coming to
a stand-still in front of an artisanal bakery. In the car was Jihyun and Hannah Park, who died upon
impact, whereas their child, Madeline, was trapped as the vehicle caught fire. Paramedics cut her
from the vehicle and found her refusing to let go of the large bouquet of flowers in her hands.

As they transferred her to the ambulance, reporters wrote that she started to scream, as if she knew
she had just become an orphan at the age of four years, six months, and twenty-two days.

Jimin doesn’t know what time it is, but he knows it must be early morning, as outside the sky is
starting to lighten. He thinks he slept a bit, though not well if he did. He sits up a little in the bed,
using the remote to tilt up the back. Maddy is still in his arms, grip just as tight as it had been hours
ago, but she’s snoring. Jimin thinks he’s used up all his tears, because he feels nothing but dry pain
now. He can’t even focus on the emotional anymore—can only sense the physical.

The pounding headache, his throbbing knees, dry eyes and sore throat. He knows that all those
things will eventually fade away and the mess that remains will overtake him, but for right now, he
tightens his hold on his niece and drags her further up his chest. He tucks her face into his neck,
and her snoring quietens down into little puffs of air, which tickle against his skin. He can feel his
earring tangle in with her hair, and it’ll probably snag later, but he doesn’t move as his niece
resettles against him.

The room smells overwhelming sterile—they’d obviously transferred the two of them from the
hallway into a spare room—but he can still make out the faint smell of Jihyun and Hannah’s
apartment against Maddy’s skin, and the soap that they use.

It makes his eyes sting, but then there’s a small knock on the door and a nurse is coming into the
room. She’s vaguely familiar to him, and he recognises her as the one who had been with Maddy
when they’d reunited. In her hands in the bouquet of flowers, and Jimin’s heart and eyes sting this
time.

They look a little worse for wear, though now here near as bad as he had expected them to look. He
had forgotten all about them, but looking at them now, they seem like some kind of saving grace.
The nurse enters slowly, before she places a hand onto Maddy’s back. Jimin wants to stop her, but
he can’t find the strength within him to do it. Maddy stirs, lifting her head away from Jimin’s neck
only to press a little kiss to the jut of his chin. She bumps her teeth and Jimin thinks she might cry,
but then she’s turning her body towards the new touch on her back, and she spots the flowers.

She doesn’t get overly excited—Jimin wouldn’t expect her too—but she does reach out and take
them with a steady hand, before turning back to face him. They meet eyes, and though she’s only
young, they appear to hold every ounce of her parent’s soul within them, and suddenly Jimin can
feel himself choking again. The nurse sees herself out as Maddy holds the flowers out to Jimin, the
tiniest smile on her lips.

In the strongest voice she can muster, she whispers, “happy birthday Uncle Jimin.” Then they both
proceed to cry until they’re falling asleep again in each other’s arms.

Jimin doesn’t leave the hospital until his mother arrives.

He doesn’t know who called her, but she arrives panting and sobbing and looks older than he ever
remembers. She drops her bag right there in the doorway, and they hold each other tightly, Maddy
gripping at her from between them, and everything hurts so much more now that the rest of the
remaining family is there.

They don’t know where to go, but neither of them want to go to Jihyun’s place, and Jimin’s
apartment is out of the question, so they book a hotel room at a nice place they’d never otherwise
stay at.

While his mother orders room service, food that none them have a desire to eat, Jimin gives Maddy
a bath. The hospital gave him plenty of spare bandages, but he still tries to avoid getting them wet.
He covers her eyes as he tips warm water over her head from a bowl he took from the kitchen,
avoiding getting any suds from the shampoo in her eyes.

They don’t speak during the entire process, and when her hair is washed and rinsed, his mother
slips into the room and sits on the floor beside him. One of her hands reaches into the water, plays
with Maddy’s leg beneath all the bubbles, but it’s not fun like bubble baths used to be with her.

Jimin was worried he’d have to explain to her where her parents went; worried he’d have to create
some elaborate storyline about heaven and happiness, but, like always, she surprised him.
On the drive from the hospital to the hotel, she muttered the words, “orphan” and “lonely”, and
Jimin knew that she fully understood. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not that she knew,
but he can’t deny that he’s relieved he doesn’t have to explain it to her. He isn’t sure he’d have the
heart to, or the strength.

His mother starts humming a lullaby he recognises as one she sung to both him and Jihyun as
children, and one that Jihyun and Jimin had taken to singing to her after Maddy was born. As she
sings, Jimin feels tears prickling at his eyes, and he drop his head to shed them in silence. It carries
on for a few moments, but then a small, whining sound comes from the bath, and his head is
snapping up.

Maddy is reaching her hands out, making grabbing motions at him, and he quickly wipes his tears
away before he’s getting a handful of soaking-wet four-year-old. The water is warm and
immediately starts seeping through to his skin, she’s tucked up into his neck again—her favourite
spot—and his arms back around her.

Off to the side, his mother fetches a towel from the shelf, wrapping what material she can around
her. He cries a little harder at the feeling of her against him, the sheer amount of relief he has that
she survived the most overwhelming feeling he’s ever had. It’s almost a sick thought to have, but
she’s the surviving piece of the two they had all lost. Her small hand is then cupping his cheek—
it’s warm against his own, and the residue bath water mixes in with the tears on his cheeks.

He looks up, only because the small hand is pestering him too, and behind him he can hear his
mother choke on a sob. He wants to look at her, turn to her and comfort her whatever way he can,
but Maddy holds his gaze before pressing a kiss to his other cheek.

“We’ll be okay, Uncle Jimin. Together we’ll all be okay.”

She was far closer to five now than she had ever been to four, but she was still the wisest of them
all as they stood in the funeral home.

The logistics had been sorted: music and photographs and what kind of flowers they wanted. That
alone was enough to break Jimin’s heart, as they’d settled on copies from their wedding flowers,
and the bouquet they had bought to give to Jimin just days prior. His heart, still a gaping wound,
had yet to stop bleeding.

The last thing they had to decide was the casket itself, and Maddy was sold on the lilac purple for
her Mum, while Jimin thought matching timber would be most appropriate. But Maddy was
slapping her hands over and over on the purple, and then she caught sight of an emerald green on
the other side of the room. She slapped her hands all over that, too, and Jimin and his mother
instantly knew that this funeral wasn’t for them: it was for her. This was her parents, this was her
life that was suddenly yanked upward and outward and then capsized in on itself. She would never
have a normal upbringing; she’d never have those normal experiences children usually get.

Even Jimin—fatherless, always fatherless—stood here now with his own mother, hand held in
hers, but Maddy would never get that again. She’d never get to call her Mum at the early hours of
the morning when she needs advice, and she couldn’t get her Dad to jump-start her car when she
accidentally leaves the lights on overnight. Jimin nods his head to the funeral director when Maddy
points to the two caskets, and he leaves the room to fill out the paperwork.

They had decided, in the end, to cremate them both together. They had planned on a burial, but life
felt so impermeant and they had no way of knowing where Maddy would end up in her future, so
they wanted her to be able to take her parents wherever she wants. Later, she could decide to do
whatever she pleased with the ashes; but, for now, this was the safest option.

As Maddy sits herself down beside the green casket, Jimin’s mother squeezes his hand. “Will you
be okay?”

There was a lot of weight to that question, and many different paths that Jimin could wander away
from it with. But, he knew to which his mother was referring. The big one: the elephant in the
room. It was common knowledge that should anything have happened to the both of them—to
Jihyun and Hannah—that Jimin would be the one to take full custody of Maddy. It was written into
their will, but it was also something just expected of him. It went both ways, too—if Jimin were to
ever had children of his own, and something were to happen to him, Jihyun and Hannah would
raise them as their own.

“Jimin, baby, you know I can do it. No one expects you to be able to do this.”

Jimin sniffs, nose red and sore from how frequently he had been wiping it lately, and his eyes start
to tingle with oncoming tears again. Though the wound is so fresh, Jimin is sick of crying.

“Yes, they do,” he explains. His voice sounds raw and croaky. “Jihyun and Hannah—this was the
most important thing I ever promised them.”

“Jimin, Maddy is so young. She’s going to one day forget them both and she’ll see you—”

“No,’ he cuts her off. “She won’t forget them. I won’t let her.”

His mother doesn’t respond to that, at least not with words, but the grip she has on his hand is
tighter now than it had been just moments earlier, and her tears are falling that much heavier.

The funeral came and went and Jimin remembers very little of it.

They had it at the same location the pair had gotten married; somewhat of a brutal reminder of the
happiness they had plunged themselves into at such a young age, but Jimin couldn’t think of
anywhere else to hold such an event. It was a converted boathouse down by the ocean, along the
docks and down the nicer end of the jetty. They hired out the entire complex for several hours,
holding the wake there, too. Jimin was used to seeing himself in full-black, but dressing Maddy
that morning had been one of the hardest things to do. Pulling her arms and head through the fully-
black dress, and putting her tiny feet into little black shoes—it didn’t seem right.

The girl usually wore bright colours and floaty sundresses, so before they left, Jimin added a baby
pink cardigan over her arms—if not to lighter her mood, but at least his, just the tiniest bit. Jimin
had been to very few funerals, and the ones he had attended were people he had not known well, or
he was a support person for his mother, Jihyun or Hannah herself.

This funeral, combined for two of the dearest people in his life, was the most confusing experience
he’d ever had. His mother read the eulogy for Jihyun, whereas Hannah’s mother—who had flown
in from Ireland when she had heard the news—read out her daughters. Jimin knew he wanted to
say something, but he wasn’t gifted with words and nothing in the entire universe could
encapsulate what they had been like. He instead asked Maddy, who kept muttering the
word Innisfree over and over again.

He asked Hannah’s mother, who choked on a sob and claimed that after having to study it in
school, it quickly became Hannah’s favourite poem—she said that Maddy herself had been able to
memorise it when Hannah was slowly integrating English into her palette.

So, both Jimin and Maddy read the famous poem—Maddy did her best in English, Jimin picking
up the little pieces she misses, and Jimin read it again in Korean.

He thinks he remembers catching sight of Jin and Hoseok and the other chefs sitting in the back
row, but he can’t be certain what with the way his eyes were blurred by tears and he was surviving
on very little sleep for the past week. Afterwards, at the wake, Maddy was stumbling and sluggish,
so Jimin hoisted her up onto his hip as he did the rounds. She quickly fell asleep, thumb-in-mouth
—a habit Jimin will have to one day try and break, but for now he allows it—and her other hand
was tangled in his hair at the back of his head.

It was a grounding sort of feeling, having her hand there, occasionally tugging it gently in his sleep
as if to drag him back up to the surface of what feelings he was drowning in. At this very moment
in time, she was the most important thing in the world to him, and he no longer lived just for
himself, but rather he lived for her.

She was his now, and he not only had to make sure her parents memory lived on, but also had to
ensure that Maddy herself was not weighed down by what it all meant: had to make sure that this
loss would not follow her and deter her from anything pure and whole in the future. Jimin had no
idea how to be a parent, but he knew he had to start learning soon—and fast. Jimin didn’t catch
sight of his friends at the wake, as he thought that perhaps they didn’t show, but when he reads
through the guest list later that night, he sees their names printed with words of condolences, and
the tears start up all over again.

Jimin’s never had close friends like them that cared for him—or at least, not ones that weren’t his
family. Jihyun and Hannah were like that, but everything’s different now: everything’s changed.
Returning to Jihyun and Hannah’s apartment was harder than he thought. His mother accompanied
him, and with Maddy’s hand in his, he used his key to unlock the door. Inside, everything felt stiff
and stale, and it was obvious no one had been inside for nearly two weeks.

Immediately, bile rises in his throat, but he forces it down as Maddy drags him further inside. They
stop in the living room, where there’s photographs hanging on every wall, and resting on every
surface, and it’s all so suffocating that Jimin doesn’t think he can do this—doesn’t think he can
make it out alive. But Maddy’s hand is in his, and she’s looking up at him with big, wide eyes, full
of curiosity and wonder but also grief, and Jimin knows what he has to do.

“Maddy,” he starts, but he startles, for his voice is almost unrecognisable to him. “Do you want a
new house?”

She considers it. Jimin’s glad she does, because even though she’s young, it’s her opinion that
matters most now. Jimin’s mother stands on his other side, arm around his waist and settling on his
hip. Maddy slowly shakes her head, sucking her finger into her mouth.

“You want to live here?” He asks, pulling her fingertips away from her lips with a gentle hand.

She nods again, slower this time. He sighs, squatting down to her level, so they can see eye-to-eye.

Taking both her hands in his, he squeezes. “Are you sure? It’s not too…sad, living here? Now
they’re gone.”

She shakes her head again, “it’s home.”

And that settled it: Jimin broke his lease on his shitty apartment and hauled what little belongings
he had to Jihyun and Hannah’s apartment on the nicest side of the city. They owned it, mortgage
fully paid, so Jimin wouldn’t have to pay rent or any fees other than body corporate, which at the
end of the day totalled up to just about nothing. He refused to touch their bedroom at first. He
closed the door and it had stayed closed the entire time he was there. He slept either on the couch
or cuddled up with Maddy when she asked, and spent most of the time in the kitchen baking and
cooking and brushing up on some skills.

After two weeks of trying to form some kind of a routine, Jimin had his first meltdown.

It was a little after nine pm and Maddy had already been bathed and dressed and put to bed. Jimin
cleaned up the mess from dinner and dessert, and his mother had been dropped at the airport earlier
that day. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she flew to Heathrow with intentions of maybe
staying with Hannah’s mother for a while. One day, Jimin knows he’s going to have to get Maddy
over to Ireland—it’s part of her heritage, at the end of the day, but for now her life is here.

He’s crying over a glass of wine—the same kind he and Hannah used to drink—and staring at a
photo of the four of them. He spills the wine, and there’s a dirty big stain on the carpet he’ll
struggle to draw out later, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. His cries are choked up and
unbelievably wet, and he can feel the way he slides off the couch and to the floor in slow motion.

He hears himself yell a bit—crying out Jihyun’s name—but then he remembers Maddy’s asleep,
and he forces his teeth down onto his tongue. He doesn’t stop biting until he can taste blood, and
even then, he clenches down. At some point, exhaustion takes over him, and when he wakes up in
the morning the stem of the wine glass has snapped clean off in his hand, and Maddy is curled up
against his side on the floor.

That same morning, Jimin forces Maddy into an early bath, washing her hair and lathering up the
soap. The bottle of the familiar staff is running low—he’ll have to buy more soon—but he doesn’t
divvy it out sparingly. He smiles at the tender sound of her giggles as she plays with a doll in the
water—probably rotting from the inside out, just like he is—and he lets her have her fun for a
while before drying her off. He braids her hair and wraps her up in a big, fluffy towel.

When he leads her back to her bedroom, she looks up at him with inquisitive eyes and a frown line
between her little eyebrows. He smooths it out with his thumb, letting his niece take his hand in her
much smaller one. She shakes it a little between the two of hers, and he smiles along with her
before he reaches into her wardrobe. There’s not a huge amount in there—she’s still only young,
after all—so he finds what he’s looking for without much trouble. When he holds it out to Maddy
to see, she freezes.

She doesn’t drop his hand completely, but slips one away in order to touch at the burgundy pleats
of a dress she’s never worn. He remembers Hannah buying it for her to wear to her first day of
kindergarten, and Maddy had squealed with excitement. She wasn’t going to go until she was
closer to five, because Hannah’s job was flexible and she was able to mind her most of the time.

But, holding the dress out to her now, Jimin knew that it was time for Maddy to gather a routine—
get a system going. And, truthfully, Jimin also knew that seeing Maddy getting better would be the
first step for him, too.

A moment later, Maddy nods, and lets Jimin help her into the dress. He makes her breakfast and
counts to two minutes as she brushes her teeth, then he walks with her all the way to the kindy
they’d chosen out for her. He kisses her cheek and she kisses his back, and he watches her go inside
with the promise of being back to pick her up at three.
It doesn’t make it any easier to watch her leave, feeling like he’s just lost another piece of himself
all over again. The hole where his heart used to be is still bleeding, but the flow feels a little bit
lighter, and the burden of being good enough doesn’t sting as much as it used to.

The next time he sees Jin and Hoseok, they’ve been gone a month.

Maddy is enjoying kindergarten and has even made a few friends, who she draws in some of her
pictures at the kitchen table. Things are still tough, and Jimin doesn’t fully understand the
parenting thing, but even after such a short period of time, it’s getting easier.

He still has break downs—more often than not—but he’s managing to pick himself back up again
after them all on his own. Jimin’s finishing up dinner when there’s a knock on the door. He glances
over at Maddy at the table, who’s staring right back at him with the same curiously. He smiles,
turning of the stovetop and pushing the pans aside, before he makes his way to the door.

When he opens it, his shoulders sag, and he’s stumbling into Jin’s open embrace before any of
them can say hello.

“Oh, darling,” Jin mumbles into his hair, and he can feel Hoseok’s arms around him, too. He’s not
sure how long he stands there for, sobbing into the leather of Jin’s expensive jacket, but it must be
a while—because soon, his tears are dried, and there’s a set of small hands wrapping around his
knee and shaking.

Pulling his head away from Jin’s neck to look down at Maddy, he smiles at her, holding out his
hand for he to take. “Uncle Jimin, Can I ask Mr Jinnie and Mr Hoseokie to come in now?”

Jimin sees Hoseok’s hand go up to cover his heart, as though the words too cute for him to bear.
Jin smiles so big and bright, and looks down at the small girl as though she were a chest of
treasure. And really, she is, isn’t she?

“Of course, you can, baby,” he says, patting down her messy hair, where it was beginning to fly
free from the braid.

She turns to the two elder men, suddenly looking very shy, twiddling her fingers near her mouth
like she does. “Mr Jinnie and Mr Hoseokie, would you like to please come in?”

Hoseok bows, suddenly scooping up the young girl, and Jimin giggles at her squealing. She kicks
in his arms, but her face tells Jimin that she loves the attention, and after stepping aside to let Jin in,
he heads back to the kitchen. Both Jin and Hoseok follow him there, and Hoseok rocks Maddy on
his hip as though she were another limb he’s had forever. She looks content sitting there, thumb in
mouth, looking at the pans and pots cooling on the stovetop.

“Hungry, baby?” Jimin asks, and she nods, kicking her legs out around Hoseok excitedly.

“Did you want some dinner? It’s nothing terribly exciting, I’m afraid, and definitely not up to either
of your standards, but,” he shrugs, embarrassed, “it’s edible, so.”

Jin snickers, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Please, angel, we’re starved.”

As Jin gets Maddy to help him set the table teaches her how to properly fold napkins like they do
in the city, Hoseok finishes grilling off the fish and vegetables. Jimin watches on as he gets drinks
sorted and stacks the dishes up in the sink, feeling a pang of something twist in his chest. As
they’re eating, and Jin and Hoseok tell him stories of the temporary kitchen hand they’ve hired in
his absence, he can’t help but recognise what that feeling is. He misses his work; and not
necessarily the work itself, but rather the people he gets to be around and associate himself with
while he’s there.

He doesn’t think he’s quite ready—he’s still got to sort things like a babysitter he trusts or even a
day care centre—and he wouldn’t be able to work the same number of shifts as he used to, which
was every single day. But, he did miss it—he missed the people, the stress, the rapidity of it all. He
wanted it back, wants it back, but he’s not ready. He tells them as much, and Jin reaches out to
squeeze his hand.

“Darling, you can come back whenever you well please. There will always be a job for you there.”

After dinner, Jimin runs a bath and gets Maddy ready for bed. She protests, screams that she wants
to spend time with her new friends, but Jimin has to be stern with her. It hurts, watching her cry
because of him, but she can’t be too devastated as she lets him bath her and dress her and tuck her
into bed without too much fuss. She still kisses him on the cheek and tells him she loves him. She
forgives easily, and doesn’t hold grudges: takes after her father that way, he can tell.

Out in the living room, Jimin pours them all another glass of wine. They drink aimlessly for a
while, talking about Jin's new housemate, Namjoon - he had been living abroad for many years,
but had returned home to Korea and needed somewhere to live ASAP. Jin, by no means, needed
help paying rent, but he had one too many spare bedrooms and Hoseok's convinced they're going to
end up married. The two of them being here, simply hanging out together like this, is a pleasant
escape from Maddy’s constant loud presence. He doesn’t detest Maddy in any way—quite the
opposite—but Jimin is in no way a capable parent, let alone single parent to an orphaned child, so
to be thrust into such a lifestyle before he was ready was already starting to take its toll. Alcohol
tasted far better now than it ever did before all this mess.

It’s a dangerous position to find himself in, especially now that he’s fathering such a young child,
but his headspace is so cluttered by grief and torment that he can’t fully drag himself all out. His
legs, or maybe it’s his hands, are still trapped beneath the weight of it all, and it’s slowing down
his heartbeat and his functioning skills, and he kind of wants to die.

“I don’t want to overstep my boundaries by saying this,” Hoseok starts, setting his wine glass on
the coffee table. “But…I can’t believe you live here.”

Jimin catches the horrified look Jin throws his friend, but Jimin shakes him off. “What do you
mean? It was what Maddy wanted, so I just—”

Hoseok puts his hands up, stopping him mid-sentence. “No! No, I mean, I get why you’re living
here. In the practical sense…I completely agree to why you’d live here. But, none of this,” he
gestures to the living room, to the open-plan kitchen, the artwork, the bookshelves, “none of this
is you.”

Jimin doesn’t flinch; doesn’t say a word. Jin doesn’t react either, at least not really; Jimin catches
the way his shoulders drop is some silent gesture of agreement, though.

Hoseok continues. “I know that this was their home. This is their stuff and their possessions
and their life. You’re going to want to preserve that—most of that, even. But preservation does not
mean suffocation. Preserving their life should not have to destroy yours. It’s killing you, Jimin. I
can see it. You’re dying.”

Jimin hates that Hoseok’s right. Hates that someone who knows very little of him can be so spot-on
with his words and his observations. Hates the fact that the words hurt so badly because of how
right they are. His throat is dry so he swallows, but it doesn’t relieve any of the built-up tension in
his limbs.

