HOMETIME SMILE
BTS fandom: Vmin
Chap: 6/?
Ship: vmin
Text
HOMETIME SMILE
BTS fandom: Vmin
Chap: 5/?
Ship: Vmin
PARIS
As they entered the hotel, the grandiose interior left the group speechless, their eyes darting around the opulent decor. Jimin’s lips curled into a smirk, enjoying the surprise on their faces.
Jungkook nudged Lisa, his voice low but filled with excitement. “Pinch me, seriously. I need to know if I’m dreaming or—ow!”
He winced, glaring at Lisa, who’d playfully jabbed his side.
“You asked for it,” Lisa replied, her tone casual as she breezed past him to catch up with the others.
Jungkook huffed under his breath, reluctantly following them, still rubbing his side. They made their way toward the reception, drawing the receptionist’s attention almost immediately.
“Bonjour, bienvenue au Petit Châtelet. Comment puis-je vous aider ?” The receptionist’s smile was warm and inviting.
The group exchanged confused glances. None of them understood a word, and it was clear that the receptionist noticed their puzzled expressions. Before he could speak again, Jimin stepped forward, lowering his mask slightly.
“Oui. Ma sœur a réservé des chambres pour nous.”
The receptionist’s expression shifted to one of recognition, nodding as he typed something into his computer. The others looked at Jimin in surprise, realizing—though Jimin had lived here before.
“Comment s'appelle-t-elle ?”
“Park Rosé.” Jimin responded smoothly, his voice steady.
The receptionist’s eyes lit up as he typed faster. “Ah, vous devez être le fils de Mme Claire.”
Jimin froze for a moment, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected to be recognized. “Co-comment savoir qui je suis ? Je ne suis jamais apparu à la télévision.” He smiled, though it was a bit uncertain.
The receptionist chuckled, then explained. “La plupart de ses créations sont inspirées par vous. Elle en parle tout le temps, et elle a montré votre photo à plusieurs reprises il y a longtemps. J'ai donc pu vous reconnaître immédiatement.”
The rest of the group looked at each other, exchanging blank looks—none of them understanding a word. Lisa, however, was piecing together the conversation. Her French wasn’t perfect, but she could catch a few words from her school project days. She grimaced at the memory.
Jimin managed a smile, albeit tight, as he took the room keys the receptionist handed him. “Sept chambres ont été réservées pour vous, mais…” The man paused, pulling out a single card. “Et cette une a été réservée spécialement pour vous.”
Jimin glanced down at the card in his hand, brow furrowing. He looked at the rest of the group, catching their amused grins, even through their masks. He rolled his eyes, then turned back to thank the receptionist.
Once they’d finished up, the receptionist called over the bellhops, who were quick to grab their bags.
As they moved toward the elevator, Jungkook leaned in to Lisa and whispered, “So… what just happened? Did anyone understand any of that?”
Lisa shrugged but couldn’t suppress her smile. “Not really, but I think it’s safe to say we’re all a little out of our depth here.”
——————————
The group gave a final polite bow as the bellhops stepped into the elevator. The bellhops returned the gesture with warm smiles before the elevator doors slid shut with a soft whoosh
The moment the doors closed, the group exhaled in unison, dropping their masks and letting out a collective sigh of relief.
“Alright, let’s get some rest,” Jimin said, handing out the room cards with a casual grin. “We’ll tour the hotel later, and we can all freshen up before Yunnie picks us up.”
Everyone nodded in agreement, offering a few waves as they wandered down the hall, scanning the door numbers to find their rooms. Jimin’s room was a floor above theirs, so he turned back toward the elevator. He waited for the familiar ding before stepping inside and pressing the button for his floor.
The elevator doors opened to his floor with a soft chime. Jimin stepped out, dragging his suitcase behind him, eyes scanning the hallway as he searched for his room. After a moment, he spotted it. “269,” he muttered under his breath, relieved to have found it.
He slid the card through the reader, but the door didn’t budge. The lock beeped, flashing red. He frowned, trying again, but the result was the same—a frustrated beep, another red light. He tapped the card against his palm, wondering if it was faulty.
Just as he was about to try again, he heard a soft click and the door creaked open. A guy appeared, looking at him with an amused expression. “Yes?” he asked, his warm eyes soft despite the initial confusion.
“Uh…” Jimin stuttered, about to explain when he heard a voice call from inside the room, though the person was still hidden behind the door. “Soobin! Who’s at the door? Help me with my bags!”