Tears spread to the surface, but he wipes them away hastily. Jin places a comforting hand on his
thigh, just above his knee, and Jimin watches the way the veins pop as he clenches his grip. “I love
them so much, but I just—I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s only been a month—I can’t. I
can’t get over something like this that quickly.”

“Angel, no. We’re not saying you need to get over anything,” Jin adds. “But I agree with Hoseok,
believe it or not.” Hoseok makes an offended sound, and Jimin smirks.

“Even just…paint the walls a colour you want them to be. Work up to the big stuff. Don’t chuck
things out, at least, not yet. As terrible as it is, and as much as you don’t want it to be, this is your
life. And the only way you’re ever going to make sense of it all again is if take back some of that
control. You gotta take your life back, Jims, or else it’s going to eat you alive.”

Jimin had never painted a wall in his life. He called his mother, who remained silent on the end of
the line for a good minute before snorting.

“Did you see your bedroom wall as a child? I’m the last person you should be asking for painting
advice! Go to the hardware store, love, and they’ll help you out.”

He does that, popping Maddy in the trolley even though she’s probably far too big for that now, but
she’s smiling and waving at people as he pushes past them and he doesn’t have the heart to stop
her. He’s well and truly whipped; more so now than before, he thinks. He lets Maddy pick the
paint, and while he has to stop her at magenta for the living room feature wall, they agree on a
series of different shades of blues and greens that reminds him a little too much of toothpaste, but
it’s fun and it’s different and he loves it all the same. They get some white paint for the remaining
walls, as well as some decals for Maddy’s bedroom.

After getting advice from the shop assistant on what paint brushes and rollers to buy, he’s loading
up the car and heading home. For the next week, Jimin and Maddy repaint the living room as
though they’re living in the the 80’s—retro paint covering the feature wall behind the TV, a burst
of different blues and greens where it was once a dull grey. It’s sort of geometrical, rather
than waves as per the eighties, but it has that fun and rhythmic vibe that reminds Jimin of his
dancing days, and of the times his mother used to dance around in the kitchen barefoot.

Life really isn’t all that pretty—at least, not on the surface level. It hurts and it pinches at the
seams, and over time it becomes something so unrecognisable you think you’ll never get your
happiness back. More and more he finds himself wishing he were a child again. Not necessarily
because his brother was alive, but rather an accumulation of reasons: when he was a child, he
didn’t have so much to worry about, and he couldn’t enjoy life, rather than fearing it.

No one has ever really asked him what it feels like, but if they did, he’d tell them this: it’s like
watching a piece of yourself drop as though it were a scoop of ice cream, except instead of being
upset, you’re relieved, because it’s one less part of yourself you have to worry or care for.

But now, now, as he stands in the kitchen trying to scrub as much paint of Maddy’s hands as he
can, he doesn’t feel relief at these lost pieces. Instead he just feels lost. But Hoseok and
Jin were right: he had to make this space his home, rather than just Maddy’s home, because if he
was going to find himself again, he needed a place to do it.
Now when he’s out in the city, or at the store, or getting Maddy from day care, he’s excited to tell
her “let’s go home.”

Weeks pass, and seasons change. It’s warm and then suddenly it’s not, leaves turning hues of
orange and red as the year slips into Autumn. Sitting by the windowsill, Jimin watches the streets
down below empty of cars as the hours tick by, the sun long gone and department stores closing for
the night.

He’s been nursing a cup of tea for the past forty-five minutes, and it’s long gone cold, but he
continues to sip it mindlessly. The taste of it is a little too bitter, but he’s too tired to remake
another, so he settles.

Maddy had clocked out early, falling asleep in his arms after dinner, making it nearly impossible to
get her ready for bed. He managed, as he always does with her, but all this time has taken a
physical effect on his body. He was never big by any means, but he’d lost a significant amount of
weight—no doubt from the grief itself, but also the severe change of lifestyle and pile upon pile of
stress.

To lose not one, but two of the closest people in your life—and then to be thrust far too early into
the life of single parenthood—was overwhelming on a good day. For Jimin, however, who handled
extreme stress poorly, his body was nearly at its breaking point. His mental health, of course, was
suffering because of it all. It wasn’t just one thing, but rather the accumulation of everything: little
papercuts that are slowly tearing into one huge, gaping wound.

His heart is on the mend.

Or, actually, it isn’t on the mend, and it never will be, but he’s gradually getting used to the pain
and he’s learning to endure it. Endure seems so strong of a word, but he can’t think of another that
describes the feeling adequately. He knows that one day it will be easier to breathe and get around
and get things sorted, but the pain is immense and still very new and unfamiliar.

His mother calls more often now than she used to. She still has no direct path or sense of direction
when it comes to her travels, but she had settled in Ireland for quite some time now, and Jimin
thinks she might make a new home for herself there. At least that way, she was close to something
of her sons—the origin of his wife, of their daughter. Jimin wishes greedily that she’d be able to
find a home here in Seoul, but Korea was never for her.

When he asked her about it, she said she felt as though she had ‘outstayed her welcome’, and that
she had seen Korea, and she had lived it, and that it was now time for her to live and breathe
and be somewhere else. He understood, but he still selfishly wished she’d change her mind.

Years on, and she still hadn’t. To some degree he’s incredibly proud of her; but at the same time,
he misses her being around. Especially now, that Jihyun and Hannah are gone, and that he has their
living heir to look after.

Maddy had been changing, too. Her confidence had grown, not necessarily verbally for she still
only spoke to a select few (Jimin himself, Jin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and on occasion, a few of the
wait staff when they tagged along on their visits), but definitely in everything else she did. Her
actions were done with more purpose, and instead of hiding her face shyly, she let her hands swing
proudly by her sides and her fingers strayed from her mouth.

Jimin didn’t want to take credit for such a development, but he knew to some extent he was mildly
responsible: had he not been there for her the way he was, perhaps she would have never seen this
side of herself.

Swirling now the dregs of his tea, he stretches his legs out in front of him. His joints crack, and
he’s reminded of the fact he’d been sitting, unmoving, for upwards of an hour. Lights of the office
buildings in the distance were beginning to dim, and the sidewalks were scarce of pedestrians. If he
listened hard enough, he could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen, and the distant sound of car
horns, and a busker playing a wind instrument on a street corner.

Moments such as these were ones Jimin adored most: where the world seemed perfectly still, clam
and devoid of any danger. He knew that because these moments were both rare and relatively
fraudulent, he should absorb their memory and power as much as he can. In doing that, he feels his
body begin to drag, his head heavy and eyes drooping. Before he can break it, he places the mug on
the windowsill, obscuring his view just the tiniest bit, but then he’s closing his eyes and sinking
deeper into the armchair.

He thinks he falls asleep, but he can’t be sure, because when he awakens next the sky is very much
the same colour, and the world outside and below looks untouched. He’s considering closing his
eyes again when he’s drawn awake again, but a repetitive—albeit quiet—knocking returns to his
door. It must have been what had awoken him the first time, and he sits up straight despite the
rushing in his head. When the person knocks a third time, Jimin quickly scurries across the living
room and into the entrance way.

He flicks the hallway light on, dimming it, mindful of the fact that Maddy’s door was still slightly
ajar, and peeks through the door eyehole.

He wasn’t sure who to expect, or what, especially not at ten pm on a Wednesday, but it was
definitely not Min Yoongi.

With a stuttered, choked inhale, he pulls the door open. It’s rougher than he had planned, jolted
forward with more force than he intended, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. He’s standing there,
one hand carrying an insulated shopping bag, and his other hand shoved into his coat pocket. His
dark hair is wind-blown and messy, and Jimin thinks he can spot a clump of something stuck near
his ear.

He must have come from work, given the time and the unkempt state of his appearance; but, even
still, he was utterly beautiful, and he takes Jimin’s breath away.

“H-hi.” Jimin wants to ask why he’s here, if he’s okay, but instead he stays silent.

He knows his mouth is ajar, and his eyes just as wide, but he can’t help it. He didn’t think Yoongi
even knew where he lived, let alone the type of person who would take the time to visit after a long
shift at work.

Yoongi looks nervous, if anything, his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. “Hey,” he says, and Jimin
involuntarily shivers.

He hasn’t seen Yoongi in almost three months, but his voice is just as he remembers it: deep and
husky and full of gravel, but beautiful and calming nonetheless. He goes to say something else, but
Jimin notices the uncomfortable way he’s standing, so he steps back to widen the door.

“Come in, I’ll put the kettle on.”

Yoongi follows him into the kitchen, where Jimin gestures to the breakfast bar at the end of the
bench. He sits wordlessly, and to distract himself, Jimin grabs mugs down from the cupboard. The
sound of the kettle beginning to boil is the only sound in the apartment, and Jimin is rattling his
brain for ways to break it when Yoongi beats him to it.

“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by, I know it’s late,” he says, and Jimin turns to him
frantically.

“No, it’s fine. Really, you don’t have to apologise.” He realises he sounded a little too frantic, and
blushes. “I mean,” he turns away, “it’s nice to have people. I don’t often…have guests.”

Yoongi scoffs, “I’m sure your boss is hardly a wanted guest.”

“Yoongi, uh—I mean, Chef, you’re most welcome. It’s a nice surprise, actually.” His cheeks,
already red, heat up even more. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The rooms falls silent as the kettle clicks off, and as he begins to seep the tea, Yoongi speaks
again. “Really?”

The question is asked softly, in a tone that Jimin hasn’t heard from the elder man before. Jimin,
unable to find his voice as he stares into the eyes of his boss, nods. He gets the milk from the
fridge, adds a dash, and places in front of Yoongi. He brings the sugar and honey over, the latter
for himself, whereas Yoongi choses to go without and immediately takes a sip.

“H-how was work?” Jimin shifts uncomfortably over the bench, hands fiddling with the string of
the teabag.

Yoongi nods, “it was fine. Busy. Started the new menu today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, not overly exciting, I’m afraid. There is a clam dish, though.” They both smile, and Jimin
snickers at the memory.

“I’m sure whatever you’ve chosen is delicious. It always is.”

“You never have anything bad to say, do you? You have the most optimistic look on everything.”

Air gets caught in the back of his throat, surprised by the depth of Yoongi’s words. They had
barely spoken fifty words to teach other the entire time Jimin had worked at the restaurant, but here
Yoongi was, as though they were old friends reuniting. Strangely, Jimin was weirded out by any of
it, and actually felt…brave for the first time in a long while. He never felt that way, especially not
around his boss, who he still harboured a painful crush for—which he realised, only just now,
when he opened the door to him.

“Well,” he says, rolling on his bravery before he could regret it, “you’re yet to give me something
negative to say, Chef.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “You’re always calling me Chef. You can call me Yoongi, I don’t mind.”

Jimin is way too red now, and there’s no way Yoongi’s isn’t noticing. Thankfully, he has the
courtesy to not comment, so they drink in silence for a few moments more.
“Will you…come back, do you think?” Jimin jerks his head upward, not expecting the sudden
break in the silence.

“H-huh?”

Yoongi smirks, “to pina. Do you think you’ll return?”

Immediately, Jimin’s nodding. “Yes! I mean, I really want to. I just—”

Yoongi holds his hand up. “I didn’t come here to rush you into anything. I wasn’t even going to
mention it, really.”

Despite not really wanting to know, he asks anyway. “W-why did you come?”

He realises that it sounds rude the moment he says it. “Not that you’re not welcome, you can come
here whenever you want Y-Yoongi, I just—”

Yoongi smiles—no, Yoongi grins, teeth and gums all out, and Jimin’s heart positively melts. “I’d
almost forgotten how much you talk.”

He laughs again, and Jimin giggles, suddenly overwhelmed by his shyness. “I came here to give
you this, actually.” He points to the insulated shopping bag he’s placed by the fridge. Jimin eyes it
curiously, before returning his gaze to his boss.

“It’s nothing much, don’t look so worried. I knew you had…a little one to look out for now, and
with everything you’ve been through…I can’t imagine you have a lot of spare time. Or at least,
time that you feel like doing anything with. So, I cooked some bulk meals and things that you can
put in the freezer, or something. Only if you want. I didn’t know what you liked to eat, or the little
one—”

“Thank you,” he interrupts with a whisper, not trusting his voice to go any louder than that. His
throat is thick with the tears threatening to overflow, and Yoongi’s eyes widen in panic when he
notices.

“Shit, fuck—this is so not what I came here to achieve. Please don’t cry, I—”

Jimin giggles wetly, “these are happy tears, Yoongi.” The name is still strange to say out loud on
his tongue to the man himself, but he finds himself growing to like it.

“Thank you,” he whispers again, sincerer this time, and refusing to avoid eye contact with him. “it
means so much to me. And Maddy.”

The smile Yoongi gives him is small, soft. “That’s her name?”

Jimin nods, excitedly suddenly, heart clenching at the thought of her. “Yes. She’s perfect.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

The weight in Yoongi’s words is heavy, and his voice thick and smooth like chocolate. Their gaze
doesn’t waver, and Jimin feels lost—but not scared of how deeply he is in those eyes. They’re a
rich and dark chocolate brown, so very close to black, and they’re full of so much life that Jimin is
almost envious.

Yoongi does not look destroyed by the world, doesn’t looked weighed down by it or worn down to
nothing but skin and bone. Jimin, however, flinches when he walks past his reflection now,
noticing how concave his cheeks are, how much muscle mass he’s lost during the whole ordeal.

“I know we don’t know each other well, and I know that it’s mostly my fault. I’m not exactly the
most…inviting or warmest person around. I want you to know, even despite that, for what it’s
worth, my thoughts have been with you this whole time.”

Jimin’s heart lurches in his chest. “We’ve all noticed your absence, and honestly, that temp kitchen
hand is total shit.” Jimin snorts, and it’s watery from his emotions. “Whenever you’re ready…
come back to us. And even if you’re never ready, don’t be a stranger.”

He looks as though he wants to say more, but there’s suddenly a cry of his name from the other
room. Jimin tenses, “sorry, that’s Maddy, I’ll only be a minute.”

Yoongi stands, stuffing his phone in his pocket and his hands. “It’s alright, I should head off
anyway.”

“You don’t want to meet her?”

Yoongi smiles, “another time, maybe.” Jimin nods, though feels slightly crestfallen. “I’ll see
myself out. You have a good night…take it easy.”

And, before Jimin can say anything more, the elder man is out the front door, leaving Jimin to
wonder if he had even been there at all.

It takes Jimin all of five minutes to open the bag of food Yoongi cooked him after the man leaves,
and only five seconds into a bite of pasta for him to know what he wants next.

Jimin returns on a Thursday.

Thursdays mean no Jin when he steps through the door, which is both a blessing and a curse. It’s
his normal time, eleven am, and he hadn’t told anyone his plans to come back. Stupidly, he thought
keeping it a surprise would be fun and—dare he say it—cute, but he feels a little silly now,
thinking that the other kitchen hand would already been preparing for service. He’s relieved,
however, when he walks into the kitchen to find it empty. The lights are on in the office, so Jimin
knows Yoongi is in, and now the coffee and muffin in his hand don’t feel quite so wasteful.

Dropping his bag quietly—as to not alert Yoongi of his presence just yet—by the door, as per
usual, Jimin sneaks up to the office door. He knocks once, just as he always used to do, but this
time instead of being met with silence or a rustle of papers, he hears Yoongi freeze, and then—

“What?” He doesn’t sound angry, but rather curious—and Jimin also likes to think that he sounds
even a little hopeful. He brushes it aside, however, because he’s sure he’s conjuring it all up inside
his head to appease himself, to satiate his crush.

Even still, Jimin sucks in a deep breath, and opens the office door. He steps in once, just as he
always used to do, as that was all he felt was permitted, and gently places the hot cup of coffee and
brown paper bag containing the passionfruit and white chocolate muffin on the usual corner. The
coaster was a little crooked, so Jimin straightened it wordlessly, before lifting his gaze to his boss.

Normally, he’d be in an out of the room without a second to spare, not wanting to get in his way or
bother him. But now, things felt different. This was his first time back in close to four months, and
he and Yoongi had talked, and were relatively civil now. Or at least, he thinks they’re civil. He
could have been imagining that, too, given the questionable state of his mental health right now.

The look he finds in Yoongi’s eyes, though, when he looks at him, is unlike anything he thinks he
could ever imagine. It’s a look of pure horror: not entirely of the terrified kind, but rather horror
from the sheer amount of shock he seems to be experiencing. Jimin presses his lips together as to
stop himself giggling, but it’s nearly impossible with the way Yoongi’s eyes widen and his lips fall
into an adorable pout.

He’s standing from his desk, where he usually sits, but his hands are pressing to the surface of the
wood as though keeping himself upright. He wears black jeans with what appear to be bleach stains
near the pockets, and a ratty black t-shirt that has definitely seen better days. His hair is still messy,
much like it had been the night before, but this time it’s done so in a way that appears to be styled
and—and Jimin thinks he’s beautiful.

He always has been beautiful, but more so now that Jimin is witnessing him in his element again.
He’s not got his chef uniform on yet, and Jimin’s thankful, because that might be a
little too overwhelming for him right now. Soon, Yoongi’s mouth starts to open and close like a
fish, and Jimin takes pity on him.

“Right, well,” his voice is laced with amusement. His surprise had worked, and he had gotten to
see Yoongi in such a state. “I’ll get the kitchen ready then, shall I?”

Before Yoongi can say or do anything at all, Jimin is closing the office door behind him and
grabbing an apron. Admittedly, being in the kitchen again is jarring. The last time he had been
here, he’d received the worst news of his entire life. Seeing it again now, empty and devoid of
balloons and birthday cheer, it’s a little easier to stomach than he had expected it to be. That, or
maybe he truly was just ready to return.

He isn’t sure, but he’s thankful nonetheless that he isn’t lurching over the toilet bowl, heaving up
the contents of his stomach from that morning. He dropped Maddy off at kindergarten as per usual,
and arranged with their late-night services that he’d be picking her up around ten pm.

They were entirely understanding, reassuring him that he wasn’t the only one that was picking up a
child so late. To be even more comforting, they promised to send him updates every hour or so,
and would even send photos, too. That kindergarten was definitely a blessing in disguise, Jimin had
learnt, and owed the workers a whole lot. The services were expensive, but necessary. Besides,
now that Jimin was heading back to work, he’d have an easier chance of making ends meet.

When Jin arrives, his reaction is similar to Yoongi’s in the sense that he fish-mouths over and over
again, but differs from his reaction, too, as Yoongi hadn’t started screaming at the top of his lungs.
Just like old time, Jin hauled Jimin into his arms, and howled to the ceiling like a wolf. Hoseok’s
reaction was to burst into tears, fall to his knees, and hug Jimin’s thighs. He proceeded to sob for
ten minutes about how much they missed him in the kitchen, bringing back Yoongi’s words from
the night before with a deep, red blush.

He didn’t tell them about Yoongi’s visit despite how badly he wanted to, and if only Jihyun and
Hannah were alive, they’d be losing their minds. The thought dampens his spirits, and they must
immediately tell, because they’re suddenly making more noise and telling more stories and
showing him new additions in the kitchen.

Jungkook and the rest of the staff turn up slowly, one-by-one, and share the same excitement Jin
had. Jungkook, ever the silent one, just hugs him tightly with one arm, and pinches his cheek with
the other. Someone kisses him on the temple, but he doesn’t quite catch who, and there’s so much
hugging to go around that Jimin starts to feel a little dizzy.

When Yoongi emerges from his office a few hours later, he hands out the special’s menu as usual.
He prepares himself to lean over Hoseok’s shoulder, as he always does, but suddenly a sheet of
paper is being pressed under his nose and his limbs tense up. His eyes shift from the paper up to
Yoongi repeatedly, who has a bored, monotonous expression on his face—you’d think they didn’t
have a somewhat small heart-to-heart the night before.

Someone clears their throat, and Jimin remembers where he is, cursing himself for staring into
Yoongi’s eyes for too long, and snatches the menu from his hand.

He bows, a full ninety-degrees, “thank you, Chef!”

It’s the first time Yoongi had given him his own copy of the menu, and he wonders if he should be
annoyed by that fact. Maybe Yoongi’s only doing it out of pity from what Jimin’s been through,
but for some reason, Jimin can’t bring himself to be annoyed by that notion. Yoongi struggles to
express emotion, and he struggles to show sympathy, that much is clear. And so, if by giving Jimin
a menu makes him feel as though he’s showing gratitude or sympathy in some way, shape or form,
then so be it: Jimin is willing to accept, and let it slide. It makes butterflies stir up in his tummy and
fly up into his throat, and he stifles the giggle between pursed lips.

Yoongi starts firing out orders for the day, and Jimin takes note of his—it’s the usual, nothing
overly complicated, which Jimin appreciates. He’s not taking it easy for him. Then, he returns to
the regular menu, where he assigns Jimin the task of cleaning the clam shells again.

He bows, because of course he does, and Hoseok snorts. He thinks he hears Hoseok mutter
‘teacher’s pet’ under his breathe, earning him a jab to the ribs with his elbow, but Yoongi doesn’t
notice.

“Yes, Chef! Thank you, Chef!”

Yoongi, suddenly, presses his fingers to his temple. He lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “I thought
I told you to call me Yoongi.”

Jimin swallows, cheeks flaring up and hot to the touch. Beside him, he can sense Hoseok staring at
him, and across the room, Jin’s eyes widen.

Yoongi sighs again. “I told you just last night. Did you already forget?”

“S-sorry. Yoongi.”

Yoongi must want him dead, surely, that’s why he’s bringing that up in front of everyone. They’re
going to assume the worst, think he’s fraternising with the enemy, or something, but instead
Hoseok and Jin gasp in synchronisation.

“You were together last night?” Jin almost screeches the words as he rounds the bench and into the
kitchen.

Yoongi is flushed, but Jimin assumes it’s from the harsh overhead lights. Jimin thinks he could fry
all of today’s meats on his cheeks, given how hot they feel.

“Yes,” Yoongi says, “I went to his place last night. It was nice,” he adds at the end, throwing the
tiniest smile he’s ever seen at Jimin.
Jimin kind of wants to die, but for a different reason now. Jungkook is repeatedly poking him in
the back with his finger, wanting his attention, but Jimin ignores him in favour of maintaining eye
contact with Yoongi.

“Yeah,” Jimin confirms. “Yoongi came for a visit. We just hung out for a while.”

Jin snorts. “Hung out? Okay.”

Jimin turns away from Yoongi at what Jin was insinuating, and he wants to apologise to Yoongi
for the way they’re acting, but he just snorts back at him.

“If you all don’t get back to work this instant, there’ll be hell to pay.”

They all scurry back to their positions, starting the prep he assigned them, when Jungkook yells
out, “yes, Yoongi!” Yoongi, who was already halfway back to his office, freezes mid-stride. He
turns back to face him, and Jimin sees the way Jungkook’s smirk just grows.

“Did I tell you that you could call me Yoongi?”

The smile drops off his face. “N-no, Chef.”

Yoongi nods once, curt. “Right. So, don’t call me that. It’s Chef.” Then, he’s turning on his heel,
and closing the office door behind him.

There’s a hoot of laughter from Hoseok as he shoves Jungkook, but Jungkook’s only looking at
Jimin, a knowing smirk back on his lips. Jimin turns away, embarrassed beyond belief, and focuses
on getting the grit out of the clam shells for service.

It continues like that for weeks.

Yoongi doesn’t visit him at the apartment again, but he still gives Jimin his own copy of the
special’s menu, and starts to give him more and more jobs around the kitchen. Instead of being
only responsible for clam-shell cleaning and then all the other cleaning in the kitchen, too, Yoongi
has assigned Jimin the task of a sauce. At first, Jimin had been paralysed by fear, but Yoongi
scoffed at him when he tried to raise this issue with him later.

“I know you know how to make this. The amount of times you’ve watched Hoseok or Jungkook
make is ridiculously high. Make it. I know you know how.”

And so, Jimin makes the sauce. Yoong is right—of course, he is, the wise asshole—because
Jimin had seen Hoseok and Jungkook make this very same special sauce for months now. Despite
having never physically made it before, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Even so, when he deemed the sauce finished, and looked at Yoongi warily from across the kitchen,
his heart was sinking deep in his chest and his palms were sweaty from more than just the
kitchen’s heat. Yoongi approaches slowly from around the pass, black uniform snug against his
chest.

Jimin is distracted by his boss’ form: the way his shoulders stretch broadly but tapers in to small
hips. Though Hannah would have said otherwise, Yoongi does have a good ass—small, but still
round enough that Jimin’s throat goes dry when Yoongi turns to the side. Yoongi is
so, so handsome, and beside him like—similar in height, but not much else—Jimin feels
extraordinarily plain.
Yoongi takes a fresh spoon from the rack, before swirling it into the pot of sauce. Jimin worries,
gnawing his bottom lip between his teeth, before Yoongi is bringing a spoonful of sauce to his
mouth. He struggles to breathe for a number of reasons. Firstly, due to his nerves: his boss was
trying the sauce he made. A kitchen hand, far from being either a cook or a chef, and yet he had
been handed the opportunity with unyielding trust, the expectations for him to do perfectly already
set in stone before he could protest. Secondly, the spoon draws attention to Yoongi’s mouth, which
includes lips, which instantly makes Jimin think about kissing. Kissing Yoongi. His boss. Yoongi.

Jimin turns away sharply, hearing both Jihyun and Hannah’s laughter in his head, and even
Maddy’s, though he doubts she would really understand why they were laughing at him.

Not even a second later, the spoon clatters with the benchtop, and Jimin’s flinching. Before he can
defend himself, however, Yoongi’s pushing the pot towards Jungkook down the line.

“Plate up.”

Yoongi glances across to Jimin, eyes at the way he’s curled up in on himself, and then snorts. He
places a hand on Jimin’s shoulder suddenly, and Jimin startles, jumping upwards. Yoongi snorts
again, muttering something under his breath that he doesn’t catch, because he’s focussing on the
strength and large grip that Yoongi’s hand has on his shoulder. His hand is so big compared to his,
and the thought of it sends fire up to his cheeks, and he shudders. He forces the images away,
scurrying back to the growing pile of dishes.

Yoongi treats him just as well as he had at the beginning, if not a bit more personable. It’s as if the
death of Jimin’s family made Yoongi realise Jimin was, in fact, a human being, too—not a
dishwasher, and not a robot of any kind. Jimin wants to feel sick or angry at the thought, but all he
can feel is gratitude. At least one good thing had come out of such tragedy.

So, overall, Jimin supposes things are going well: Yoongi doesn’t pay Jimin much attention, but
when he does, he feels as though his heart is going to overinflate in his chest. Having some
semblance of a routine back is helping him sleep better, and he’s even started seeing a decrease in
his evening panic attacks.

Proudly, he’s even taken to opening Jihyun and Hannah’s bedroom door. He doesn’t spend a lot of
time inside of the room, admittedly, but every time he does go inside, he makes it his mission to
remove one thing and pack it up in the box. He’s definitely not ready to sell or donate any of their
belongings—they’ll go into storage, or the garage—but he knows at some point he’s going to have
to migrate from sleeping on the couch to an actual bed.

He’s young enough that he can bounce back from spinal pain, but that won’t last forever. And,
from what Jimin’s learned, forever doesn’t exist, either: so, he better get started. Things are
working out and things are looking up.

Maddy’s speech is gradually improving, though he assumes it will take years before she feels
confident enough to speak freely in front of those she doesn’t know. Either way, he’s unmeasurably
proud, and his heart swells so much just thinking about her. Jin and Hoseok continue to be regular
guests at the apartment, slowly but surely dragging a shy Jungkook along with them. Jungkook was
always there, just not really…there, at the same time. He was there at the hospital, but Jimin had
only recently learnt his last name, and that he was sleeping—though, not yet dating—Taehyung,
the waiter who shared Jimin’s age.

Even so, he was most welcome, and always helped Jimin clear away the coffee mugs afterwards.
Maddy, surprisingly, took a shining to him instantly. She crept out of her bedroom when she heard
more than her uncle laughing, and while she would normally run to Jin and demand cuddles, she
instead sat herself right down by Jungkook’s feet and proceeded to untie and retie his shoelaces for
a good thirty-five minutes.

Jungkook looked endeared—it was hard not to be—but when she made grabby hands at him,
demanding to be picked up, he looked very much lost. Jimin laughed at him until Jungkook
blushed and said sorry to the little girl, who pouted and ran to Jin instead. By the end of the
evening, Jungkook was a pro at holding Maddy’s waist as she dangled her short legs from his lap,
humming along happily whenever he spoke. Jimin likes to think that maybe Maddy resonated with
him because of how quiet he seemed; though, that quickly made no sense, considering that was all
a front and Jungkook actually was a screaming nightmare, reminiscent of Jin himself. Even as he
was screaming along with the elder man, Maddy seemed in a trance by him. Jimin doesn’t blame
her, the young chef is a humble mix of cute and handsome, small and strong, and her crush made
total sense.

But then Monday happened.

Monday’s are never good for anyone, and sadly, for pina, it was one of their busier days of service.
Strangely, Monday’s were quickly becoming the new Friday when it came to eating out, similarly,
as was Thursday. Because of this, Jimin’s phone mostly went unnoticed. It was by no means on
silent, or being purposefully ignored, but what with the amount of noise being produced in the
kitchens—the amount of yelling from across the pass, the ovens, the stovetops—Jimin barely
noticed when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

They were halfway through service when the second round of late-timer guests arrived, meaning
they were pushing out desserts along with appetisers and main courses. Jimin was in a tight head
space, where he was both loving and hating the pressure. He always got like this when things were
busy: he’d feel the sweat on his forehead as he’d made sure the sauce was right, made sure the
clams were cleaned, made sure the chefs had what they needed and they nothing was running out,
and made sure the dishes were cleaned and kept to the bare minimum at all times.

At some point, Jungkook dropped a glass saucer from up above, causing even more chaos in the
already over-hectic space. When at times like this, where everything feels as though it is in
shambles, Jimin feels as though he’s being suffocated in the space. It’s by no means
a small kitchen—Jin ensured that he had not only the best chefs, but that these chefs had the best
space to work in, too—but when things got this busy, and demands were this high to produce three
Michelin star quality food, even a football field would’ve felt small.

So, with his head up in the air vents, and eyes fixated on sauce, clams and dishes, he didn’t register
the ringing coming from his phone, and neither did any of the other chefs around him. He’d later
check his phone and see he had nine missed calls from the after-hours day care service from the
kindergarten, and over ten missed texts, too. It wasn’t until Jin slammed into the kitchen through
the doors that he learnt something was up.

Usually, the sound of the doors open was so routine that it was easy to block out. It wasn’t
necessarily an annoying sound, but in Jimin’s first few weeks of being a newbie, the sound would
ring in his head at night and he suffered from terrible insomnia for a good month. He’s learnt since
how to shut it out so it doesn’t affect him the same anymore, but the power and strength that Jin
used to force himself through was unlike anything Jimin had heard.

They slammed all the way back on their hinges, crashing into the walls. His first thought was that
the guests out front surely would have heard that, and it would have drawn some very much
unwanted attention. Secondly, he thought that Jin must have lost his mind, what with the way he
was panting and his face was bright red, eyes wide and panicked. Then, he realised, those eyes
were trained on him, and there weren’t any words really needed to be said. Somehow the kitchen
suddenly felt quiet, and Jimin recognised the rushing in his ears.

Time slowed time, noises cancelled out, and suddenly there was a huge weight in Jimin’s left
pocket. Without breaking eye contact with Jin across the room, Jimin pushed aside his apron and
dug his phone from his pocket. It took one look down at his notifications for the bile in his
stomach to rise to his throat. He pushed past Hoseok and Jungkook, who weren’t really paying
much attention since Jin’s entrance, and into the laundry. He heaved over the sink, air whooshing
around his ears, and a painful throb in his temples.

This feeling was one he recognised—it was a panic attack, of sorts, with his chest seizing up and
his struggle to breathe and his mind cutting out. This has only happened once before, in the same
location, even, when he answered the call that told him of Jihyun and Hannah’s fate those months
ago. It seems like a lifetime ago now, and he gags over the sink again, and then a third time. Even
so, the pain surges through him now as strongly as it had when it happened, and the wounds he
thought had starting healing, suddenly burst open again.

When he lifted his face from the bowl of sink, Jin was hurrying towards him. His movements were
in slow motion, but Jimin knows that just a defence mechanism, or shock, or something—he can’t
remember what the nurses had said to him at the hospital after Maddy and he were allowed to
leave. All he remembers was that he was supposed to breathe in through his nose and out his
mouth, but what they don’t tell you is that that’s fucking hard when you feel as though your life is
about to end due to the pain you’re feeling.

Jin is holding him by the shoulders and saying something, but his brain makes it come out all
slurred and he can’t filter it out. Then, the phone that he was still clutching in his hand, was pried
from between his fingers. He tries to reach back out to it, but Jin is passing it over his shoulder to
someone else in the kitchen. The landline phone—used solely for reservations and enquires from
guests—is in the breast pocket of Jin’s shirt, but he can see that it’s no longer engaged.

Jimin thinks he’s going to faint, and his legs feel weak, so he clutches one hand onto the basin, and
the other onto Jin’s waist. The elder man doesn’t flinch, or if he does, Jimin’s brain doesn’t register
it. There’s a commotion happening behind Jin’s head that Jimin can barely process. Jungkook
appears to be yelling something while plating up a dish, which is strange, because he doesn’t
usually do the decorative plating at the end—that’s Yoongi’s job. Hoseok’s beside Jungkook,
which is also strange, as they’re generally stationed further apart because Yoongi knows all they do
is bicker like siblings. But there they are: standing beside each other as if nothing was out of the
ordinary.

Then, Yoongi, who wasn’t by the pass anymore and nowhere Jimin could spot him. Truthfully,
Jimin knew not to trust his eyes at the moment, but for whatever its worth, he had to rely on them
somewhat. Jin gets his attention again, squeezing at his shoulders, and he’s still talking. Jimin
squints at him, trying to focus on his lips, in a poor attempt to read them, but comes up short. Then,
suddenly, as though by a flick of the wrist, it all comes back to him.

“W-what?” He asks, voice croaky, sounding foreign to his sensitive ears.

Over Jin’s shoulder, Hoseok is eyeing him worriedly. Jungkook’s stance isn’t as relaxed as it
usually is, and he assumes he’s listening to the conversation. Jin frowns, eyes pained. He’s
hestitating. Jimin, feeling stronger now, nearly shoves him.
“Tell me!”

Jin steps back, eyes shifting to Hoseok and Jungkook—who was fully turned towards Jimin now—
before training them back on him. Jimin follows him, a little wobbly on his feet.

“Tell me, right now.”

He hesitates again, but then he swallows, and meets Jimin’s eyes. “Maddy’s in the hospital.”

Jimin’s about to scream, or cry, or maybe he’s already doing that, he isn’t sure, when Yoongi steps
back into the kitchen. Whatever is in Jimin’s throat catches, because Yoongi isn’t in his uniform
anymore—or he is, but he’s wrapped up in his coat and scarf, and he’s holding his beanie in his
hand. Jimin’s never seen him in so many layers and for a few milliseconds it distracts him from the
words Jin had just said to him, but—

“H-hospital?” Jimin’s heart is racing, and flashbacks to that dreaded night month ago surges to the
top and resurfaces.

Before Jin can reassure him though, Yoongi is beating him to it. He’s already in front of him before
Jimin can realise he’s even moving across the room, and then his hand is around his waist, settling
on his hip. His other hand is untying his apron as he walks him forward, Jimin’s feet moving on
instinct, not command. The apron is slipped over his head and his arms are shoved into his coat. A
scarf that doesn’t belong to him is wrapped around his throat, and before he can protest, he’s
outside. If the situation were different, Jimin would be going into cardiac arrest at how tightly
Yoongi was holding him around his waist. But, as it were, Jimin’s mind was preoccupied with
thoughts of Maddy, Maddy’s in the hospital, Maddy—

He’s soon being helped into the passenger seat of a car he doesn’t recognise. “T-this isn’t my car,
wha—”

“Sssh, it’s alright. It’s mine.” Yoongi reaches around his body, and buckles him in.

Jimin’s breath hitches at how close Yoongi’s neck is to his mouth, and if he moved forward just an
inch, he’d be able to kiss at the skin exposed just above his scarf. He doesn’t, because in the next
second, he’s gone, and the door is slamming shut and locking him in his seat. Yoongi climbs in the
driver’s side, engine starting of his small, midnight-blue SUV. It a new model, Jimin
thinks, expensive, with a fancy air freshener stuck in the vents that smells like fresh laundry. The
car is sparse and spotless, devoid of any life, unlike Jimin’s that acts as a second wardrobe and is
overflowing with Maddy’s toys.

Before Yoongi can put the car into drive, and before Jimin can think better of it, he’s reaching out
and covering Yoongi’s hand on the gearstick with both his hands. Yoongi’s hands are large—
larger than Jimin’s, who’s both hands only just cover the entirety of one of his—and they’re warm
to the touch. Both of them freeze at the touch, as though Yoongi’s arm hadn’t just been around his
waist, holding his hip through the thin material of his t-shirt.

“Yoongi.” It’s quiet in the car; Yoongi’s phones connected to the Bluetooth, but he hasn’t selected
song yet, so it sits, waiting, silent. The name rings out in the silent space, and it makes his tongue
tingle.

“She’s okay, I promise. Jin said they called the restaurant after you weren’t answering their calls,
but they couldn’t tell him what happened because of the privacy policy.”

Jimin swallows, hands shifting their grasp on Yoongi’s, but not releasing. “She was playing on the
playground with some of the other kids. None of the adults saw what happened, but next thing they
knew, she was…screaming and crying and had broken her leg from falling off the slide.” He
pauses, as though to let it sink into Jimin’s slow system.

“It was an accident, one in which she paid for, but she’s okay. She’s waiting for you at the
hospital. I managed to force what happened out of them, they put up a fight but, I explained and
they seemed to understand.”

Jimin notices how his eyes shift down to their hands, lingering there, and Jimin thinks he should
release him, but he doesn’t want to. His skin is so smooth and warm underneath his own, it’s
unintentionally comforting him and destressing him. Or, perhaps, that’s just the action of his
words, which are telling him, harshly, Maddy isn’t dead. Then, suddenly, Jimin realises where
Yoongi is and where he should be instead.

“Chef—I mean, the restaurant, you can’t leave. Let me out, I’ll drive myse—”

“I’m taking you to the hospital and that’s final. No arguing.”

“But, you’re the head chef—”

“No buts.”

“But—”

“What did I just say?”

Jimin’s bottom lip quivers, and he snatches his hands away from Yoongi’s on the gear steak. But
Yoongi’s quicker, and he snatches them right back—however, this time, he holds both of Jimin’s
hands in both of his, cupping them in a reassuring way. He doesn’t hesitate with the movement,
and his eyes don’t falter from where they’re watching Jimin’s face. Jimin, however, can’t stop
himself looking down at their hands. They fit together perfectly, he thinks, but it could all be his
vivid imagination running haywire being so close to his…his crush.

When their eyes meet again, Yoongi frowns. “All I seem to do is make you cry.” He didn’t pose it
like a question, but Jimin’s shaking his head anyway.

“N-no, you make me happy, Yoongi.”

The elder man scoffs, voice sarcastic, “yeah, you look happy.”

Jimin laughs wetly, sniffing, feeling miserable and pathetic and overdramatic. “I’m just very
thankful.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away, but instead pats his hands, and returns his own to the steering
wheel.

“Let’s get you to the hospital, okay? Let’s not keep her waiting.”

It’s the same ward, which is hard. Jimin hadn’t been back since, but standing here now, it didn’t
have the same feel. Yoongi parked the car up, and surprised Jimin by getting out with him.

“You’re coming in?”

Yoongi falters in his step, eyes a little bewildered. “Is that okay? I can leave—”
“No! Stay.” Yoongi’s expression doesn’t change, and Jimin flushes. “I want you to stay,” he adds,
before hurrying away and in through the main doors.

Yoongi follows along after him, keeping close as though Jimin were about to fall down again. It’s
not an unjust assumption. The thing that always stuns Jimin about hospitals is the fact it’s always
busy: there are always people bustling about, even this late of a night on a Monday. Dying doesn’t
wait till morning.

Jimin is about to go up to the reception counter when Yoongi grabs his arm. “She’s in the trauma
ward—” Jimin’s eyes widen, “—no, don’t stress. It really is just a broken leg. She’s bed 21a.”

Jimin frowns. “You’re not coming up?”

Yoongi purses his lips. “I really should get back to the restaurant. Will you be alright getting
home? I can arrange a cab for you.”

Jimin shakes his head, “we’ll be fine. I can call ahead for one. I don’t mind waiting.” Yoongi nods,
then is yanking his wallet from the back pocket his jeans, and rummaging through it. He pulls out
a few bills, far more than is needed for a taxi ride from the hospital to Jimin’s apartment. Yoongi
hands it over, expression blank.

“What? No, it’s okay! I have money, I—”

“Are you really going to make me stand here like an idiot? Take the damn money.” He ruffles it in
Jimin’s direction, “come on, really. Take it. I want you to,” he adds, mocking Jimin’s earlier
comment in the car.

With a reluctant sigh, one that comes with the knowledge he’s been defeated, Jimin takes the wad
of cash. “Thank you, Yoongi. For everything.”

Yoongi smiles—its small, barely there, but Jimin takes it. “It’s okay. I’m sure you would do the
same for me.”

Jimin scoffs, “of course, I would.”

Then, the strangest thing happens. Jimin registers Yoongi’s hand reaching out towards him, but he
kind of thinks it’s his brain playing tricks on him again. But when Yoongi’s hand is brushing his
hair out of his eyes, exposing part of his forehead, Jimin’s entire body tightens up. He tries not to
show it, but he’s sure Yoongi sensed his surprise.

“I don’t doubt it,” Yoongi mumbles, and Jimin thinks he wasn’t meant to hear that.

“Take some days off, just let us know when you’re ready to come back, okay? Take care.” Then,
he’s smiling at him again, and in the very next moment, he’s gone.

Maddy, on a good day, would complain and whine and throw little tantrums about anything that
made her the slightest bit upset. When she’s sick, Jimin knows that this behaviour only amplifies.
But when she’s unable to walk, well—that’s just a whole new level that not even her parents had to
deal with.

This is her first broken bone, and it shows.

The way she’s milking up all of Jimin’s attention and time, and, frankly, patience, is starting to
wear him out more than any of her other behaviours ever had. He’s drained of most of his energy,
too, and he hasn’t even been at work for a week. Her cast is white—she had strangely opted
against the bright colours and patterns she was offered—because she said she wants Jin, Hoseok
and Jungkook to draw on it.

When Jimin asks if he was allowed to draw on it, she looked at him for a solid minute before
shrugging. He doesn’t know what that shrug means, but he hasn’t attempted to draw anything on
her just yet—to be safe. The last thing he wants is his niece screaming at him that he ruined her
cast for everyone else, and that she was too embarrassed to go outside.

What bothered him, though, was that whenever he mentioned the accident, and asked her what
happened, she refused to provide him with an answer. She’d just shrug and keep eating her cereal;
or she’d pick at her veggies and actually eat them, which she never did without kicking and
screaming and throwing her carrots halfway across the dining table. She was a well-behaved child
normally, but at the mention of her broken leg, she became almost sterile. Or robotic, even. As
though she weren’t even herself anymore, shying away from Jimin’s eyes and touch.

It was hard for Jimin to watch her struggle the first few days, with the large cast on her tiny frame,
and he dainty arms trying to use crutches. She managed fine after a few days, but Jimin did still
carry her around most places to speed things up. Besides, she was as light as a feather, and it hardly
caused him any harm.

It wasn’t until two weeks after she had broken her leg—and two weeks of her refusing to go back to
kindergarten—that Jimin yelled at her. He didn’t like yelling—at anyone, not just his niece—so it
was something so rare that when he did it, Maddy dropped her cup on the kitchen tiles, shattering
it. Jimin made hasty work of lifting from the tiles and inspecting her skin for any cuts from the
shards, apologising profusely for frightening her. He hugged her tight and was close to tears,
begging her to tell him what happened when—when she just snapped.