The guy—Soobin rolled his eyes, turning to answer. “Not a chance. You can unpack yourself. And, hey, did you order some gorgeous guy?” He glanced over at Jimin, his smirk widening as he noticed Jimin’s reddening ears.
Jimin’s cheeks flushed deeper at the comment, but Soobin seemed to find it amusing, his smile almost mischievous. Footsteps echoed from behind the door as someone approached. Jimin quickly checked his room key again, his face turning even redder. “Oh my God, sorry, I thought this was my room. My mistake.”
He bowed quickly, mumbling apologies as he hurried away, not waiting for Soobin’s response, but he did catch a distant, “It’s okay!” before he was out of earshot.
Shit, Jimin muttered under his breath, finally arriving at the correct door. He swiped the card with a little more confidence this time, and the door clicked open. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
The room was huge, almost more like an apartment than a hotel room. It was a spacious living area, furnished with a couple of couches and a medium-sized TV. “This must be the living room,” Jimin muttered, dropping his bag onto one of the couches. He walked over to the first door, expecting it to be the bedroom, and was pleased to find it was just as large as the living space, with a big, plush bed in the center.
There was another door to the right, which he assumed was the bathroom. He moved on to the second room, the walk-in closet, which was filled with clothes… none of which were his style. He scoffed lightly, realizing they were all clothes his mother would pick out for him. Typical.
Turning back, he noticed a small nook in the corner of the living area. It was a kitchen, no door separating it from the rest of the room, just a small counter and a few shelves. The kitchen had everything he’d need—utensils, a fridge, even fresh vegetables stacked neatly. “This definitely isn’t just a room,” Jimin said, nodding in approval.
He grabbed his bag and, after a moment’s thought, decided not to bother changing just yet. Instead, he collapsed onto the bed, a content smile spreading across his face as the softness of the mattress enveloped him. “Five minutes…” he mumbled, closing his eyes.
But before he realized it, sleep overtook him, his body sinking deeper into the comfort of the bed. The exhaustion from travel and the excitement of the day melted away, and Jimin drifted off into a peaceful, undisturbed sleep.
————————————
“You should’ve made him wait, you know,” Taehyung muttered, lips shiny with burger grease as he chomped down another bite. The food had arrived right after the door incident, and not long after Taehyung had smacked Beomgu on the head for what he assumed was a prank. They’d argued like rabid six-year-olds before getting distracted by the arrival of the “welcome treats"—a gloriously large spread of snacks.
Beomgu rolled his eyes, swirling the wine in his glass like he was on a talk show. "Right, because clearly he had nowhere else to be. What was I supposed to say—'Hey, random stranger, stick around so I can awkwardly explain nothing’?”
Taehyung reached for a fork and knife, aiming for the toasted chicken like a civilized human, but Soobin slapped his hand away. “Finish your sandwich first, Gluttonstein.”
Taehyung squinted at him with an offended look, like Beomgu had just insulted his entire family. Still, he resumed chewing. Then, through a mouthful, he said, “But seriously, isn’t it weird he didn’t recognize you? Like… anyone else would’ve freaked out. We walk into a room and most people turn into human barnacles.”
Beomgu paused mid-sip, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah… maybe he’s just not into idols? Or he lives under a rock. That, or he was just really distracted by me.”
Taehyung let out a dramatic laugh, nearly choking on his burger. “Wow. Modesty left the building, huh?”
Beomgu grinned proudly and reached for a toasted brioche, but Taehyung immediately smacked his hand back like it was a reflex. “Finish your baget first, diva.”
Beomgu scowled. “It’s called BAGUETTE! And you ate all the cookies!”
They locked eyes, tension rising.
“Ahh!”
“Let go!”
“No, you let go!”
Their hands wrestled over the last remaining piece of bread like it was the last edible item on Earth. The table wobbled under the strain of their ridiculous tug-of-war. Somewhere in the chaos, a grape rolled off the table and bounced dramatically onto the floor.
“You are the worst roommate,” Beomgu hissed.
“You literally drank the welcome wine straight from the bottle!” Taehyung shouted back.
“I poured it into a glass!”
“After chugging half of it!”
The baguette tore in half mid-air, one end flying across the room and smacking the wall with a soft thump.
They both froze, staring at it in silence.
“…Still eating it," Beomgu muttered, snatching his half and storming to the couch.
Taehyung grabbed the other half and flopped down beside him with a grunt. "This friendship is hanging by a crumb.”
Beomgu raised his glass in mock toast. “To crumbs and chaos.”
They both took exaggerated bites, chewing angrily in perfect sync.