She burst into tears—the messy kind, with the snot and the swollen, red eyes, and the inability to
form a sentence that makes sense. It takes a while for her to calm down, but when she does, she’s
half asleep with her head on his chest, reclined back on the couch. They cuddle like this all the
time, but lately, what with her moods, it hadn’t been happening as religiously. It was nice to fall
back into the same sort of tradition; it felt like a homecoming.

Jimin thinks she’s asleep when she suddenly picks up his hand and starts to fiddle with his fingers.
The movement is gentle, almost shy, and Jimin knows somethings definitely wrong.

“They were teasing me,” she says, voice very small, almost indecipherable.

“Teasing you? Who was, baby?”

Maddy sniffles, her sobs long settled but tears still rolling, albeit slowly. The sight of her breaks
Jimin’s heart down into even smaller pieces. He hugs her closer, feeling the whimper that spills
from her throat.

“Tell me, baby. What’s going on in that head of yours, hmm?”

She shrugs, then holds his hand to her face, leaning against it on his chest. “The boys tease me and
call me an alien. It hurts my feelings.”

Where Jimin should be feeling sad along with her, he instead just feels fury. His hold strengthens
around her, and his grip tenses. “They call you a what?”
He has some serious beef with this kindergarten after all; he thought they were his saviours, but in
reality, they were going to be the death of him. They allowed such harm to come to her, and made
no move to intervene if this has been happening for a while. A horrible, sinking feeling churns in
the pit of his gut as he realises what must have happened.

“They call me an alien and pull my hair and say that Mummy and Daddy must be glad to be gone.
They said that they wouldn’t love an alien girl anyway.”

Jimin chest is heaving; he can’t get enough oxygen, or maybe he has too much of it, because his
head is foggy in a way that he doesn’t recognise—not even after Jihyun and Hannah died. He
wants to say something, but his tongue won’t move and he can’t seem to get it to work.

“I fell from the top of the slide. It was an accident, uncle Jimin, but they stood at the top and
laughed at me when I cried.” Jimin cries into her hair, and rocks her as she starts to wail again.

She begs him not to send her back there, that she’ll behave better, she won’t be naughty anymore.
This only makes him cry harder, and he tells her, “you could be the naughtiest girl in the whole
world and I still wouldn’t ever send you back there.”

She nods against his chest, crying all over again, and he too, joins back in with the festivities.
When she falls asleep an hour later, Jimin presses soft kisses to the top of her head and her exposed
temple.

“I love you so much,” he whispers against her skin, eyes sore and dry. “You’re my whole world.”
He continues to hold her well after the sun rises the next morning.

The day that Maddy and Yoongi finally meet is a monumental one.

Not just for Jimin, and not just for Maddy—but for everyone in the pina kitchen. Jimin had
gathered by now that Yoongi wasn’t the most affectionate type. That was obvious by the way he
generally shied away from affectionate touches, hugs especially, and even compliments made him
stammer and immediately shy. Jimin had caught on by now that he was better when he was alone:
he was able to hold Jimin’s hand without so much of a fuss, and when Jimin complimented his
cooking, sure, his cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t stalk out of the room or yell or bark orders at
him like he would whenever someone did it to him in the kitchen.

Which was why when Maddy suddenly ran into the kitchen and straight into Yoongi’s legs, Jimin
felt his entire being plummet to the floor.

It felt as though his skin was melting from his bones, leaving him skeletal and raw and ready to be
torn apart by scavengers. Honestly, that would no doubt hurt less than whatever chaos would ensue
for this very moment. Maddy definitely should be back here—it wasn’t safe for someone so young,
what with the sharp knives and the hot stoves, and the rapid movement of people in and out of the
not-so-large space.

Even still, when she ran in giggling—screaming over at Hoseok as she barrelled in through the
swing doors, crutches still in her hands, becoming so fast on them that Jimin can’t keep up—no one
started yelling at her.

The only reason she was here was because Jimin was struggling to find an alternative kindergarten
and day care service that would cater for his needs. Working till so late in the evening made it
difficult, because even babysitters didn’t want to hang around till midnight some nights; and Jimin
found it difficult to trust the ones that did, because, why aren’t you at home doing something else
on a Friday? When it comes to Maddy, he has severe trust issues; though, he thinks that’s
reasonable enough.

When she runs in, her eyes are on Hoseok, not the area in front of her, and Yoongi doesn’t really
have any reason to look at the floor when it’s service time, so of course she would run straight into
his legs, forehead hitting his knees. She plops backwards, onto her backside, and Jimin flinches.

There’s a fifty per cent chance she’ll cry, and he really can’t deal with that right now. Jin is meant
to be minding her out the front, with his phone or a movie on his laptop, or something, behind the
counter, but clearly something went wrong. The man in question barrels in after her, panting and
red-faced, his hair a mess. Very wrong, Jimin thinks, and he has to stifle the little giggle at Jin’s
appearance.

Jimin steps forward to apologise for Maddy’s behaviour, hoping Yoongi doesn’t cause a scene in
front of the four-year-old, but then he does something no one in the kitchen thought they would
ever see.

Yoongi bends down and picks the little girl up.

He does it as though it were as easy as breathing, holding her on his hip with one hand under her
bum to support her, and another brushing her hair out of her face. Her crutches remain on the floor,
where she had dropped them. Jimin’s face is bright red—he’s embarrassed, but he’s not sure why
anymore. The image of Yoongi bouncing his watery-eyed niece is almost too much for him; it’s far
more attractive than he thought it would be, Yoongi’s arm’s bulging as they move. Jin is paralysed
by the door, mouth hanging out. Hoseok and Jungkook, too, appear to be catching flies. Maddy is
suckling on her thumb, staring at Yoongi with wide-eyes. But Yoongi. It’s Yoongi. It’s always him,
Jimin realises, that takes his breath away most.

Yoongi is staring down at her with eyes as soft as cotton, and lips pulled up in the most genuine
and breathtaking smile he has ever seen. He’s smiling so widely, actually, that not only are his
teeth showing, but his gums, too, and his eyes disappear just the tiniest of bits.

“You must be Maddy.” In his arms, Maddy squirms.

Jimin recognises it as her embarrassed habit, not her uncomfortable one, and his heart clenches. He
throws the rag he was holding to the bench, and walks around the pass. Up close, Yoongi’s fond
expression is ever more intense, and his voice stutters in his throat.

“Y-Yoongi, I’m so sorry, she’s meant to be out front with Jin, she’s normally so well behaved—”
Yoongi shakes his head, casting a look over at him.

The expression in his eyes doesn’t change; if anything, Jimin thinks they get even softer, but
surely, he’s just imagining it. His brain feels so overloaded with information right now.

“How do you know my name? Are you a spy?” Maddy whispers the last part, so only Yoongi and
him can hear it. Jimin can’t help it: he giggles, and he only smiles harder when he notices Yoongi
does, too.

“No, not quite.” He bounces her a little harder on his side, and she drops her thumb from her
mouth. Her hands rest on his shoulders, her eyes wide and curious and watching him without fear.

“Your uncle talks about you a lot. Told us all how brave you were when you broke your leg.”
Now, she blushes, and it’s the same kind of blush she gets when Jungkook comes over to play.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He holds out his spare hand to her, and she shakes it with a very forced, professional expression,
but then in the next second, she’s wrapping her arms tightly around his neck in a hug. She squeezes
tightly—Jimin’s been on the receiving end of those at least twice every day. Yoongi seems to
stiffen at the movement, but his limbs loosen up mere seconds later, melting into the touch. Jimin
watches the way he nuzzles his nose into her just the tiniest bit, before pulling away to watch her
place her head on his shoulder.

She’s loosened her hold on his neck, but still keeps one clinging to his other shoulder, whilst her
free hand finds her mouth again. Then, in a small, mumbling voice, Maddy says, “it’s nice to meet
you too, Mr Yoongi.”

From atop of her head, Yoongi and Jimin make eye contact. Jimin knows his expression is as soft
—if not softer—than Yoongi’s own, and in this sense, they seem to match. Jimin’s heart is
fluttering for a variety of reasons—whether it be because of the way Yoongi holds her so easily, or
the way that Maddy is falling asleep against his shoulder, or even the way that Yoongi looks so at
ease cradling her head to his neck—and he thinks it’s due to an accumulation of reasons, though
that doesn’t make it any easier to breathe.

As though the room were empty and not full of their friends and co-workers, Yoongi reaches over
to him and brushes the hair from his eyes. Jimin’s been meaning to redye it, his black roots
pushing through into the blonde. From across the room, Jin snorts, pulling the two from their daze.

“I think that’s the first time anyone’s called Yoongi Mister.” Jin cackles, and Jungkook joins in,
watching the elder man with wonder.

“Actually, I called him Mr. Min on my first day of work,” Hoseok butts in, not taking his eyes
away from the dish he was plating. Jimin thinks they should all get back to work, but Yoongi, for
once, doesn’t seem to mind the distraction.

“Really?” Jungkook asks, turning towards him, amused smirk on his mouth.

Hoseok shrugs. “Yeah, he was scary as shit when I walked in,” he explains, and Yoongi hisses in
his direction, motioning to Maddy in his arms.

Jimin giggles, “it’s okay, Yoongi. She’s no doubt heard it all before from my brother.”

At the mention of his brother, Yoongi’s expression seems to sadden, but he makes no move to pass
Maddy back to him. He turns back to the kitchen staff, and the few wait staff that had slipped into
the kitchen without Jimin realising. They were all watching the scene unfold fondly, as though
they, too, knew that this was surely never to happen again. It was unbearably cute, Jimin must
admit. To see their boss, who was usually incredibly impatient and cold and, as Hoseok had
mentioned, scary as shit sometimes, it was a shock to see him so soft and calm. Jimin had seen this
before—when Yoongi visited his apartment, when he took him to hospital, and the times in
between these moments when he gave him more opportunities around the kitchen other than
cleaning pots and scrubbing floors.

For the wait staff, however, this was no doubt a first: and, most likely, a last. Yoongi told them to
get back to work, in a voice much lower and quieter than he was used to. It didn’t sound as
threatening or commanding as usual, but they still all obeyed. Jimin stepped closer to Yoongi, as to
take Maddy from his arms, but the chef just motioned with his head for him to follow.

He was led to Yoongi’s office, and for a moment Jimin thought he was about to get a scolding, but
instead, Yoongi placed her on the arm chair in the back corner of Yoongi’s office—the
comfortable one, that no one has ever seen him use except as a coat rack. He rests her head in a
more comfortable position against the headrest, before turning from her and closing the door
behind them both.

Outside, before Jimin can hesitate, he throws his arms around Yoongi. The hug is not as long or as
tight as the one Maddy had given him earlier, but there’s no mistaking what it was, or what it
meant. Jimin, pulling away, ignores the butterflies in his throat and the pink on Yoongi’s cheeks, in
favour of stammering out a thank you. He slips back into the kitchen without looking over his
shoulder, leaving a stiff-as-stone Yoongi behind.

When Yoongi re-joins them in the kitchen a minute or so later, the only indication that the hug had
happened was the still-red flush to Yoongi’s cheeks. Jimin can’t help but smile fondly as the head
chef starts yelling orders at Jungkook from across the pass.

Yoongi quickly becomes her favourite.

It starts small—little things, here and there, that suddenly makes Maddy lose interest in Jungkook
almost overnight. Maddy starts to follow him around the kitchen.

Yoongi doesn’t realise at first, but whenever he takes one step, she’s taking another to keep up with
him. He must be unobservant when he wants to be, because she follows him all the way to the door
of the pantry before he notices. He startles, jumps a little where he stands, but Jimin is thankful he
didn’t swear too vulgarly. She stifles giggles into her hands when he pinches her cheeks, calls her a
cheeky monkey for scaring him, before turning back into the pantry.

Jimin is finding himself more and more in a state of endearment and the purest form
of fondness there is, for he’s always got an eye on the pair of them, almost tripping over each other
at how close she sticks by him. Jimin wants to be jealous at how much she adores him—because
she hardly spends time with him in the kitchen anymore—but he can’t find an ounce of it anywhere
in his body. In its place there’s merely happiness, and a thick, curling sensation at the pit of his
stomach that he can’t quite place.

Now, every time that Yoongi leaves his office, Maddy will squeal and hurry on her little legs up to
him. He’ll stare down at her, confused as ever, and she’ll just stare back with wide eyes and open
mouth until he starts to move. Hot on his ankles, Yoongi eventually learns to take advantage of his
new friend.

When he’s getting ingredients from the pantry, he’ll hand her the lighter jars and containers that he
knows she’ll be able to carry, before walking back to the benches to unload. Normally, Yoongi
could do it all in one trip, if not, no more than two, but with Maddy, he makes five or six, just so
she feels as though she’s making some kind of impact on the workings of the kitchen.

Yoongi doesn’t say much, but his actions really do speak louder than words; the endearment Jimin
catches within his movements are so much more than he could ever, ever say aloud. Jungkook gets
rather pouty at this, because he definitely used to be her favourite, but now Yoongi is all that she
ever sees.

She still climbs all over him when he visits her at the apartment, and she draws him pictures that he
hugs close to his chest and supposedly hangs on the fridge at home. Jimin will always be her
favourite—she says so at least three times a week during one of their cuddling sessions—but she
doesn’t show it as much in front of others when Yoongi’s around.
Maddy’s infatuation evolved from following Yoongi around the kitchen to standing on her tip toes
beside him. She’d hover around him where he worked at his station, pressing up as high as she
could on her tip toes to see what he was doing.

Her eyes and nose would only just make it over the bench top, but not comfortably, so every so
often she’d have to drop back off her toes to take a break. Then, the moment they didn’t hurt so
much, she was back up there watching him work. Her eyes would follow every single movement,
from cutting up fish to frying steak to plating up dishes. The latter was her favourite, and her mouth
would be wide in amazed and her eyes awed, watching the head chef use tiny tweezers to layer the
different pieces to the dish.

This carried on for a few days, until one day, Yoongi sighed and sat down the tweezers. He
grabbed a clean cloth from the rack overhead, and cleared off the edge of the bench, before leaning
down and hoisting Maddy upwards under her arm pits, and settling her on the clean strip of bench
beside him.

From there, she was able to watch Yoongi work without having to stand on her tip toes, and she
would bite at her bottom lip as she watched on. She’d even mimic his movements, pretending to
have a knife herself as she chopped herbs at lightning speed. Jimin didn’t miss the small smirk
Yoongi would have when she did this, and Hoseok would place a hand over his heart at these
small, soft moments. Jimin doesn’t blame him, really; seeing Yoongi so endeared and soft towards
his niece was doing things to his heart, too.

Eventually, however, Jin mentioned that it was a little unhygienic having her sit straight on the
bench like that, and Yoongi almost looked ready to argue when Jin held up a table cloth.

“Have her sit on this instead, the bench must be cold,” he says, throwing a wink to a worried Jimin
before darting out the door.

Now, that sliver of bench is Maddy’s spot, and it makes the kitchen that much smaller to work
with, but no one complains or whinges. Jimin’s relieved, because it keeps her busy and means she
won’t harass anyone for being bored. Usually, she’ll sit quietly, but after a few days of getting
comfortable in her spot, she starts to ask Yoongi questions. Nothing personal, just the basics—what
are you doing? What’s this? What does that do?—and Jimin can’t believe how calm Yoongi
remains.

He answers all of her questions, and Jimin knows this to be difficult, because sometimes Maddy
asks so many questions it can make him want to scream. When she asks what he’s doing,
sometimes he’ll slow his movements down and go through it with her. He’ll even pass her some of
the off-cuts, too, like pieces of carrot or apple or pear. She’ll take the treats happily, munching on
them through a wide grin. It progresses from there. She’ll stand beside her spot and wait until
Yoongi comes past her, arms already outstretched to be lifted up.

One day, when Jimin arrives on a Thursday when Jin isn’t around, there’s a stepping-stool beside
the bench with a laminated sign stuck to it: Maddy’s—do not move.

Whereas Maddy starts squealing and laughing with excitement, Jimin has to brush away tears. He
knows that it’s Yoongi’s doing, and seeing the way he can make such a broken little girl so happy,
it makes him feel so overwhelmed with gratitude and love.

He loves Yoongi—he’s one of the best men he’s ever met, one of the best people, and yet he does
it in such a way that might be missed or overlooked. Jimin adores Yoongi, adores the way Yoongi
adores Maddy, and how they get on like a house on fire. Maddy, now quickly settled in to her
position on the bench, becomes antsy. Jimin can see the way she’s getting bored—playing with her
fingers, staring off into space, asking Yoongi more and more questions.

Jimin wants to go over there and snap her out of it, but the dishes are piling up from service, and
it’s so busy his head might explode. Yoongi, as always, remains calm in the face of the madness.
Even more so now that he has an audience than he was before, because his swearing has remained
at a minimum, when before, he had absolutely no filter.

At first, Yoongi had been startled by the attention, unsure if he fully understood why she was
hanging around him so much. Now, four weeks since she broke her leg, and four weeks since she
had been to kindergarten, Yoongi appears to be used to her infatuation.

Originally, she was meant to be behaving for Jin, but it got to the point where she would kick and
scream and cry until she was allowed out back to see him. Normally, Jimin would drop her at the
front with Jin when he first arrived, and she’d settle there for at least three hours before she
became antsy. Then, somewhat reluctantly, Jin would let her go exploring and she’d make her way
to the kitchens.

Jimin wouldn’t let her bother Yoongi straight away—especially if he was in his office still, with
the door shut—and make her help him peel carrots or potatoes with promise of ice cream later. She
wouldn’t put up too much of a fight, since she apparently loved to help out with whatever Jimin
was doing.

He had asked her at one point if she liked helping out the kitchen, to which she had responded,
“it’s sooooo fun uncle Jimin!”

Now, at home, she always wants to help him, too. He doesn’t mind—honestly, she’s a bigger help
then he thought she’d be, given that she’s so young, but she’s eager and always helps him clean up
afterwards, too. As soon as Yoongi appeared from his office, however, Jimin lost all her help.

She squeals, startling not only Jimin but Hoseok and Jungkook, too, and scurrying on her little legs
towards the head chef. The first two or three times she’d done it, Yoongi had been startled by the
noise as well, but now he knows to expect it. He always squats, so that she can run straight into his
arms and lock her arms around his neck, and he’ll hoist her up, holding her on his hip as always.

Jimin will watch on fondly, getting so distracted that Hoseok or Jungkook will have to jab him with
their elbow. He’ll always talk to her first before getting to work. He’ll walk around the kitchen and
the pantry and listen to her rattle on about something, and Jimin will watch how he would nod at
all the right moments and asks questions here and there, all the while running a hand up and down
her back or playing with her braid. Jimin hated how domestic the whole thing looked, because it
was giving his heart hope that it really did not want.

Yoongi was just being nice—it was hard to be mean to a girl who not only was recently orphaned,
but also had a broken leg.

She only had three or four weeks left before they could take the cast off, and she was a little pouty
lately at the thought of it. She had said as much to Jimin once, because she was scared that she’d
have to go back to the kindergarten again. Jimin shook his head profusely, reminding her that she’d
never see the likes of that place ever again, and she seemed to settle.

She wouldn’t be starting school till the new year, anyway, when the new semester started, but
when her fifth birthday did roll around, Jimin was frantic trying to organise some kind of party. It
was a little sad, because she had no friends her own age, so the only people he was able to invite
were Jin, Hoseok, Jungkook and Yoongi. Jimin extended the invitation to include plus ones to a
simple dinner party at a restaurant that also had a massive playground attached, however, Yoongi
wasn’t able to attend as he already had plans, and only Jungkook was bringing someone with him;
Taehyung, from the wait staff.

They still hadn’t made their relationship official, but after a few drinks at his apartment one
evening, Jungkook tells them that they had said they didn’t want the other sleeping with anyone
else. Hoseok said that Taehyung was ‘definitely DTR’, to which Jungkook replied, “don’t you
mean down to fuck.’

Jimin was supressing his laughter as Hoseok smacked him around the head. “What? No. You’re
already fucking, aren’t you? What do you think the two of you’ve been doing this whole time? Do
you need me to give you the talk, Jungkook?”

“What the fuck, I’m not thirteen!”

“Well then why would you think DTR means DTF? They’re completely different!”

“I’m new to this, okay?”

“Oh my god, Taehyung was your first?”

“I did not say that!”

“But he was?”

“Shut up, Hoseok.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Jimin, oh my—”

“Please stop, Maddy’s asleep.”

“Jimin! That’s so cute though!”

In the end, Jimin did agree: it was cute, because apparently Jungkook was Taehyung’s first, too.
Jungkook had stuttered when he heard this, apparently, he himself not knowing that, and when
everyone looked at Jin as he said it, he realised he fucked up.

When Maddy found out Yoongi wasn’t able to make it to her birthday dinner, she was absolutely
devastated. Yoongi realised this, but it was too late, there was nothing he could do: she burst in
wet, wailing tears. He tried shushing her, placing his hands on the side of her face and kissing the
top of her head, trying to calm her, but nothing worked.

Jimin hurried over, dropping the sponge in the sink before wrapping his arms around her. Her arms
had been outstretched upon seeing him, and her little legs wrapped around his torso in comfort. She
cried into his neck, soaking the collar of his t-shirt but he barely noticed, rubbing a hand in
soothing circles along her back. He bounced her, and walked over to the pantry to calm her down.

Jimin looked at Yoongi over the top of her head, and he was watching guilty, hands rubbing
together nervously. Jimin surreptitiously shakes his head, trying to tell him it isn’t his fault, but it
doesn’t seem to calm the elder down.

“Baby, it’s okay, hmm?” She isn’t crying anywhere near as hard, but she still blubbers into his
neck. He tries to pry her face away from his neck, but she screams a little, forcing her face against
his skin more. He can feel her suckle on her thumb as she sniffles, and he rests his head against
hers.
“Baby, Jimin loves you.” He waits, and it’s a little muffled, but she says I love you back just as he
knew she would.

When her crying stops, Jimin is able to pry her face away. Her eyes are puffy and red and her
bottom lip sticks out. He leans forward and gives her a quick kiss, making her smile just a little.

“How about you invite Yoongi to the zoo? I know it was just going to be us two, but we can make
room for him, don’t you think?” Suddenly, her smile returns, and she’s kissing him again before
wriggling in his arms.

He sets her on the floor with a smile, and she darts off towards the head chef. He was working
again, albeit slowly, and still looking over at the two of them. When she runs towards him, he puts
the knife aside and grabs her when she launches herself at him.

She settles against his hip, hands on his shoulders, when she asks. “Mr Yoongi?”

He smirks, humming.

“What are you doing on Saturday morning?” She’s speaking in her cutesy voice, the one that no
one can say no to. She’s a menace, sometimes, but she knows how to get what she wants.

He shrugs, “I’m not doing anything.”

She claps her hands once, “good! You can come with us to the zoo!”

“Oh?” Yoongi says, turning to look at him. They’re standing much closer together now, and tries
to tame the mess that is his niece’s hair.

“Did your uncle say that was allowed?” Yoongi is asking Maddy, but he doesn’t take his eyes off
Jimin as he speaks.

Jimin, flushed under the attention, responds: “we’d love to have you.”

And so that was that. In about a week’s time, Jimin, Maddy and Yoongi would all be going to the
zoo together before coming to work for her birthday. Her actual birthday is tomorrow, on the
Wednesday, when its generally quieter. Jimin’s thankful, because that means when their shifts are
done, they’re able to go to the restaurant afterwards for her dinner.

Yoongi was so apologetic towards Maddy that he wasn’t able to spend her actual birthday together,
that come Wednesday, when they walked into the fridge, there was a white box with a sticker with
Maddy’s name on it. Hoseok, stepping into Yoongi’s position as he was away the whole evening,
pulls it out curiously. He and Jimin take a sneak peek, cooing simultaneously as the lid makes way,
revealing a large, well-decorated chocolate cake. There are candles already in place, surrounded by
what appears to be kitchen-utensil shaped fondant decorations on the top. It’s adorable, and Jimin
doesn’t have to ask to know that Yoongi made it.

In the centre, surrounded by candles, it says Happy 5th Birthday Maddy in gold font, and when
they turn the lights off and light the candles up, everyone in the kitchen sings happy birthday. The
leave the kitchen doors open, and some of the patrons even sing along—Jin is most definitely the
loudest, while Jungkook is filming the entire thing on his fancy camera. Jimin asks for the film,
and Jungkook promises to send it all to him later.

Maddy blows out all the candles, and makes her wish, before clapping her hands and demanding
that she get to cut it. Jimin helps her cut the cake into enough slices, and when he tells her to leave
some for Yoongi, she cuts him a ridiculously huge piece. Jimin can’t help but giggle into her hair,
kissing her temple but putting it in separate container nonetheless. He has her write his name on the
top in sharpie, and then they’re popping it back into the fridge.

She plates up the cake, and hands him the first slice. He wants to protest, telling her that the
birthday girl always gets the first slice, but she just rubs cream on his face and giggles.

“I want uncle Jimin to have the first bit! The first bits always the best bit and you’re the best, too!”
Jimin weeps a little into her hair, but accepts the slice as she hands out the other slices.

It’s delicious, though they expected no less. Jimin, as he’s swallowing his first bite, makes eye
contact with Jin—they stare at each other in disbelief for a few seconds, before they snicker and
continue eating.

Dinner that night is eventful. First, they open gifts. Jimin told them not to buy her anything, but
they did anyway, and Maddy was overjoyed and spoiled with a nice, expensive camera from
Jungkook and Hoseok; from Jin, a series of cooking-books that he used when he was first learning
to cook, the edges worn and well-loved, causing Maddy herself to even shed a few thankful tears as
she gave him sweet kisses; and from Taehyung, blushy, shy Taehyung, she received a hand-painted
illustration of herself, wearing a head chef uniform and carrying a wooden spoon, with all the other
chefs in the kitchen bowing to her orders.

Jimin giggles at that one, and Jungkook kisses his temple when he shies away from Maddy’s
compliments. Jimin thanks them all, too, and they shrug him off, telling him that she’s more than
worth it. Halfway through dinner, Jin’s phone rings, and he startles when he reads it.

“It’s Yoongi,” he explains, quickly answering the call. “Hey Y—Oh. Okay. Sure,” he says,
obviously startled at having been cut off, but hands the phone straight to Maddy.

She takes it eagerly, holding the much-too large phone in both her hands to her ear. “Mr Yoongi? Is
that you?”

None of them can hear what Yoongi is saying on the other end, but whatever it is, it’s making
Maddy giggle and scream and kick her legs underneath the table. They talk for nearly half an hour,
Maddy talking about her day and the shift at the kitchen and about her presents.

The rest of them continue eating and drinking, looking at her every now and then when she starts
laughing and squealing loudly. Jimin wishes he knew what they were talking about, what Yoongi
was telling her that was making her so happy, but he supposes it’s none of his business. She would
tell him later, maybe.

When she says goodbye, and goes to hang up, she meets Jimin’s eyes and gasps quickly. “Mr
Yoongi! Wait, please!”

He must, because then she’s rattling on again, staring at Jimin when she asks, “would you like to
speak to uncle Jimin?”

Jimin splutters, and Hoseok just chortles, and beer comes out of Jin’s nose. When Maddy hands the
phone over to Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung join in with the laughing. His cheeks are on fire, and
the phone screen feels cold where it touches his blazing skin.

“H-Hello, Yoongi,” he greets, voice shaking a little. Does this mean he said he did want to talk to
him when Maddy asked? Jimin’s sure he’s just being polite.

“Hey, how’s your night going?”

Jimin hums, “it’s going well. Work was pretty quiet, and the restaurant we’re at for dinner is being
very kind, despite our uh…messier tendencies.”

Yoongi laughs, a gravelly sound, low in his throat. “I’m sorry I can’t be there. I tried my best to
reschedule, but—”

“Yoongi, don’t apologise. Really. Maddy was only upset because she thought she wouldn’t get to
see you at all, but we’re still on for Saturday, right?”

Yoongi hums, “of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

There’s a silence that is shared between them, and Jimin’s cheeks only get redder. “I love that kid,
you know,” Yoongi suddenly says, voice quieter, shy. Jimin’s breath catches in his throat.

“R-really?”

“She’s…I’ve never been great with children. I bet that doesn’t come as a surprise to you, huh?”

Jimin snickers, and he notices the way everyone—including Maddy—is watching him. “N-no, not
really.”

Yoongi laughs again, louder this time, and Jimin imagines the way he might be throwing his head
back, exposing his teeth and gums. “Well, she’s the one kid I’ve met that I just…I don’t know. I’m
not good with my words.”

“Try.”

Yoongi’s voice catches this time, and it’s silent once more. Jimin senses Yoongi contemplating his
words as he clicks his tongue. “She’s so inquisitive, unlike any kid I’ve met before. She’s smart
and she’s kind and she’s got the most irresistible smile in the world. I’ve never been good with kids
because I’ve always thought they’d hate me, you know?”

Jimin hums, cheeks still red, and stares down at his empty plate.

“But somehow she sees through that. Or doesn’t care. I don’t know which it is but she seems to
like me—”

Jimin laughs, “like you? Yoongi, she absolutely adores you. Most of the time, I think she’s going
to ask you to adopt her. I don’t even think she likes me anymore.”

Across the table, Maddy shakes her head but she’s laughing, so Jimin doesn’t trust her in the
slightest, but he smiles back.

Yoongi, on the end of the line, chokes. “She does?” Jimin softens.

“Yoongi, yes. You’re like, her favourite person. You say you’re not good with kids, but honestly? I
don’t think any of us actually believe that. You have a way with her, that I don’t have, that I
haven’t really seen since her parents. So, thank you, for…loving her, the way you do.”

The silence stretches out again, only to be broken by a sniffle that Jimin refuses to comment on. If
Yoongi is crying, he’ll want to do so privately and secretively. If he mentions it now, Yoongi
would surely be flustered.

“Thank you, for trusting me with her. I’ll see you Saturday, alright? Take care.” When he hands the
phone back to Jin, Jimin realises for the very first time, Yoongi had said thank you.
Come Saturday morning, and Jimin thinks he might faint.

He’s never been this nervous before, and it’s not like it’s even a date. Jimin’s been on maybe three
dates in his years, and not a single one of them progressed to a second, but all he knows is that he
was never this nervous for them.

He’d been up late on the phone talking to Jin about what to wear, reluctant to let him know that
Yoongi was actually the reason he was so nervous. When, finally, he admitted to wanting to
look nice in Yoongi’s eyes, Jin just cackled and said that Jimin could wear a potato sack and
Yoongi would still find him beautiful. Jimin had stuttered down the phone at what Jin meant, but
the elder just sighed longingly.

“Yoongi’s just so…he’s just so cute, isn’t he Jimin?” With a scoff, he hung up, and continued to
stress over his hair.

Maddy, the little brat she was sometimes, immediately picked up on his nerves. “Uncle Jimin, why
are you acting like that? Is something wrong?” She’s standing right by his legs, staring up at him,
wide-eyed and frowning.

“No, baby, I’m alright. Have you got your bag ready?”

She nods, bouncing on her feet. “I even packed a drawing for Mr Yoongi!” Jimin laughs at that,
though its forced and only for her sake. Deep down, he wants to scream. The mere mention of
his name has his stomach churning.

“Uncle Jimin?” He hums, casting a glance at her in the mirror. Then, she smirks. “Do you have a
crush on Mr Yoongi?”

Jimin spins to face her, eyes wider than hers had been and hands up as though guiding traffic. “W-
what? No. Madeline, why would you ask that?!”

She just giggles into her hands, not even flinching at his use of her full name—which he reserves
for when she’s in trouble. She rubs her foot into the carpet, dodging away from him when he
reaches out.

“Madeline Park, what are you thinking?” He asks, chasing after her in the living room.

“Jimin has a crush, Jimin has a crush,” she repeats, over and over, at the top of her lungs in a sing-
song voice. Jimin manages to catch just as Yoongi knocks on the door, and the two of them lock
eyes.

Jimin murmurs, “don’t you dare,” at her quietly as he watches her throw her head back, just like Jin
does every morning, then she screams, “Jimin has a—” He clamps his hand around her mouth, and
he swears he hears Yoongi yelp from outside.

He gives her a stern look, “if you say anything about this to Yoongi we won’t be going to the zoo.
You hear me?”

He gives he the strictest look he can muster, and she sighs, but nods nonetheless. He quickly kisses
her forehead, mumbling his thanks, before hurrying to the door. Yoongi stands there in black jeans
and a simple white tee, a jacket thrown over his arm.

He smiles toothily across at him, “good morning.”

Jimin smiles back, “morning, Yoongi.” Maddy squeezes out from between his legs, wrapping her
arms around Yoongi’s thigh. She smiles up at him, teeth all exposed, and giggles.

“Hi Mr Yoongi!” Yoongi sighs, plopping down into a squat, and Jimin purposefully avoids staring
at his thighs and ass in this position.

Maddy quickly steps into his hold, used to this routine, and he groans as he hoists her up.
“Goodness, Missy, you’re getting too heavy for me!” She thinks he’s being serious, and the
quivering pout she gives him is enough to break even Jimin’s heart. Yoongi huffs a laugh through
his nose, darting forwards to kiss her temple. He kisses her in the same place Jimin just had, and it
really shouldn’t make his face hot, but it does.

“I’ll always lift you up,” he mumbles, and Maddy just holds his face and kisses his forehead back,
making Jimin laugh fondly. Yoongi blushes as he looks back to Jimin.

“You look really nice,” he says, and Jimin feels embarrassed at the way his eyes rake over his
body. Jimin doesn’t look that nice, really. He’s wearing jeans almost identical to Yoongi’s own,
with a black long-sleeve blouse. It’s probably a little dressy for the zoo, but Jimin wanted to make
an impact without it being too obvious, so this is what he went for.

“T-thanks,” he stutters, “let me just grab my coat and bag.”

After locking up the apartment, the three head off. They take Yoongi’s car, because Jimin’s full of
crap and Yoongi insists. Driving in the car with Yoongi again feels stifling, because he can smell
his strong cologne and for once Maddy is quiet as she watches the world outside her window zoom
by. Yoongi meets his gaze over the console, and his earrings tinkle a little at the movement. The
smile they share is soft, and a little extended as they pause at the red light. Jimin sucks in a breath
harshly, and Yoongi watches the way his lip quivers from the movement, before he’s snapping out
of it when the light goes green. At the zoo itself, its much of the same.

Maddy grabs a hand each and drags them around to each area, gasping and exclaiming and making
so many excited little noises Jimin can’t help but film some of it. Maddy has her new camera from
Hoseok and Jungkook, and she’s taking photos of everything she can—including the rubbish bin,
which Yoongi finds particularly amusing as he has to step aside to stop himself from choking he’s
laughing so hard.

When they get to an enclosure with monkeys, Maddy tugs on Yoongi’s jeans until he lifts her up
onto his shoulders. From there, she takes Jimin’s hand and rattles it as she watches the monkeys
swing on the trees and play with each other.

Yoongi snorts from down below, “it’s you, Maddy,” and she smacks him playfully on the side of
the head. Yoongi keeps her on his shoulders for a little while longer, and Jimin can’t help but they
think they look like a little family.

When they get to the large aviary, Maddy learns she’s scared of peacocks very quickly, screaming
in terror and squirming until she’s hiding her face until Jimin’s jacket. They leave the birds
quickly, Yoongi suppressing his laugh when a worker asks if they’d like a photo.

Once they’re at the giraffes, that changes things: Maddy looks close to tears at how cute she finds
them, stretching out her hand as far as she can with the food the workers hand out, and gasping in
wonder when the animal takes it from her. Jimin gets one of the staff to take a photo of the three,
and it ends up being one of his favourite photos ever—with Maddy in his arms, holding onto one of
Yoongi’s hands, and Yoongi’s arm around Jimin’s waist.
They all look really happy, in a natural, non-forced way, and Jimin immediately knows he’s going
to get it printed. When they stop at the café for a drink and lunch, Maddy forces the two of them
together so she can take a photo. They do, and Jimin can tell she’s doing it on purpose, the cheeky
monkey, because she giggles when Yoongi slides his chair closer.

His arm goes around his shoulder as though it were as easy as breathing, and their cheeks are
almost touching they’re that close. His cologne isn’t as strong now as it was earlier in the morning,
but the peppermint aftershave is still there, filling his senses and making his palms all clammy. He
leans into Yoongi’s arm a little more, to make the photo appear more natural.

Truth be told, Jimin isn’t sure the photo will be all that good, given she doesn’t have the sturdiest
of grips on the thing, but she takes more than one so there might be a decent one, he hopes. When
she finishes her sandwich and muffin, Yoongi ruffles her hair.

“I’ve got something for you, Miss Monkey.” She gasps, twisting in her seat to him. Jimin sighs as
the eldest grabs his bag and unzips it.

“You really didn’t have to get her anything, you made her a cake and everything already!”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I bought this at the same time I got the stepping stool for her. It’s about
time she gets it.”

Jimin’s heart clenches. The stepping stool had appeared in the kitchen well over a month ago, so
the fact that Yoongi had been thinking about her that much since then makes him weak. He pulls
out a small parcel, soft on one side and rectangular on the other. The paper is silver and really
sparkly, with a rainbow bow stuck to the top and a card taped to the corner.

Jimin helps her open up the card, which is basic with a cake and a cat on the front, and Yoongi’s
cute handwriting inside wishing her a happy birthday. The cutest touch, however, was the little
drawing on the left-hand side, obviously Yoongi’s artistry, of three little stick-figures. One is taller,
obviously Yoongi, and is wearing a crude version of a chef’s hat, whilst the other, presumably
Maddy given the short height, is holding up a cake. The third figure is standing to the other side of
Maddy, and while this person isn’t holding anything, they are wearing a shirt that says Maddy’s
No1 Fan.

It isn’t until he’s holding the card himself that he realises the latter figure is actually Yoongi, and
Yoongi had made the head chef Jimin himself. Jimin huffs a fond laugh, mouthing a thank you
across to the chef. He waves it off, but blushes all the same. At the sight of the pink dusting, Jimin
tingles all the way from his fingers to his toes, but chooses to ignore it in favour of watching
Maddy unwrap the gift on the table. Maddy pulls out a rolled piece of black material, which she
unfolds curiously.

When its open, Jimin stifles his gasp, and Maddy squeals in excitement. “Jimin, look! It’s got my
name on it!”

There, in her hands, is something Jimin knows all too well. It’s the same aprons they wear at work,
except this one, on the top right-hand corner, has Maddy embroidered onto it.

“Woah, isn’t that cool! What do you say?”

She quickly turns to Yoongi, “thank you so much Mr Yoongi! I love it!” He smiles, motioning for
her to open the second thing in the paper.

She goes to lift the box, and Yoongi hurriedly adds, “be very careful with this one, okay? You
either give to your uncle or to me to hold on to when you’re not using it.”

She nods, face as serious as a five-year old’s can get, and then she’s turning the box over in her
hand to look at the picture. Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees what it is, and then he
immediately knows what Yoongi has done. He bites back a smirk as she pulls the large knife—
wrapped up in bubble wrap with a protective sleeve covering the blade—from the box.

She looks at Yoongi immediately. “Is this so I can chop with you at the restaurant?” Her voice is
holding back, not sounding anywhere as excited as she looked. Yoongi smirked, and shook his
head where it was resting on his hand.

“I’ll show you one more thing, okay?” She lets Yoongi take the knife from her hands, and with a
careful look over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, he removed the knife from the
protective sleeve. He motioned for her to lean closer, and he pointed to the top of the blade, right
where it connected to the handle.

She gasped, and looked up to Jimin with wide-eyes. Jimin nodded, encouraging her, and telling her
that he had seen it. Not only did she have her name on an apron, but now on a knife, too. When
Yoongi had put the protective sleeve back on the blade, she didn’t hesitate to throw her arms
tightly around his neck, and strangling his body with her legs like the monkey she was.

Suddenly, the fact that Jimin didn’t have either a personalised apron or knife no longer mattered.
His favourite person in the whole world has them now, and Yoongi was the one who gave them to
her.

When Yoongi drops him home an hour or so before he’s expected at the restaurant, Maddy quickly
steals his phone from his jeans pocket and hurries inside, screaming that she’s going to call
Jungkook and tell him about her presents. She doesn’t forget to hug Yoongi goodbye, though.
When she’s inside, Jimin can’t avoid Yoongi’s eye contact any longer. They hold each other’s gaze
silently before Jimin does what he’s been wanting to do since the dawn of time.

He steps forward and, much like Maddy had done, wrapped his arms around Yoongi in a tight
embrace. The hug is warm, and although he can feel Yoongi tense underneath him at the
suddenness of the movement, he immediately relaxes and hugs him back.

“Thank you so much, Yoongi. For all of it,” he whispers, before drawing back.

Before he can lose his confidence, he says, “I’ll see you this afternoon,” and kisses his cheek
before he can think the better of it.

The shift at work that night is awkward, to say the least. Not because either of them is angry or
upset with each other, but rather the complete opposite. Yoongi’s is red in the face and so is Jimin,
and whenever either of them makes eye contact—which is a lot, throughout the evening—their
cheeks only get redder and redder.

Jimin tries to busy himself with his work, but it isn’t enough to distract him from the eyes burning
holes into the side of his head. Maddy is proudly wearing his apron—it’s a little long, but Jimin
helps her fold it up a few times underneath the waist strap so it doesn’t drag on the floor—and at
one point, even waves her knife around (Jungkook quickly grabs her wrist at that, and Hoseok is
halfway to the floor in a fit of laughter).

Through all the cooking and the cleaning and the prep and the plating of meals, Yoongi is right
there, watching on, gazing at Jimin at the unspoken act between them. Jimin by no means regrets
kissing his cheek, but if he knew that he’d be getting this much attention from it, he might have
opted out of doing so. Not that the attention is bad attention, but it’s embarrassing, and Jimin feels
squeamish and awkward and doesn’t quite know where to divert his eyes.

Hoseok notices the behaviour, shoving him with his elbow. “What’s with you and Yoongi?”

Jimin shrugs, but maybe he overdoes it, because Hoseok snorts, disbelieving. “Yeah, okay. What’s
with the blushing and the staring?”

Jimin doesn’t comment, and then Hoseok gasps. “Wait! You went to the zoo today, right? Ooh,
Jimin, what did you do?”

Jimin is about to smack him when Yoongi yells at him from across the room, “Hoseok? Where the
bloody hell are my scallops?”

Hoseok straightens out his back, “coming, Yoongi!”

Yoongi scoffs, “that’s Chef to you.”

Just to tease, Jimin grabs the other batch of cleaned clams, and places them on the bench near the
head chef. “Here are the other clams, Yoongi.”

He can hear Yoongi snicker under his breath, and Maddy watches on curiously on the bench beside
him. Hoseok grunts and throws his fry pan a little harder than necessary when he watches Yoongi
not comment on Jimin’s use of his first name, and Jimin can’t help but laugh aloud at this now. He
ignores the puff of flour that Hoseok throws at him in favour of smiling at Yoongi instead.

One day, just as dinner is about ready, Maddy runs into the kitchen with a sheet of paper in her
hand. She’d been drawing at the table again, and she’s really improving. Taehyung had even drawn
out a few instruction sheets on how to draw faces and hands and bodies, and she had been drawing
over and over and over again trying to get it perfect. The fridge was overflowing with drawings, as
was the fridge at work, but Jimin accepted every single one with honest adoration.

“Jimin! I drew us,” she says, shoving the paper up at him. He dries his hands before taking it with
a smile. In less than a second, the smile is gone. It’s nothing elaborate, just a drawing of what he
realises is their couch, with two people sitting on it.

On the left, it’s clearly her—the person has long hair, in two braids, and a large smile. She’s
wearing a sweater, too, with the letter M on the front in pink. Jimin quickly deduces the M is for
her name.

Beside her, as she had said, was him. His hair was black and a little curly, just like it is after his
showers, and he’s got an—unnaturally long—arm around her shoulder. He’s smiling big, too, and
ears a little large off the side of his head but the resemblance is a little uncanny. That’s not what
makes him stop smiling, though. What makes him stop smiling is that on his sweater there’s no J,
but rather a D.

“Baby,” he asks, “what’s this for?” He points to the foreign letter.

“The D?” She asks, eyes confused when he nods. “It stands for Daddy!”