……………
“Yes, yes—I’m heading out now, sheesh,” Jimin muttered into his phone, yanking the hotel door shut behind him with his foot. His other hand clutched his phone to his ear, the screen lighting up with Hoseok’s name.
On the other end, Hoseok sighed like an exhausted parent. “How the hell did you sleep that long? We thought you were dead or comatose.”
Jimin rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand as he strolled down the hallway. “Not my fault this bed was fluffier than my will to live—shit, wait—!”
He broke into a jog, the sound of his sneakers squeaking against the floor as the elevator ahead of him began to close.
“Hold that!” he called, and just in time, a hand reached out from inside to block the door. The elevator doors slid back open obediently. Jimin practically dove in, bowing quickly. “Thank you, thank you!”
The guy who had saved the ride didn’t even look up. His head stayed down, attention glued to his phone screen like it owed him money.
“What was that?” Hoseok’s voice buzzed in his ear.
“Elevator drama. Some guy helped me out—” Jimin glanced at the stranger, noting the sleek black hoodie and the messy hair but not the face. “Didn’t catch his soul, though. He’s surgically attached to his phone.”
“We’re downstairs at the gallery, by the way,” Hoseok said, and someone in the background let out an enthusiastic “Woooah!”
Jimin blinked. “There’s an art gallery in this hotel?”
A sigh came through the line, the kind that said I’m trying not to strangle you through cellular waves.
“Yes. God, how rich are you to not even check the hotel map?”
Jimin chuckled and finally responded, “Alright, I’m coming. Don’t touch anything weird until I get there.”
He hung up, slipping the phone into his pocket before finally turning to the silent stranger beside him.
“Uh… hey, sorry—this going down, right?” he asked.
The guy finally lifted his head. Their eyes met.
And for a second, Jimin forgot how to breathe. He was HOT
The guy stared at him like he’d seen a ghost, or worse—like he’d seen him before. Jimin tilted his head slightly, his instincts buzzing.
Then, the guy whispered it—just one word:
“Beautiful.”
Jimin blinked. “Huh?”
The guy seemed to short-circuit, blinking fast as the tips of his ears turned red.
“Fuck—I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I—I mean—” he stammered, suddenly flustered. He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry. That just… slipped out.”
Jimin gave a tight smile, half amused, half weirded out. “Okay… but this is going down, right?”
The guy nodded a little too fast. Still staring.
And that’s when it clicked.
No way. Airport guy? The one who kept staring at him like he was a lunch that was ready to be devoured?
Of course it was.
Great.
The thought of the guy being anywhere hot flew away instantly.
The elevator descended in complete silence after that, heavy with secondhand embarrassment and awkward energy. Jimin shifted on his feet and avoided eye contact.
As the elevator slowed to a stop, the guy opened his mouth like he wanted to say something.
The universe, however, had other plans.
Ding!
The doors slid open.
Jimin stepped out without a backward glance.
But he could still feel the stare burning into the back of his neck. He rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath:
“Creep.”
Behind him, the guy stood frozen in place, then groaned into his hands.
“God, you’re such an idiot,” he muttered to himself, slapping his own forehead. “You had one job—ask his name. Just one. Freaking elevator.”
He stared at the silver doors like they betrayed him on a spiritual level.
“You couldn’t stall for five more seconds? No wonder you’re single.”
Then, with a sigh, he glanced toward the hall Jimin had vanished into.
“I’ll see you again. And next time… I won’t screw it up.”
He gave the elevator one last dirty look, turned around, and walked off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jimin exhaled slowly, his steps echoing against the sleek marble floor of the hotel corridor as he tried to shake off the weirdness of the elevator encounter. The guy’s intense stare still clung to the back of his mind like static—confusing, unsettling, and oddly… flustering.
Snap out of it.
He’d come to Paris to relax, not spiral over mysterious elevator guys with wandering eyes and loose lips.
By the time he found the art gallery tucked away at the far end of the ground floor—because of course it wouldn’t be anywhere obvious—his patience was hanging by a thread. Thankfully, his French had gotten him through a few confused exchanges with hotel staff.
As soon as he stepped into the gallery’s warm, softly lit space, the tension in his shoulders began to melt. The air was quiet, laced with the faint scent of wood polish and paint. There was a sense of calm here—grounding, like silence in a loud world.
And then, he spotted them.
A small group huddled in front of a massive painting like it held the secrets of the universe.
He didn’t even need to see their faces. The chaotic commentary alone gave them away.
Jimin shook his head with a half-laugh, the weight in his chest loosening. That familiar warmth crept in again—his people, his chaos, his safe place.