Jimin has to swallow dryly a few times to get his voice out. His ears are ringing and his palms
sweaty where they’re touching the paper.

“I-I thought this was you and me?”

She cocks her head to the side, still just as confused as earlier, but then something seems to
register. She wraps an arm around his thigh, resting her head against his jeans. “It is,” she
mumbles, sounding shy.

Jimin squeezes her shoulder, urging her to continue.

“When Daddy—real Daddy, the one in heaven—was alive he told me to treat you like I treat him. I
know you’re not my realest Daddy, but you’re the Daddy I’ve got now.”

She looks up at him, and if she notices him crying, she doesn’t comment. “Is that okay?”

He doesn’t reply at first, just sinks down onto the kitchen tiles and forces her into his arms. The
hug is tight, more so because of his grip then hers, but she sinks into it the way she always does,
her face tickling his neck.

He lets out a sob into her shoulder, “that’s okay, baby. Of course, it’s okay.” Later, when they’re
tummies are full of food and Maddy’s half asleep on the couch, she snuggles deeper into his neck.

“Good night Daddy,” she mumbles, “love you.” Jimin’s eyes prick again at the words, but he
pushes the tears back.

“I love you, too. More than anything.”

When she’s asleep, he carries her to bed. He tucks her in like he always does, combing out her hair
gently as not to wake her. When he sinks back onto the couch, he can’t help but recall the words of
his mother in the hospital after Jihyun and Hannah died. She never really got the chance to get her
words out before Jimin stopped her, but the intentions were all there.

Jimin had denied it, believing there was no chance it would happen—but here it was, happening,
just as his mother had said it would. It’s not that Maddy had forgotten her parents—she made that
clear tonight when she spoke about them—but she seemed to be at a point, not six months later,
where she knew Jimin was there to help, not replace. Something about that must have made it all
click into place for her. Jimin imagines it would be all very confusing for so young of a person; it’s
confusing enough for him at his age, he doesn’t want to know what it’s all like in her head.

He stares at the photo of Jihyun and Hannah on the shelves near the TV, holding a much-smaller
Maddy in their arms. Then, to the side of it, is the drawing of him and Maddy she’d shown him just
earlier. Beside that is Maddy’s card from Yoongi, the drawing facing outwards proudly. All these
little things combined made up Jimin’s small world, his family, and that thought alone drifted with
him to sleep.

Jimin was sure the most embarrassing moment of his life was in high school, when he tripped
down the stairs and ripped his pants. So many people had seen it happen, too, even got photos of
his exposed underwear. He thought he would never get over that, and even years on, the thought of
that happening to him made him shiver and cringe.

But that had nothing on this.

Maddy was swinging her legs underneath the bench where she was sitting, and the kitchen was
fairly calm for a Sunday at six pm. Yoongi was busy deboning some more fish after selling out,
and Jimin was there with him, deboning another. The head chef had started to trust him with more
and more harder jobs, and Jimin couldn’t be prouder. He recently got a haircut, too, cutting it away
from ears and dying it fully blonde again. It felt nice to be groomed.

He was usually fairly onto it, but everything with Maddy and Jihyun and Hannah made it feel
almost like an impossible task. Even Yoongi had told him that it looked nice, which only caused
him to turn a bright, dangerous shade of red.

“Mr Yoongi?” He hums, but doesn’t look up from the fish.

“If Daddy says yes, can I please call you uncle instead?” Yoongi drops the tweezers he was using
to debone the fish, and stares at her with both his eyes and mouth wide open.

“D-daddy?” He asks, voice small and shaky.

Hoseok, on the other side of the room, turns off one of the overheat vents to hear. “W-Who’s
Daddy?”

Jimin squeezes his face into a look of discomfort, knowing exactly where this is headed. There’s a
gasp, and Jimin looks up to see Maddy pointing at him. Yoongi’s eys are on him too, bewildered,
and he can feel Hoseok and Jungkook burning holes into the back of his head.

“Daddy!” Maddy squeals, waving her hands in Jimin’s direction now. Yoongi’s quiet for a
moment, ignoring the snort coming from behind them—Hoseok, the bastard—and just watches
Jimin softly.

Then, he smiles, turning back to Maddy. “If your Daddy says yes, then I don’t see why not.”

Maddy clutches her hands together pleadingly, eyes wide and lips wobbly. “Please,
Daddy! Please!”

Jimin sighs, dropping his own tweezers. He shakes his head to no one in particular—maybe to
Jihyun and Hannah for spoiling her so much—and snorts to himself. “You’ll do it even if I say no.”

Maddy knows Jimin. She knows that this means yes, of course, so she squeals and jumps around on
the tiles excitedly. She clutches at uncle Yoongi’s jeans, chanting the name over and over again
until Yoongi has to shush her as she gets a little too loud. The embarrassing part, however, doesn’t
come until they’re plating up the last desserts of the night.

“Uncle Yoongi?” The name sounds foreign in the air, and every time she says it, Jimin sees the
way the blush on Yoongi’s cheeks darkens.

“Yes, missy?”

She’s quiet for a little, and when she makes eye contact with Jimin, he can see the mischievous
look in her eyes. He tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing in warning, but she looks away
quickly.

“Uncle Yoongi, do you have a crush on my Daddy?”

Behind him, someone starts laughing—Jungkook, Jimin thinks—and Yoongi is suddenly choking
on air.
“See, Daddy only gets crushes on boys, not girls, and I need another Daddy, so—”

“No! Nope, no more, that’s it,” Jimin says, quickly grabbing Maddy from the bench despite her
protests.

“Time out, Madeline,” he adds sternly, ignoring her little fists thumping at his back. He doesn’t
hesitate to take her into Yoongi’s office, plopping her gently on the arm chair.

He hands her his phone, “play some games for a while, okay? We’ll go home soon.” Jimin goes
back to the kitchen, reluctantly, and tries to shut out Hoseok and Jungkook’s chortling.

Beside him, Yoongi remains quiet for the rest of service. Jimin is so embarrassed he actually wants
to throw himself into the ovens, but then that’d be an awful mess, so.

When everyone else clears out that night, it’s just Jimin and Yoongi left.

“You don’t have to help, you know. You can head off,” Jimin explains, breaking the silence.
Although awkward, it’s not uncomfortable between them. Jimin doesn’t know how he ever found
their time together uncomfortable, but I guess that’s what happens when you get to know someone.

“I know,” Yoongi looks over at him with a smile. “I want to stay.”

Jimin snorts, “you want to help me with these dishes, too?” He asks cheekily, lifting his gloved-
hands from the sink.

He’s partway through staking the dishwasher, but the bigger pots and pans don’t quite fit, so he’s
doing those by hand. Yoongi chuckles, but doesn’t say no. Neither of them had mentioned what
Maddy had said—who’s now asleep in the office, much to Jimin’s relief—but it’s sitting in the air,
scalding hot. Yoongi disappears into the pantry for a while as Jimin gets back to work. His hips are
pressed against the bench, leaning over the basin, scrubbing at a pot, when he feels Yoongi’s
presence behind him.

He’s extremely close, close enough for Jimin’s breath to get caught in his throat with a little
squeak, almost a hiccup. His back is against the length of Yoongi’s chest, and the elder man’s
hands are suddenly moving along his sides. One stops on his waist, just below the tie of his apron,
whilst the other reaches forward, taking the now-clean pot from his hands. He sits it on the drying
rack to the side, not bothering to rinse off the soap suds, before turning the tap to add more hot
water.

Yoongi doesn’t move from where he’s standing right behind him, and Jimin doesn’t dare make a
noise. He’s feeling rather blue in the face, so he gasps in a lung full of air when he feels a nose in
his hair. Yoongi runs his nose across the top of his head gently, can feel him inhale, can hear the
gasp he lets out. The hand on his waist tightens.

“You smell,” he mumbles, “so good.”

Jimin’s red in the face, but when is he not around Yoongi, and his hands grip the edge of the sink
to steady himself. His legs are feeling like jelly, and he doesn’t even know what Yoongi’s doing.

They’ve never touched like this—hell, even when Jimin kissed Yoongi’s cheek it was nothing like
this. Yoongi’s hand reaches out to turn the tap off again, and the room is silent once more. He feels
his lips drag across his hair now, too, and another rough inhale. The hand on his hip tightens, then
loosens, but doesn’t drop away from him.
“The pan next,” he whispers, and Jimin doesn’t register what he’s saying as those same lips in his
hair drop now to the nape of his neck. He feels Yoongi hum against him, followed by the softest of
kisses against his exposed skin.

Jimin snaps out of it when Yoongi repeats himself, hands reaching out shakily to drop the pan into
the sudsy water. He cleans it slowly, and honestly, he cleans it poorly. The feeling of lips pressing
delicate kisses to the back of his neck is enough to lull him into some half-asleep state, where his
eyes slip half closed and he sways on his feet. He gasps loudly when the lips travel eastward,
kissing just below his right ear.

Those same lips tug upwards into a smirk, and they press another kiss there, more pressure this
time, and a little bit open-mouthed. He’ll no doubt have to clean all these dishes again tomorrow,
but right now he couldn’t care less, not when Yoongi’s free hand reaches up to cradle the side of
his neck, pushing it to the side so he has better access to his sensitive skin.

He’s about to tug down the collar of his t-shirt when the door to Yoongi’s office slams open.
Yoongi doesn’t step away immediately, not registering what has happened, but when he sees
what’s happened he presses one last kiss to his neck—wet yet chaste—and removes himself from
Jimin’s space. He’s immediately left cold at the elder’s absence, who returns to the other side of
the kitchen bench, wiping down the already-clean surface.

Maddy walks into the kitchen rubbing a small fist against her eye. “Daddy, when can we go
home?”

“In a min—”

“Course you can, monkey,” Yoongi suddenly buts in, cutting off what Jimin was about to say. He
holds his gloved hands up, indicating to the small pile of dishes.

“I still have…” Yoongi holds up his hand to stop him.

“We can do them tomorrow. You should go home, it’s late, and she looks exhausted.”

There’s no mention of what just happened between them, and no indication aside from their equally
flushed cheeks. Jimin nods, not trusting him voice enough to put up a fight, and removes the
gloves. He drains the sink and tidies the dirty stack, before grabbing his bag and coat and hoisting
Maddy onto his hip.

He struggles with the lot, trying to fetch his keys from his bag when suddenly Maddy is lifted from
his arms. He gasps, shocked, but he calms down when he sees Yoongi. Jimin quickly finds his eyes
and unlocks the doors, letting Yoongi buckle her up into the back seat. When the door closes, she
presses her head against the window, eyes immediately falling shut.

Yoongi doesn’t make a move to leave, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, and eyes
never once leaving his. Jimin shakes under the intensity of his stare, and he wants to say
something, but he’s not sure what. Yoongi must feel the same, because he opens his mouth, but
then shuts it before anything comes out.

“I,” Jimin starts, then stops. He swallows, and Yoongi is watching him curiously, as though he’s
jealous of Jimin’s bravery to go first.

“What happened in the kitchen—” Jimin stops when Yoongi throws his head back, making a
pained sound.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It won’t happen
again.” Jimin deflates, then smirks when he sees Yoongi cursing to himself under his breath.

“Please, don’t.”

Yoongi sinks, nods, “I’ll control myself. I won’t do it again.”

Jimin shakes his head, and steps closer to him, so that their noses are nearly touching. “No, that’s
not what I meant,” he whispered, watching until Yoongi’s eyes lifted to meet his.

They were so dark and brown in this lighting, but still so warm. “I mean, please don’t say sorry for
that.” He pauses, trying to see if Yoongi understands, before he continues. “I don’t want you to
stop,” he whispers, and he isn’t sure where he got the guts to say it, but before he knows it, Yoongi
has him pressed into the back of his car.

He hopes Maddy is asleep, or he’ll be getting teased immensely for this later. Jimin isn’t breathing
—Yoongi has him pressed up against his car, noses touching, breath on each other’s lips. He
fantasised about this for so many months, and it was finally coming true. He only had to shift
forward an inch and their lips would be touching, and the world around them would be exploding,
and Jimin’s sure he wouldn’t even notice.

Yoongi must be thinking the same thing, because he, too, is gasping, but before Jimin can close the
distance between them, Yoong is doing it first—just, not in the way Jimin wanted. Yoongi’s lips
meet his cheek in the gentlest of touches. Jimin’s eyes, which he hadn’t realised had closed, fly
open—and all the breath comes rushing out of him. Although it wasn’t where he wanted, and he
can’t deny the disappointment flooding his veins, he’s relieved all the same.

His body is suddenly on fire, resonating from his cheek, where Yoongi then presses another kiss,
and another, and the fourth on the very tip of his nose. His eyes do linger on his lips, and Jimin
thinks he’s going to get kissed after all, before he’s stepping away. Jimin doesn’t let him go far,
though, and grabs at his hands to hold him near. Yoongi leans forward again, pressing a kiss to his
hairline, and inhaling his scent again.

He turns his head slightly, so his lips are near his eyebrows, and he mutters, “I want you to know,
that if she weren’t awake watching us, I’d be kissing the shit out of you right now.”

Jimin stiffens at his words, not fully registering them until he yanks his head away and looks
through the back windscreen. Maddy is up on her knees watching, huge smile across her face.
When she gets caught she ducks back down, but her eyes peer up again a few seconds later. Jimin
waves, eyebrows raised, giving her an unimpressed look. Yoongi snickers against his forehead
when Maddy waves back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Yoongi mumbles, taking another deep breath before stepping away. He
takes another step back, smiling softly at him until Jimin reluctantly has to drop their hands.
Yoongi retreats back to the doorway of the restaurant, watching as Jimin gets inside the car,
shushing Maddy’s excited squeals.

Jimin watches Yoongi the entire way he pulls out of the parking space, and only when Jimin gets
to the lights to the lights at the end of street does Yoongi turn and head back inside. Jimin’s red
cheeked all the way home, but not for the first time, he wishes none of this had ever happened.

Now that there’s this unspoken understanding between them, Jimin can’t help but notice how the
two of them never get any time alone together. They’re either at work, where they’re surrounded
by their friends and co-workers, or at Jimin’s apartment, where there’s Maddy. Unfortunately for
them, it doesn’t matter if they go to Yoongi’s place, because Maddy will still be there.

Jimin thinks more and more about getting a babysitter, but then smacks himself at the only reason
for him wanting one is so he can finally kiss Yoongi in peace. If he’s honest, he doesn’t really
know where it all came from. He supposes, to some extent, that everything that had happened was
just building towards this. By no means is he complaining—God no, a hot man with a great
personality wants to, quote, kiss the shit out of him—but he’s mildly confused by it all. And by
mildly, he doesn’t mean mild at all—he means massively confused and completely uncertain of
what lies ahead. But even more so now, when he can’t get a proper read on Yoongi.

He’s the same as he’s always been lately: smiling fondly over at him, playing with Maddy, getting
up in his personal space, and walking him to his car. It confuses Jimin, because he’s no different
now, so does he even want to kiss him, or was it a spur of the moment thing?

Days pass with thoughts like this, and it’s eating Jimin alive, so he calls an emergency meeting at
his apartment after work one evening. Jin and Hoseok curl up with Jimin on the couch, while
Taehyung and Jungkook sit on the floor with Maddy. She’s not really paying attention to what
they’re talking about, opting to talk to Taehyung instead, and watch him draw with her.

“Okay,” Jimin starts, chugging the rest of his wine before grabbing the bottle from the coffee table.
Jin snorts, but holds his glass out for more, too. “As you are all aware, I have feelings for Min
Yoongi.”

Jungkook and Hoseok both claps jokingly, momentarily drawing Maddy’s attention before she’s
bored again. “Yes, yes, I know, the confession was a long time coming. But that’s not why I called
you here.”

Hoseok urges him on with his hand, and Jimin closes his eyes. “Yoongi kissed me.”

There’s uproar, even from Taehyung, and they’re all talking at once until Jimin is clapping his
hands loudly above his head. Miraculously, it works, and everyone settles somewhat.

“Okay, wait, I lied. Sort of. Kinda?”

Jungkook huffs a laugh, “did he kiss you or not?”

Jimin narrows his eyes at him, but turns away to an eager Jin. “He kissed my neck. Several times,
actually, and also my cheek. Then he said—quote—that if Maddy weren’t watching us, he’d be
‘kissing the shit’ out of me.”

Silence follows, and Maddy just giggles into her hand at the memory.

Hoseok then wraps his arms around his body, “damn, Yoongi. I want him to kiss the shit
outta me now, oof.”

Taehyung and Jungkook laugh, while Jimin just buries his red face in his hands. “Guys, this is
serious.”

Jin stops giggling and holds Jimin’s wrist. “What is it you’re asking Jimin? Because it seems to me
there’s nothing wrong.”

Jimin deflates. “That’s the thing. Ever since then, he’s just behaving like he normally has.”

“Which is what?”
Jimin shrugs, “I don’t know. The usual.”

Jungkook hums, mock-serious. “So, staring at you intensely, imagining you naked, living in a
cottage by a lake, with your three kids and nine varieties of animals for pets?”

Hoseok reaches down for a high five, which Jungkook happily returns. Taehyung is leaning into
Jungkook’s side as Maddy is falling asleep as she’s scribbling away on some paper. Mindlessly,
Jimin drapes the blanket on the back of couch over her body. Jimin is blushing from Jungkook’s
comment, but doesn’t go to deny it or say anything otherwise.

Jin speaks again, “Jimin, I don’t think I fully understand. What, you think Yoongi suddenly
doesn’t want to kiss you?”

Again, Jimin shrugs. “Well, clearly not. He’s made no move since.”

Hoseok speaks now, “yeah, but that’s nothing new. It’s been that way since the first day you
started.”

Jimin cocks his head to the side when the rest of them hum in agreement. “What do you mean?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, sipping at his wine. “He treats you no differently now to how he did back
when you first started. I mean, yeah, okay, he talks to you a bit more, but that’s because of Maddy,
I’m sure. The looks, the stares, the way he’s always been soft for you? That much is the same.”

Jimin draws his head back, confused when the others agree with him. “What? No. He…
he hated me.”

Jin guffaws at that, then slaps his hand over his mouth when Jungkook points to Maddy’s sleeping
form. “He did not hate you, I would not worry about that, Jimin.”

“Jimin? Why don’t you just, I don’t know, ask him on a date? It’s not like he’s going to say no.”
Jungkook giggles at Taehyung words, preening under the attention when he gets a kiss on the
forehead. Jimin decides Jungkook looks his best when his cheeks are a delicate shade of pink, and
when Taehyung’s holding his hand.

“I can’t do that.”

“And why not?”

Jimin sighs, and looks down at Maddy. He hates to blame her for anything, especially this, which
is something she most definitely can’t control, but he doesn’t know what else to do. “Jimin, just
take her with you.”

“Jin, no. That defeats the purpose. Jimin can’t get any dick if she’s there.”

“Jin, oh my god you can’t just say it like that.”

“What, how am I supposed to say it? Jimin can’t make love to Yoongi if she’s there?”

Silence stretches out around the room, and Jimin swears his face has never been this pink before.

He snatches a cushion off the couch in time to Jin’s, “oh my god, really?”

He shoves his face down into the material to hide his face, and there’s screeching and murmurs of
“oh my god, oh my god” and “that’s so cute oh my god” and “holy fuck, Yoongi is one lucky bitch!”
Jimin doesn’t lift his head until there’s tiny hands petting at his head, “Daddy? What’s wrong?”

Then, away from him, “did you make my Daddy cry?” Her voice is angry, but it’s cute, and Jimin
lifts his head from the cushion.

He reaches out to his girl, yanking her up from the floor and onto his lap. “Daddy’s fine, baby. Just
being silly.”

She brushes her hair out her eyes.

“Do you want to have a bath and go to bed?”

She nods, jutting out her bottom lip. “Okay, baby, let’s go.”

He’s halfway through her bath when Taehyung slinks into the room. He sits on the floor beside
Jimin, and they smile at each other before turning to watch her play with her toys. She’s got a
pirate ship and a transformer toy, and the story that’s unfolding doesn’t make a lick of sense, but
it’s endearing nonetheless.

Eventually Taehyung dips his hand into the water, grabbing a stray rubber duck, before turning to
Jimin. “I’m about to use this duck as a metaphor and you’re not allowed to get angry at me for it,
okay?”

Jimin jerks his head back, surprised, but he nods. Truthfully, he and Taehyung aren’t all that close,
they’ve never had any heart-to-heart, but he likes him all the same because they manage to never
make it feel tense or awkward.

“This rubber duck is you.” Taehyung squeezes it a little, so the plastic duck quacks. Jimin narrows
his eyes suspiciously at his friend.

“You, being this duck, have a purpose.” He points to the water. “You’re a bath toy.”

Jimin nods once, trying to understand, and not sure if he should be offended at this point.

“Bear with me. You’re a rubber bath toy, and your original purpose is to be played with in the bath,
right? But, just because that’s what you’re originally told you have to do, doesn’t mean that’s all
you get to be. Not all rubber ducks end up in the bath. Not all rubber ducks are toys. Do you get
what I’m trying to say?”

Jimin stares at the rubber duck for a minute, before turning to look at Taehyung’s face. His eyes
are soft and gentle, and his skin a golden brown. Jimin’s confused. “You’re saying…I don’t have
to be her Dad?”

Taehyung lowers the duck, shaking his head. “Kind of. I mean, just because you are her Dad,
doesn’t mean you can’t still be Park Jimin.”

Taehyung pops the duck on the edge of bath, before getting up and leaving the room. Jimin lets
Maddy soak for another few minutes before he’s draining the tub and wrapping her up in a towel.
After she’s dressed and done her teeth, he goes to tuck her into bed—but not before shoving the
rubber duck into the back pocket of his trousers.

The first time Jimin gets yelled at in the kitchen—really yelled at—it’s over a mistake that isn’t
even a mistake. As per usual, Jimin’s left in charge of the clams. Cleaning them, soaking them,
preparing them for service. It’s routine by now, and Yoongi barely needs to tell him in the
mornings anymore. He just knows, that if clams are on the menu, it’s up to Jimin to get them
ready.

For the entire time Jimin has been in charge of cleaning the clams, never once has there been a
complaint—neither from Yoongi himself, or any of their patrons. One night, however, when it’s
getting closer and closer to Christmas and things are getting hectic in the kitchen, a waiter slips into
the room asking for Jimin.

He’s new—Jimin’s never seen him before, and his uniform is so pristine that there’s no way he’s
been here more than a week. That being said, he doesn’t look all that nervous. When Jimin first
started, he was a fumbling, mumbling mess, and barely made eye contact with anyone until he
finally felt confident enough in his duties to relax and let his walls down.

This waiter, however, doesn’t seem to have that problem: he stands there confidently with his
hands on his hips, glaring daggers into the side of Jimin’s face. “Park Jimin?”

The waiter calls again, and Jimin shuts off the tap. “Yes?” He responds, drying his hand on the
cloth thrown over his shoulder. He walks closer to the pass, as to hear the waiter better over the
vents.

The waiter huffs, cheeks red, though not from embarrassment. “You’re in charge of the clams,
right?”

“Uh,” Jimin starts, then shrugs. “I don’t cook them, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Rolling his eyes, the waiter steps closer to the bench. “No, it’s not what I’m asking. What
I’m asking is if you cleaned them.”

Jimin cocks his head to the side in confusion, “yeah?”

He can see in his periphery that Jungkook and Hoseok are watching attentively as they work, and
behind him he can feel a familiar presence. The smell of peppermint fills his senses even in the
cramped space full of other scents, and it washes over him in comforting waves.

The waiter groans, dropping his head into his hands before jerking back upright. “For fucks sake,
who gave the kitchen hand such an important job?” J

imin draws his head back, startled at the suddenly vulgarity spat in his face. “E-excuse me?” In the
next moment, Yoongi’s hand is resting on the small of his back, and even through his apron and t-
shirt he can feel the resonating heat.

“You’re a kitchen hand, not a chef? Aren’t you supposed to just, I don’t know, scrub pans, and
shit?”

Jimin whimpers, and Yoongi moves forwards, his body covering half of Jimin’s own in a
protective stance. Then, suddenly, the waiter begins to yell. It’s not a yell that Yoongi would often
let out, either, which was loud enough for everyone to startle but never enough that patrons out
front could hear what he was saying.

This yelling, however, wasn’t like Yoongi’s at all: this yelling was spat across the bench at Jimin
with full intentions to hurt and offend, and was so loud that Jimin didn’t doubt every word was
being heard out front. That thought alone was enough to make him whimper again, curling his face
into Yoongi’s back out of fear, but mostly embarrassment, and his hands gripped onto the soft
material of his uniform. The waiter was blaming Jimin for a patron’s complaint about the clams
being ‘too salty’, stating that clearly, he hadn’t soaked them properly or for long enough, and that
he’d have to redo the process. He’s about to start up a new round of slandering when Yoongi’s fist
is colliding with the benchtop. Jimin flinches against his back.

“Who, the fuck do you think you are?” His voice is low, deep, loud enough only for the people in
the kitchen to hear.

The waiter snorts, “I’m Minhyuk.”

Yoongi snorts back, one arm looped around his body to hold onto Jimin’s waist, and the other still
sitting on the counter, clenched in a fist. On his other side, Jungkook has pushed his pan aside, and
was forcefully drying his hands with his cloth.

“Well, Minhyuk, don’t you fucking dare talk to my workers like that.”

As though it were a contest, the waiter—Minhyuk—crosses his arms across his chest and
snorts again. “What is he, your whore?”

The word is like a slap across the face, and Jimin curls in on himself, retracting his hands from
their grip on Yoongi. He hears Hoseok curse under his breathe, followed by sudden, brisk
movements. Yoongi is throwing himself over the pass, and Hoseok and Jungkook are not far
behind. Jimin’s left cold and standing alone in the kitchen as Yoongi grabs the waiter by the wrists
and shoves him into the wall, Jungkook already holding his shoulders back.

Minhyuk spits more curses while Hoseok disappears into the front, returning seconds later with a
confused Jin. He takes one look at the scene in front of him before his eyes widen, albeit without
amusement this time.

“Yoongi? What’s going on?” Yoongi goes to speak, but the waiter is spitting on the floor in Jimin’s
direction. Jungkook clamps his hands down harder on his shoulder, and Minhyuk winces.

“Yoongi?” Jin asks again, getting impatient. Jimin rounds the kitchen slowly, eyes on Minhyuk the
entire time, watching the way a sick smirk finds home against his lips.

“He—” Yoongi starts, but stops, hands shaking where they hold Minhyuk’s wrists to the wall. “Get
this filth off the premises, Jin.”

Jin shakes his head, “not until you tell me what happened.” Yoongi groans, throwing a look over
his shoulder to where Jimin was once standing. His eyes panic briefly when he finds the spot
vacant, but then they calm instantly the second Jimin curls a hand around his bicep.

It’s Hoseok that eventually explains, “he barged in here and started yelling at Jimin,” he explains,
pointing to the general direction of the sink. “Blames him for a customer’s complaint about the
clams being too salty, even though there have been no other complaints, ever.”

Jin is staring at the waiter in disbelief. “Minhyuk, is this true? You only started two days ago?”
Yoongi grunts where he’s holding the young waiter against the wall, and even Jimin will admit
he’s angry at the cocky smirk Minhyuk bears.

Yoongi grunts again, “Jin, he called him a whore.”

Jin’s look of confusion contorts quickly into one of pure disgust. Jimin feels himself gag at the
thought of being called such a detesting word, and watches the way Jin steps closer to the waiter.
He yanks the name badge straight from the uniform, tearing a hole in his shirt.
Jin looks uncaring, voice like ice, eyes even colder, when he speaks to him. “Get the hell out of my
restaurant.”

Jungkook releases his hold immediately, but Yoongi doesn’t: he keeps his grip firm and strong on
his wrists. Minhyuk tugs, trying to free himself, but Yoongi doesn’t relent.

“Yoongi, let him go,” Jin says, voice commanding, but understanding.

Yoongi wavers, but he doesn’t drop his hold until Jimin is pressing up behind him, wrapping his
arms around his waist to rest on his chest. “Come on, Yoongi,” Jimin mumbles, tugging him
backwards, closer to his chest.

When Yoongi’s back is flush against him, only then does Yoongi drop his hold on the waiter.
Minhyuk scoffs into the room, curses under his breath, and leaves the kitchens. Jin throws Jimin a
sympathetic look before he’s following the waiter out, no doubt ensuring he doesn’t cause a scene
on his departure. Yoongi is still tense in his hold, and Jimin can feel the way his chest heaves in
anger, but he’s starting relax beneath his fingers.

“Yoongi,” Jimin mumbles, tightening his arms around the elder’s waist. He’s the perfect height for
Jimin to rest his cheek against the back of his shoulder, but he refrains himself from doing so.

“C’mon, I’m okay.”

Yoongi twitches, and lifts a hand so it rests over Jimin’s. Breath catching in his throat, Jimin can’t
help but release a tiny whimper. It’s quiet enough that no one else catches it, but Yoongi most
definitely does, if the way he tightens his grip on Jimin’s hand is anything to go by.

“Let’s get some fresh air, okay?”

Yoongi lets Jimin tug him along, over to the back door and out into the night. It’s cold outside,
given the season, but Yoongi seems to fired up to notice. He pulls away from Jimin’s touch
altogether, and the younger flinches. Yoongi kicks at a stray trash can, chest huffing as he watches
it fall down and roll slightly. Jimin whimpers again, his heart crushing at the chef’s behaviour.

“Yoongi,” he starts, but Yoongi cuts him off.

“I should kill him.” Jimin stares at him, ludicrous, before snorting. Yoongi snaps his head to him,
bewildered by the noise.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Jimin explains, stepping forwards and closing the distance between them.

Before he can think better of it, Jimin straightens out Yoongi’s rumpled uniform, and flicks away
imaginary pieces of fluff and lint. Beneath his hands, Yoongi is warm and loose, and if he were to
lift his eyes just the tiniest bit, he’d be able to see the way Yoongi’s own eyes burn into his face.
He doesn’t need to, though, for he can feel the elder watching him like this. When he tries to drag
his hands away, Yoongi is quick to snatch them up in his own, holding them to his shoulders.
Silence unfolds between them, until Yoongi is sighing, long and deep, in the back of his throat.

“You of all people shouldn’t have to hear that.” Yoongi leans forward a little, so that he can rest his
nose against the side of Jimin’s forehead. He inhales there, letting out a refreshed sigh at the smell
of Jimin’s strawberry scented shampoo. Jimin smiles, small and soft in his eyes.

“And you of all people shouldn’t get into fist fights in the kitchen.”

Yoongi huffs against his head, but he makes no sign of moving, so Jimin curls his hands back
further around Yoongi’s shoulders, linking around his neck. Only then does Yoongi release his
hands, before he settles them on Jimin’s hips.

“I haven’t felt that angry in a very long time,” he admits. Jimin hums into the exposed skin of his
neck, fingertips playing with the hair at his nape. “You-you’re not a…not a whore Jimin. You-
you’re absolutely wonderful.”

Jimin can’t help the overwhelming feeling of uninterrupted joy. Yoongi is so warm in his arms, and
his hands—strong and secure on his hips—don’t falter in their hold when Jimin starts to sway their
bodies.

“And,” he starts again before Jimin can say anything, “Maddy shouldn’t have to hear that either.”
Yoongi turns his head, pressing his lips to Jimin’s forehead in a feather-light kiss. Jimin presses up
on his tip toes, tuck his face deeper into the curve of Yoongi’s neck.

“She was asleep in your office, I don’t think she would have heard,” Jimin says it, but he doesn’t
believe it: he doesn’t doubt that she was woken up by the whole debacle, he just hopes she was too
drowsy to fully understand what was going on.

“Still,” Yoongi says, kissing his head again, over and over, never using too much pressure. “I’m
sorry that that happened to you. It’ll never happen again.”

Boldly, Jimin lets his lips drag across the skin of Yoongi’s neck, just below his ear. “Yeah? You
gonna’ protect me?”

Yoongi hums, making his next kiss firmer against his hairline. “Always,” he says, then whispers,
“if you’ll let me.”

Jimin’s about to respond, ignoring the fact that he’s about to throw his heart up, when the back
door of the restaurant slams open. It’s like a scene of movie, being interrupted the way they were,
but Hoseok looks relatively frantic with the way he hovers in the doorway. Reluctantly, Jimin
presses one last kiss to Yoongi’s neck, before dragging himself out of the warm embrace. Much to
Jimin’s glee, Yoongi keeps one hand on his hip, twisting his body so that his back is pressed up the
length of Yoongi’s chest. They’re relatively the same height, something Jimin’s always noticed,
but where Jimin’s body is small and compact, Yoongi’s seems broad and enveloping. Jimin turns
bright red at the possessive nature, but he hopes the night sky and dim lighting covers it up or else
Hoseok is going to have a field day.

He already seems to be, given the way his smile stretches halfway across his face, and his eyes are
lit up like festival lanterns. Jimin feels so overwhelmed and so full of affection that he can barely
register the kiss Yoongi is pressing to the back of his head, but the hairs sticking up on his arms act
as evidence.

“What do you want?” Yoongi mumbles, words muffled by the way his lips are still pressed to his
hair.

Involuntarily, Jimin leans back into Yoongi’s arms, earning a soft hum from the elder. It rumbles
through Yoongi’s chest and into Jimin’s own, who’s eyes flutter just the tiniest bit. He’s
embarrassed by the fact this is all happening in front of Hoseok—big mouth Hoseok, who’s
definitely going to tell everyone in the kitchen as soon as he goes back inside, Maddy included—
but he feels so satiated he can’t bring himself to fully care just yet.

“Jin wants to speak to you, about Minhyuk.”

“Ugh,” Yoongi gags, “don’t say that name around me anymore. The next person to say that name
is getting hit.”

Hoseok giggles, but nods and heads back indoors. When it closes behind him, Yoongi is
immediately tightening his arms around him.

“No, they won’t.”

Yoongi hums, “huh?”

Jimin smiles, holding onto the arm Yoongi’s still got on his hip. It’s rubbing circles into his skin
overtop of his shirt, and Jimin wants nothing more for there to be no material barrier between them,
but it’s winter and negative five outside, and it’s starting to show in the way his lips feel numb and
hands start to shake. The adrenaline has worn off, and he wants to go back inside despite how
much he’s loving this moment.

“You won’t be hitting anyone.”

It’s quiet—ambient amongst distant traffic sounds and laughter from nearby bars—but he sighs
after a while. “No, I won’t be.”

Jimin pats his hand, “good.”

They step away from each other when the shivering gets too intense, and Yoongi leads him back
indoors quickly, guiding him with a hand on his back, just above the curve of his backside. Jimin is
flushed from all the handsy attention, but he can’t bring himself to care when he’s met with cat
calls as they walk back inside. Just before they separate and go back to work, Jimin snatches
Yoongi’s hand in his own, forcing their eyes together.

“And for the record,” Jimin says. “You can protect me whenever you want.” He smirks as he backs
away from the chef, who appears frozen by the door, and can’t help the giggles that spill out into
the sink around him.

It's nearing midnight when there’s a knock on the door. Maddy’s in bed fast asleep, and Jimin’s
watch a rerun of Grey’s Anatomy with the volume turned low. He checks his watch with a frown,
shoving away the blanket covering his legs and heading to the door. When he checks the peep
hole, he makes a noise of surprise.

“Tae,” he greets, yanking the door open.

The younger smiles in greeting, “hey, you.” He barges into the apartment without so much else, a
plastic bag overflowing with plastic bottles in one hand, and faux Chanel bag in the other. He
drops it all onto the kitchen bench, before turning to Jimin and rubbing his palms together.

“Are you ready?”

Jimin eyes him warily. “For what?” Taehyung bounces on his feet, smile boxy in shape and his
eyes disappearing on his face.

“Dying your hair!” Jimin falters, gaze dropping from Taehyung’s face to the plastic bag on the
bench. At the mention of hair dye, Jimin now recognises the bottles as temporary hair colour, and
his gut clenches.
“Tae, no.”

“Tae, yes.” He grabs the bag and Jimin by the shoulders, directing him to the bathroom with a
surprising amount of strength.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep? You worked today!” Taehyung snorts, shoving Jimin onto the edge of
the bath.

“Shouldn’t you? You work every damn day, you working man. Now shut up and let me dye your
hair purple.”

“Purple!? No!”

Taehyung whines, “come on, you’ll look so cute!”

“Dye yours purple then!”

“Trust me, I tried,” he sighs wistfully, looking into the distance as though in some kind of low-
budget drama. “Jin said because I’m front of house I can’t have bright purple hair. But, since
you’re not front of house, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Thus, purple hair.” Taehyung
finishes his brief explanation with a blinding grin, as though what he’s suggesting isn’t ridiculous.

“Well,” Jimin starts, cocking his head to the side, voice mocking. “Actually, I can’t do whatever
the fuck I want, because I don’t want purple hair.”

Taehyung scoffs, “yeah, right. Everyone wants purple hair. Now, turn around, I need to rinse your
hair first.”

Jimin tried to remain strong—really, he did, but Taehyung had this magic about him that made it
impossible to deny him of anything he wanted. So, with a reluctant—albeit excited—sigh, Jimin
turns around on the tub, letting Taehyung dye his hair purple.

The minute Jimin delivers Yoongi his coffee and muffin the next morning, he understands why
Taehyung dyed his hair.

Maddy’s already sitting with Jin—who nearly lost his mind at how loud he got when seeing his
hair—half-asleep after having nightmares during the night, so Jimin heads to Yoongi’s office. He
knocks gently, entering a second or so later, and place the coffee and muffin on the corner.

Just as he’s about to leave, Yoongi lets out a gurgled, choking sound, like he’s tried to swallow his
own tongue. Jimin turns back to him, momentarily forgetting what had been done to his
appearance, when the elder snatches at his wrist and hauls him closer.

“P-purple,” he says, and it sounds like a question. Jimin smiles, remembering his hair, and nods.

“Taehyung’s doing,” he explains. He runs a hand through it—gentle, always gentle—and his smile
amplifies.

“Remind me to thank him at some point.”

For the next two weeks while the colour is at its most vibrant, Yoongi can’t seem to keep his eyes
—or hands—off of him. Not that Jimin minds; he’s starting to realise that he likes the attention
more than he thought, especially when the chef compliments him sweetly with pink cheeks and
shaky hands.

It happens a week before Christmas.

It’s nearing the end of the evening, and Jimin’s hands have been shaking for the past hour. For the
first time in a long while, Maddy is sitting up on the bench beside him for a change, rather than up
by Yoongi. He knows it’s not because she suddenly wants to be around Jimin more, but more that
despite her young age, she can tell he’s on the brink of crying. For those who celebrate it,
Christmas is a hard time of year no matter the circumstances.

This year, though, Jimin is finding it relentless. He’s got a Christmas tree up in the apartment and
fairy lights hanging in the window, but it’s all for Maddy’s sake, not his own. If he had his way, he
wouldn’t be celebrating at all, and he’d carry on through to new years as though nothing had ever
happened. Celebrating Christmas when your family has been broken to pieces is the last thing you
want to do; but Maddy was so excited when they walked past the Christmas decorations in the city,
and begged Jimin until they could deck out the apartment.

Being consumed by not only all the memories in the apartment—and that dreaded master bedroom,
which he still hasn’t renovated, refusing to strip away the paint and wallpaper in favour of
something he likes more—but also the decorations is a constant reminder of everything that he’s
lost. It’s painful, and Jin has decided to play Christmas songs over the speakers in the restaurant.
They’re not the cheesy, go-to classics, but rather renditions and classical covers as a means of
fitting the atmosphere of the restaurant, but it’s still enough to leave Jimin in a mess.

Hoseok and Jungkook have been constantly bickering back and forth about their Christmas Day
plans, and Jimin can’t help but feel incredibly left out. His mother was going to return, but he
pleaded her to decide against it—she had already spent so much money travelling, and she was
with Hannah’s family for the holiday season. They agreed on a long, video-chat session in her
absence, and so Jimin would be spending Christmas alone with Maddy.

Alone with Maddy, and without Jihyun, and without Hannah, and without any resemblance of his
former life. The song changes, and it’s a piano version of All I want for Christmas, and it’s ironic,
because all Jimin wants for Christmas is for it to not be Christmas—but he can’t have that, not with
the way that it’s literally most other people’s favourite time of year, spreading love and joy and
happiness, but not if you’re consumed by grief and misery, then it’s the worst time of year. He
feels devoid of colour and of life standing in front of the sink, and he can feel Yoongi casting him
concerned glances every few minutes.

Jimin gets it: he hadn’t been acting the same as usual the past few days. This flirty game the two of
them have got going on is fun and always makes him smile, makes him feel wanted, but tonight, he
hasn’t reciprocated any of Yoongi’s advances. At the start of the shift, Jimin just nodded when
Yoongi handed out the menu and the orders, but his deflating mood had just gotten worse as the
night progressed.

Halfway through the evening, Yoongi slid up behind him with both hands on his waist, lips
pressing a soft, little kiss to the back of his head. Where Jimin would normally melt into those
arms, he instead dragged himself out of them, muttering about dishes and a large workload and
patron demands. Jimin refused to meet Yoongi’s eyes, but could feel the disappointment and
concern rolling off of him in violent, worrisome waves, but he just had to ignore it. Ignore it in
favour of trying to contain his sanity; to make sure the very last shards of it didn’t slip through his
fingers and down the drain with the sudsy water.
“Daddy?” Jimin’s hands still where they’re stacking up the dishwasher, the last of the patrons
having left the restaurant. Hoseok and Jungkook are by the lockers grabbing their coats, and Jimin
hadn’t realised how lost in his head he’d become.

“Yeah, baby?”

She reaches out and grabs his chin between two tiny hands, forcing his head upwards to make eye
contact. Every day, she grows more and grow like her mum and dad—inquisitive, intellectual,
funny and wise. She’s only five, not even received an official education yet, but she’s the strongest
person Jimin’s ever met. The action alone makes his eyes water and his lips tremble, and he can
feel the last strings of strength snapping under the weight of her gaze.

“Daddy, together we’ll be okay.”

The way she says it springs in a foul taste of déjà vu in his mouth—one he recognises immediately
after. She had uttered the same words after Jihyun and Hannah died, and back then, he didn’t
believe her. He can feel his tears spill over when she leans forwards and gives him a kiss, and a
wrecked sob is forced out of his chest when she wraps her arms around his neck in a tight hug.

Immediately, his arms are around her small frame, lifting her off the bench and wrapping her legs
around his waist. His arms hold her back tightly, afraid she’ll disappear, but she holds him back
just as tight. He thinks he can feel tears on the side of his neck, too, where her face is buried, and
he realises that despite all of her excitement, this time of year must be hard for her, too.

And that’s when it happens.

That’s when he realises: Maddy doesn’t want to celebrate Christmas, either. The excitement, the
screaming about the tree, the begging of the lights, demanding to hang up wreaths and mistletoe
throughout the apartment—that wasn’t for her sake, she didn’t want that for her own enjoyment.
She did it because she thought it would cheer him up.

This only makes him cry harder, and he can feel himself sinking to his knees on the kitchen floor.
It’s dirty and wet but he doesn’t care, just clings to his little girl’s body in the hope that she’ll fix
all his worries—knows she can’t, but knows she’ll try.

And for now—for now—that’s enough to get him back up onto his feet; enough for him to wipe
his eyes and dry his tears on the back of his sleeve. It’s enough for him to wipe her eyes, too, and
enough for him to quickly finish cleaning up so they can both go home.

When everyone else is gone, and Jin hurries into the kitchen to kiss Maddy goodbye, Jimin finally
lets himself slip into Yoongi’s office. He sets Maddy down by the lockers, telling her he’ll only be
a minute, before tugging his arms through his coat. Inside, Yoongi’s doing the same, wrapping a
green, woollen scarf tightly around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin mumbles, causing Yoongi to startle. He whips around, hands dropping to his
sides.

“For what?”