“Hey, losers!” he called out as he approached, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
They turned around one by one, eyes lighting up.
“There he is!” Taehyun beamed.
“Finally,” Jennie said with a mock glare. “We were betting whether you overslept or got kidnapped.”
“Rude.” Jimin raised a brow, then looked to the most obvious culprit. “Let me guess… Jungkook dragged everyone here?”
Jungkook gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “You wound me, jimin!”
But the chorus of “Yes” from the others betrayed him, and Jimin burst into a laugh, slinging an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder.
“Traitors, the lot of you.”
“You love us anyway,” Jimin muttered with a sheepish grin.
“Unfortunately.”
With that, Jimin guided the group deeper into the gallery, past surreal portraits and abstract chaos, their footsteps soft and voices low, surrounded by art but carried by friendship. The weirdness from earlier faded into the background like a forgotten dream.
——————————————
“What the hell took you so long? And why are you smiling like that?” Yoongi asked without looking up, his voice dry as ever. “You’re gonna make people think we brought a lunatic with us.”
Taehyung just flicked a hand at him, unbothered, that goofy smile still tugging at his lips even though the flush on his ears had finally faded.
He sauntered over and tugged one of Beomgu’s earbuds out, plopping himself down dramatically on the vacant ottoman beside him. Beomgu gave him an unimpressed side-eye but didn’t complain—used to Taehyung invading his personal space like a hurricane with a skincare routine.
Taehyung flagged down a server with a casual flick of his wrist, ordering something cold and vaguely citrusy to cool down whatever the hell was still happening inside his chest.
“We should tour Paris once we’re done here,” Jin suggested, swirling the ice in his glass like some rich CEO on vacation.
The server had just dropped Taehyung’s drink off, and Jin caught his attention with a polite nod for a refill.
“Yeah,” Namjoon agreed, adjusting the collar of his shirt like they weren’t all already melting from the air of expensive class around them. “8 p.m., meet at the entrance. Don’t be late, or I’m leaving your ass behind.”
Everyone nodded, lifting their glasses in lazy agreement. The soft buzz of conversation and the cool breeze made the moment feel… right. Almost like the city was waiting for them.
Taehyung sipped his drink, the cold cutting through the remnants of elevator awkwardness that still lingered in his mind. He let his gaze drift to the gallery windows where Paris stretched out in gold and glass beyond.
Yeah. Tonight might be interesting.
—
Jimin stood in front of the mirror, quickly checking his appearance. After adjusting his shirt and giving a satisfied nod, he grabbed a cap from the bed, slipping it onto his head with an almost casual finesse. His phone buzzed, and he picked it up, reading through the messages from the others. They were all done and ready to meet at the hotel entrance. He tucked the phone into his pocket, taking one last glance in the mirror before heading out of his room.
Just as he was about to reach the elevator, the soft click of a door caught his attention. He squinted, his heart sinking as he recognized the person emerging. The earlier embarrassment resurfaced like a wave crashing down. Jimin quickened his pace, hoping to make it to the elevator before they could lock eyes. But, of course, the person turned, noticed him, and froze for a moment, as if trying to place him. Then, his face lit up with recognition, and a playful smile crept across his lips.
“You’re the pretty boy who got the room numbers wrong, huh?” the guy teased.
Jimin groaned softly, rolling his eyes with a playful smirk. “I have a feeling you won’t let that go.”
The stranger shook his head with mock seriousness. “Nope. Not a chance.”
Jimin let out a soft laugh despite himself.
“You heading down?” the guy asked, gesturing toward the elevator.
“Yeah.” They walked side by side to the lift and stepped in. The guy pressed the button for the ground floor.
“Thanks,” Jimin said.
The guy shifted, sliding his hands into his pockets. “By the way, I didn’t catch your name earlier.”
Jimin opened his mouth to reply—but a sudden ringtone cut through the air. The guy glanced at his phone and sighed.
“Ah, sorry. One sec.” He pulled the phone from his pocket and answered. “What?”
His tone shifted instantly, irritation bubbling to the surface.
“It’s with me, God! You don’t have to call every five seconds to check. And by the way, you definitely owe me for this.”
Jimin couldn’t hear the person on the other end, but the exchange reminded him of his back-and-forths with Jungkook. Bickering, but not serious. Familiar. Close.
By the time the guy ended the call with a muttered sigh, the elevator doors slid open.
“Sorry about that,” he said with a sheepish smile.
“It’s okay,” Jimin replied, pulling out his own buzzing phone. A message from Hoseok lit up the screen.
Hobi-Hyung❤️: We’re at the entrance already. Where are you?