Jimin shrugs, eyes dropping to the floor. “For tonight. I…wasn’t myself.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he steps closer, and Jimin is overwhelmed by his desire to touch
him. He misses the contact, and even though it’s only been a recent thing, he’s gone an entire night
without it. So, he stretches his hands out, holding onto Yoongi’s shoulders. He marvels at how big
they feel beneath his much-smaller hands, and Yoongi must sense his discomfort, because in the
next moment, he’s pulling him in for a hug. The surrounding warmth, and the affection being
pressed into his skin, makes the tears well up again.

He sobs into Yoongi’s shoulder, into his scarf-covered neck, and the material tickles but he doesn’t
move. He grabs at his shoulders tighter, hauling him even closer to his chest, scared he might
disappear.

“Yoongi?” The man hums, a soothing hand rubbing up and down his back, beneath his coat, but
atop of his shirt.

“Did you mean it?” He asks, voice a whisper.

Yoongi hums again, “mean what?” Jimin shivers as Yoongi runs his nose along his hairline.

“That you would protect me?” His voice is as small as a whisper, but the weight of his words
seems to collide into Yoongi’s chest with great force. The elder man doesn’t cry—no, not quite,
but they do water, and they glisten in the low light of his office.

“Of course, I did. I’ll always protect you.”

Jimin nods against his chest, whispering again, more so to the night than to Yoongi himself,
“now’s your chance.”

Jimin wakes up in Maddy’s bed with his shoes kicked off and a blanket tucked up around his face.
He can smell bacon, which is strange, because he clearly remembers not having any in the house.
He can also hear coffee brewing, which is equally as strange because Maddy isn’t tall enough to
reach the machine yet, and always talks about how gross it is when she steals a sip from Jimin’s
mug in the mornings. It’s all mushy in his head, and he can tell he’s slept for too long, but he
doesn’t open his eyes until he hears Maddy giggling.

Lurching forward off the bed into a sitting position, Jimin whips the blanket off from around his
legs to find himself in his clothes from last night. His hair feels greasy and his skin oily, and he’s
sure he looks like a right mess, but none of that matters as he hurries towards the sound of eggs and
bacon frying, and the coffee machine beeping in completion.

He wasn’t sure who—or what—he was expecting. His mother maybe, flying back for a surprise
Christmas visit after all; or Taehyung, who always manages to get Maddy to let him inside before
Jimin can process what’s happening; or even Jin, who has a copy of his key.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was Yoongi leaning over the stove, wearing Jimin’s floral
apron and Maddy sat on the bench beside him.

He’s saying something into her ear that makes her fall into another peel of giggles, and Jimin can’t
hear what’s being said, but Maddy looks at the chef as if he’s the best thing in the entire world. It’s
not an unfamiliar look—he’s seen in so many times in the restaurant—but this is different.

Yoongi isn’t wearing his uniform, and he’s in Jimin’s kitchen, not pina, and he’s plating up bacon
and eggs and hauling toast out of the toaster. The whole thing is so incredibly domestic—from the
way that Yoongi is humming to himself as he moves around the kitchen, oblivious to Jimin
standing in the doorway watching, to the way that he wipes the bench down as he goes.

Jimin blushes as he recalls their conversation last night, the memories flooding back to him as he
takes in the elder’s stance by the stove. Jimin was too upset to drive, so Yoongi drove Maddy and
him home. He doesn’t remember it all that clearly, because his head had been such a mess, but he
remember Yoongi walking him inside and settling him on the bed with Maddy. He had disappeared
before he could say thank you, and he assumed that the chef had gone home—but seeing him here
now, early enough in the morning, Jimin’s starting to think otherwise.

He peeks over his shoulder at the couch in the living room, where a spare blanket was folded
neatly on the end that hadn’t been there yesterday when Jimin left for work. His heart melts in his
chest, and when he turns back around, Yoongi is staring straight at him. He’s frozen by the stove
top which is thankfully turned off by the looks of it, and Yoongi is giving him the softest of smiles.
Maddy is swinging her legs off the benchtop, watching knowingly, the little brat, and resting her
head in her hands.

“You stayed,” Jimin says, and Yoongi flushes.

“Yeah, um. I hope you don’t mind. You asked me to stay last night.”

Jimin steps a little closer, shaking his head as he goes. “Of course not. I’m glad you’re still here.”

Yoongi swallows dryly, eyes wavering. “I made breakfast,” he says, as if Jimin didn’t already
know that.

“Thanks,” he says, and he means it, stepping forward almost shyly to take the outstretched plate.
He sits down at the table, and Yoongi sits to his left, and Maddy opposite the pair.

“Thank you, uncle Yoongi,” she says, and immediately digs in, paying no mind to the adults at the
table. Yoongi huffs a laugh, and they eat in silence for a few minutes.

“Thank you,” Jimin says, and even though he doesn’t lift his eyes away from his plate, he can feel
Yoongi looking at him. “For looking after me. After Maddy.”

Yoongi sets down his cutlery, turning in his seat. “You never have to thank me for that,” he
explains. “Just doing my job.”

“Your job? I thought you were a chef?” He teases.

Jimin isn’t stupid, he knows what Yoongi means and what the elder was insinuating, and he has to
sit his own cutlery down in order to stop them slipping through his fingers. Yoongi, red-faced and
avoiding eye contact, shrugs.

“Thank you for letting my look after you both,” he says later, changing the subject but making
Jimin giggle all the same.

He’s about to say something more when Maddy drops her cutlery to the table. “Finished! Can I go
play now?” Both Jimin and Yoongi look over at her, eyebrows shooting up at the smeared egg and
sauce across her face and pyjamas.

Jimin says, asking the universe for forgiveness, and shakes his head: “oh no, missy. Bath first, then
play.”

She goes to protest, but Yoongi is already standing and gathering their plates when Jimin gets an
idea. “If you’re lucky, maybe uncle Yoongi will come sit with us.”

At this, she claps her hands together excitedly, and Jimin doesn’t miss the way the chef stumbles a
little on his way to the kitchen with the plates. Jimin runs the bath, getting Maddy’s clothes for the
day ready, and adds enough bubble bath solution to keep her satisfied.
As the tub fill, Jimin heads back to the kitchen where Yoongi is washing the dishes up.
“You can leave those, you know? I’ll just do them later,” Jimin explains, trying to tug the elder
away from the sink.

“You do enough dishes already,” is all he says back, and Jimin heaves an over-dramatic sigh
before returning to the bath.

She’s five minutes into her bath when Yoongi slips in. He slinks to the floor beside Jimin, who’s
resting his head against the lip of the bath. Jimin watches as one of Yoongi’s hands dips around the
edge and into the warm water, smiling softly at the burst of bubbles.

Mindlessly, Yoongi plays along with Maddy’s elaborate storylines, and the husky drag of his voice
and Maddy’s giggles lulls him halfway back to sleep. He isn’t sure how long he slept for, but when
he comes to, the water is still warm and Yoongi’s got a hand carding through his hair. The chef’s
eyes are still on Maddy, and his left hand is still playing along with her dolls and robots, while the
other scratches comfortingly along his scalp.

He makes a noise close to a purr, making Yoongi’s attention fall back onto Jimin. He smiles as
Jimin stretches his legs out in front of him, groaning at the sensation, and can’t help but giggle
when Yoongi swallows dryly. Jimin can sense that the atmosphere is different; the tension between
them is stiff and constantly building, but this just takes the cake. He can’t take his eyes away from
Yoongi’s, which has something he can’t quite place simmering within them, but he does recognise
it. It’s the same expression he had when he pressed kisses to his neck in the kitchen, when he had
him pressed against the car, even at the zoo.

This time, however, something’s off—or not off, but different, and it isn’t until Yoongi’s hand has
slipped out of his hair to cup his cheek, that Jimin realises. In all other situations, the look in
Yoongi’s eyes had been lust. Now, their faces this close together, Jimin knows that this time
its adoration. Jimin feels adored. For the first time in his life, Jimin can feel the affection someone
else has for him, just by the look in their eyes.

Jimin thinks that this might be it, the moment he’s been waiting for, for so many months—but
Maddy’s right there, in the tub, and she isn’t as clueless as her age might suggest. But Yoongi is
inching closer, both his face and his body along the tiles, until they’re practically flush against each
other.

“Maddy,” Yoongi says suddenly, his breath washing over Jimin’s face. “I’m going to kiss your
Daddy, okay?”

Jimin’s voice hitches, and he can’t remember how to breathe. On his cheek, Yoongi’s hand
tightens, and his other hand slips out from the water and cups his other cheek. His skin is
immediately wet from the bath water, but it’s warm and sends a rush of tingles down his spine. He
shivers, but he isn’t cold. They’re impossibly close, noses brushing, and Jimin’s eyes have long-
shut on him, but Yoongi won’t kiss him—won’t press forward that centimetre or so more, because
he’s waiting.

Jimin knows he’s waiting, because he’s a gentleman like that. Yoongi’s waiting for Maddy’s
permission, to give him the go, and Jimin hopes she gives it to him soon because he doesn’t think
he can hold out much longer.

“Ugh,” she says, voice disgusted. “Okaaaaay, but only if I get kisses, too!”

And Jimin can feel Yoongi’s smirk, and he thinks about scolding Maddy for being so cheeky, but
then Yoongi’s closing the space between them, and suddenly nothing but this matters anymore.
Jimin falls into the kiss with a whimper, one that Yoongi returns eagerly. Jimin had imagined this
moment many times, the way that they’d share their first kiss. Long before Jihyun and Hannah’s
accident, the images he’d conjure up were rough and risqué and generally he’d be pressed up
against the wall of Yoongi’s office. After their accident, the kisses became sweeter, softer, more
languid. He imagined flowers and coffee shops and antique stores, kisses in doorways and alcoves
and at the art museum.

But this kiss—this kiss—is nothing he could have ever predicted.

Sitting on the bathroom floor, legs and arms wet from Maddy’s splashing, lips moving together
slow but deep to the soundtrack of Maddy’s giggling and squealing, movements a little uncertain
and unfamiliar and very unpractised, and Jimin can’t help but think it’s the most perfect kiss in the
entire world. His hands are cradling Yoongi’s chin, fingers gentle in the way they hold him, but
firm enough that he can’t move away just yet. Yoongi’s hands are tight around his waist, gripping
him, keeping his sturdy.

It’s a simple kiss, one that’s mindful of their audience, but also just enough to release the painful
surface layer of tension that’s been building between them for months. Yoongi’s nose is brushing
against his in the wave of their movements, and Jimin makes a noise in the back of his throat—
high in pitch and delicate all the same—and Yoongi swallows it up eagerly, a starving man finally
given his feed.

When they pull apart, they don’t go far. Yoongi’s nose still brushes against his, and he moves
forward again to press another kiss to his mouth, and then both cheeks and his nose and his mouth
once again, before he’s standing suddenly, and dragging Maddy up and out of the bath with him.

She’s squealing as Yoongi runs from the room, pressing big, wet kisses to her cheek—just as she
requested. Jimin watches them go, but chases them quickly with a towel, screaming about getting
the carpet wet. For the first time in a long time, Jimin is really fucking happy.

The master bedroom gets renovated a day after their kiss. It takes quite a few days to pack away all
the furniture and belongings before they can strip away the paint and wallpaper. Maddy helps out
where she can, but when she isn’t around, Yoongi will have Jimin pressed up against the wall
giving him sweet kisses.

The renovations take far longer than they should have for this very reason: they can’t keep their
hands off the other, and are each other’s biggest distraction. While Yoongi will get lost in Jimin’s
eyes, Jimin gets lost in Yoongi’s arms, and somewhere along the way they gain possession of one
another’s hearts—and as cheesy as it is, Jimin treats it with the utmost care, knowing it’s a blessing
he’s being trusted with it in the first place.

They paint the room together, all three of them, wearing masks and pressing hand prints of navy
blue and white paint each other’s clothes and skin. When Maddy gets bored, she disappears back
into her bedroom, no doubt spreading paint along her bed sheets. Jimin can’t bring himself to care,
not with the way Yoongi’s arms are all exposed as he uses the paint roller. One way is navy blue,
and they press the new bed frame against it when everything’s dry. It looks sophisticated and
mature, and those are two things Jimin never thought he’d be able to enjoy, but here it was: right in
front of him, at arm’s reach.

When the rooms complete—properly finished, all the way down to Jimin’s wardrobe being filled
with his belongings—it feels like a new apartment. His heart breaks a little at the thought of who
used to sleep in here, who’s room this used to belong, but at the same time it feels like the biggest
weight has been lifted from his shoulders. They’re covered in paint, dust and sweat, and its past
midnight when they decide to run the bath. They’d worked that day and had come home to finish
up the room, and they’re both beyond exhausted.

Jimin blushes and stutters when Yoongi strips his clothes off confidently, never removing his eyes
from the younger. Jimin diverts his eyes, but catches smooth, pale skin, broad shoulders and pretty
collarbones, before he’s turning around.

“Don’t look,” Jimin had mumbled, and Yoongi had chuckled but obeyed.

When Jimin sinks into the tub in front of Yoongi, his back against his chest, he lets out a groan of
satisfaction. They take turns washing each other’s hair, Jimin’s head thrown back on Yoongi’s
shoulder as he scratches at his scalp. He makes a comment about cats that earns him a playful slap,
but Yoongi just snatches at his hand and kisses the back of it, and Jimin preens under the attention.

When they’re both paint free and clean, they settle down and soak for a few minutes more. They
don’t say much, so Jimin just plays with Yoongi’s fingers on his stomach, and Yoongi kisses at the
exposed skin of his neck and shoulders. Before the water gets cold, Jimin reaches around to the
floor for his jeans. Yoongi’s hums appreciatively at the way his body is exposed from the water,
his hand settling on the smooth skin of his upper thigh. Jimin’s red in the face, but he’s also on a
mission, so he snatches at his jeans and yanks out the small rubber duck he’d been keeping on his
person since Taehyung had spoken to him.

He sinks back into Yoongi’s embrace, squawking at the way he pinches his backside, and water
sloshes over the edge.

“This is me,” Jimin says, placing the rubber duck on the edge of the bath. “My job is to be used in
the bath as a toy.”

Yoongi’s head is turned on his shoulder, so he can watch the way Jimin fiddles with the yellow
duck. “But, that’s not all I am, and not all I want to be. I also want…to be me, Park Jimin, even
though I’m still trying to work out who that actually is. I don’t know much,” he says with a
humourless laugh. “I never finished school and I never dreamt of university or anything like that.
What I do know, though, is that I could never have dreamt of this. Of Maddy, of…of you. I want to
be with you, forever, just like this, or in any way that you’ll have me. If you’ll have me.”

He’s crying now, and Yoongi goes to say something but Jimin beats him to it, “and I know that’s
so selfish of me to ask of you, because it’s not just me anymore, you know? I have permanent
baggage; baggage that I adore so, so much, and some days it feels like all too much but I can’t give
that up, Yoongi. I…I love you, but I love her too, and at the end of the day I can’t just stop being a
bath toy. So—So if you’ll have me, you’ll have to have me just like this. Broken and sad and with a
little angel by my side.”

Yoongi runs his nose across his neck, along his nape, up into his wet hair, then all the way back
down to bite at his lobe. “I love you, Park Jimin.”

It’s the first time Yoongi’s ever said his name, and it feels like coming home.

The water has long gone cold, but neither of them notice as Yoongi’s hands slip down his back to
hold his hips in place. Jimin had shifted around onto his knees in the bath, arms curling around
Yoongi’s neck and tangling in his hair as the elder, quote, kissed the shit out him.
Jimin tried to stop the little noises he was making from slipping out his mouth, but he gave up long
ago when Yoongi had started to make them back. Yoongi’s big hands move from his hips to grab
at his ass, and Jimin jerks further forwards, hips brushing against Yoongi’s own.

Then, there’s a cry—it isn’t his own, and it’s too high in pitch to be Yoongi, and it takes exactly
two seconds for Jimin to realise it’s Maddy crying out.

“Maddy,” Jimin explains, panting. “She’s been having nightmares, this happens a lot.” Yoongi is
kissing at the corner of his mouth, hands moving upwards, settling around his waist.

“This is what I meant by baggage,” Jimin explains when her sobs get louder. He’s already draining
the tub when Yoongi groans, pulling away from his mouth. He kisses his love down Jimin’s neck,
sharp teeth nipping.

“I love it,” he says, voice thick with lust and love and everything else. “Fuck, I want it.”

“She won’t let you leave easily, if you decide it’s too much. She’s already so attached,” Jimin
explains through a gasp, Yoongi biting down hard on his collarbones, sure to leave a mark. He
doesn’t mind, finds he feels rather proud of at the thought of wearing Yoongi’s mark.

“What about you?” Yoongi asks.

“What about me?” They need to get out of the bath. Jimin needs to go check on Maddy, but
instead, he’s holding the back of Yoongi’s head to his chest.

“Would you let me leave easily?”

Jimin draws his face up, fingers back to holding Yoongi’s chin. He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t let
you leave at all.” They kiss again, chaste but deep, the taste of each other on the other’s tongue.

“Could never leave her; could never leave you,” he adds, voice breathy and made more of air than
words. Jimin reluctantly pulls himself away, but he knows that soon, he’ll get to fall right back in.

Maybe it’s too soon, Jimin thinks, when he pulls Yoongi away from the front door when he tries to
leave, and drags him to the master bedroom. Too soon, Jimin thinks, as he pushes him to the bed
and undoes his shirt, letting the elder know exactly what he wants. It’s much too soon, but neither
of them cares, Maddy asleep again in the next room over, and Jimin muffling his cries into
Yoongi’s shoulder when he’s loved just right. It’s slow and hot and they’re making a mess of the
new linen, and Yoongi groans out I love you to him on every move of their hips.

Jimin tries to say it back, but he’s sobbing and whimpering and panting too loudly, so he voices his
affection through his kisses on Yoongi’s neck, on the bruises blossoming on his pecs, around his
nipples, down by his belly button. It’s a possessive streak Jimin never really knew he had, but it
makes Yoongi’s eyes roll into the back of his head and cry out his name a little too loudly, and he
realises he’d do anything to make Yoongi feel like this forever.

They fall asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms, satiated and full and warm, and it’s the best sleep
Jimin’s ever had—and not just because he’s finally falling asleep in a bed.

They wake up to a curious face peering over them, Maddy having squeezed into the room and up
onto the bed. When Yoongi grunts a good morning, she drops down from her hands onto her side,
so she can cuddle in between them. There wasn’t much space to begin with, and now it’s
claustrophobic, but Jimin wants it no other way. They’re naked beneath the bed sheets, he
remembers vaguely, but Maddy’s never been the kind to jump under the sheets on days like this, so
he wills away his worries.

They cuddle for a little while longer, Jimin drifting in and out of sleep, Maddy’s small hand curled
around his neck and thumb in her mouth.

“Uncle Yoongi?”

He hums, kissing the back of her head drowsily. Jimin knows that voice; it’s the cutesy one she
uses when she wants something. Jimin hides his smirk in the side of her face. He knows what she’s
about to ask; he’s been waiting for it for a while, actually, and she held off for a lot longer than he
thought she would.

“I don’t want to call you uncle Yoongi anymore,” she explains, and Jimin can see the way
Yoongi’s muscle tense in his arms.

“Oh?”

She shakes her head, “it doesn’t suit you.”

“That’s okay,” Yoongi says, but Jimin can sense the disappointment in his voice. “You can just
call me Yoongi, if you want.”

It hovers in the air, before she’s shaking her head again. “Can I call you papa? Is that okay?”

She’s met with nothing but silence, and Jimin thinks that maybe Yoongi’s uncomfortable by all of
this, and he’s starting to panic, when Yoongi’s arms tighten around Maddy’s small frame and he’s
hauling her closer to his chest. She giggles as he starts to pepper kisses all over her face and head,
tickling her sides and eliciting loud squeals.

From this angle, she wouldn’t be able to notice, but he’s got tears running down his face and his
bottom lip is trembling. Jimin reaches out to take one of his hands, tears of his own tickling his
cheeks, and the entire moment is perfect.

Yoongi has to leave early the next morning for a Christmas spread at his aunt’s house in Daegu
with promises of returning soon; and where Jimin thought Christmas would be lonely with just
Maddy and him, it was actually one of his favourites.

As he’s preparing the kitchen for service the next day, Jimin knows that later he’ll have to tell Jin,
Hoseok, Jungkook and Taehyung about all of this, and all they’ll do is scream and yell and tell
him we told you so! He'll get to say it back to Jungkook, too, though, because Taehyung will come
in mid-way through their prep and demand 'kisses from his lush boyfriend'. Also, Hoseok will tell
him that he met Namjoon, Jin's housemate, the other day, and that he's been picking Jin up from
work. He's going to have to tell his mother about Yoongi, too, which he’s a little more nervous
about, because then she’ll fly back here to meet Yoongi herself, and she’ll ask question after
question. It'll be a job interview, almost, and he reminds himself to warn Yoongi about that - make
sure he's wearing something clean and ironed and devoid of any food, bleach or Maddy stains.

Speaking of Maddy, she starts school soon, too, so he’ll have to order her uniform and make sure
she has proper shoes that fit and that she’s got all the equipment and that she won’t be getting
bullied. He also needs to plan a trip Ireland soon, so she can see her grandparents again. On the
topic of families, Jimin makes a mental note to ask Yoongi about meeting his; it's only fair he has
to meet his mother, after all.
 He’s got to take down all the Christmas decorations and prepare his apartment for the New Year’s
party he’s decided to host, and he’s got the number of a trusted therapist saved in his phone that
Yoongi says he should meet up with next year. He’s got a whole lot of grief and a lot of life left to
live, and when she’s old enough, Jimin will teach Maddy how to clean clam shells.

She’ll ask him why, and he’ll just turn to her, look her right in the eyes and think about every single
way Yoongi shifted the dynamics of his life, and say: “because it might just save your life.”

He doesn’t know if this is the final destination, if this is the life he had dreamt for himself, but he
knows that Maddy and Yoongi will be there no matter what, and that alone is enough to satisfy
every childhood day dream.

But—he can worry about all that in the future, because for right now, he’s got a daughter to raise
and a man to love, and out back he’s got a tub full of clam shells that need cleaning for service.

End Notes

hello thank u for reading if u got this far. let me know what u thought! ily

Ps minhyuk the waiter isn’t based on my boy rocky don’t stress

@feministkings on twt !

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