Me: Just passed reception. Coming out now.
The guy glanced over. “You heading out too?”
“Yeah,” Jimin nodded as they walked through the lobby together.
“Cool. Me and my friends are going out for a bit of sightseeing,” he said, his grin returning.
“Sounds fun,” Jimin replied.
“It is!” the guy beamed. As they neared the hotel’s main doors, he pulled out a face mask and slipped it on.
Jimin shot him a curious look but didn’t ask. Maybe he was just being cautious. Who wasn’t these days?
Outside, the air was cooler, the city bathed in the glow of streetlights and neon. The night sky stretched above them, dusted with stars, while soft chatter and traffic buzzed around them like music.
“Nice talking to you,” the guy said, eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Hope we run into each other again.”
Jimin bowed slightly. “You too.”
They parted ways with a casual wave, and Jimin turned toward the street. His eyes scanned the area until he spotted a group standing by a familiar car—his sister’s. She was chatting animatedly with the others, her laughter unmistakable.
“There he is!” someone called.
Jimin approached, flashing a smile.
“You made it!” his sister grinned, grabbing his hand. “Come on, I’ve got some amazing places to show you.”
As they began walking, Jimin glanced at her. “Aren’t we taking your car?”
“Nah,” she replied, brushing him off. “It’s better this way. The walk makes the experience more fun—and you get to feel the city.”
He shook his head but didn’t argue. She had always been this way—unbothered, spontaneous, and full of strange ideas that somehow worked out.
So he followed her lead, blending into the rhythm of the night, curious about where it might take them.
—————-
“So—did you bring it?” Taehyung asked the moment Beomgu appeared, dramatic and dead serious like this was a drug deal. Beomgu groaned, shoved a small item into his hands, and muttered something suspiciously close to, “Drama queen.”
Taehyung ignored the sass, ripped off his face mask like it was choking him, and applied the lip balm like it was a life-saving serum. He let out the most dramatic sigh known to mankind—half relief, half Oscar performance.
Everyone stared.
“What?” Taehyung blinked innocently. “My lips get dry. Like… Sahara dry.”
A synchronized, exhausted sigh echoed through the group—clearly this was not their first episode of Taehyung and the Tragic Lip chronicles.
“Okay,” Yoongi said, already halfway in the car. “Now that Beomgu’s delivered the sacred balm and His Majesty has been saved, can we go?”
No one argued. They shuffled into the car like war survivors.
“So, where are we headed?” Soobin asked Namjoon, who looked like he was decoding the Da Vinci Code instead of reading a tourist map.
“Food. Priority one,” Namjoon declared, then leaned toward the driver. “Take us to one of the best restaurants around, please.”
The driver nodded, clearly sensing the chaos in the air.
“Alright,” Namjoon turned to the group. “Let’s settle who’s paying—”
“NOT IT!” came the unified panic cry. Limbs flew, fingers pointed at anything but themselves. Someone might’ve actually ducked.
Namjoon blinked. “Wow. Olympic level reflexes.”
He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll pay. This time. But Taehyung, you’re up next.”
Taehyung’s soul visibly left his body. “Why me?!”
“Because I heard you scream ‘not it’ before I even said the word 'pay.’ That’s suspiciously prepared behavior.”
Taehyung groaned like he’d been sentenced to death. The rest of the group burst into laughter, while he muttered about injustice, and financial betrayal.
~
JIMINs POV
Holy croissant,“ Jungkook announced like he’d just been baptized by butter. "That might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my entire life.”
“You’ve literally never had one before,"Taehyun said flatly.
"Exactly,” Jungkook grinned. “Best and only. That’s peak efficiency.”
They’d just stumbled out of a cozy little café, each clutching something warm and delicious. The streets of Paris unfolded before them like a movie set. Everything looked fake in the best way—golden sunlight, ornate balconies, people walking dogs that looked like they belonged in perfume ads.
“This city’s too pretty,” Jennie said, spinning slowly on the sidewalk.
“I feel like I’m being scammed by the air,” Lisa added. “Why does it smell like flowers and expensive decisions?”
“We should get ice cream next!” Rosé chirped, already scanning for a shop like she had a sixth sense for sugar.
They turned a corner and noticed a small band playing at the end of the street. Three musicians stood on a modest stage, their instruments worn but loved, their music floating in the air like perfume. The song was foreign — French, gentle, melancholic. A small crowd infront of them—but most people passed by without a second glance, save for a few who dropped coins into a modest box by their feet.
“Ooooh, look!” Lisa lit up. “Let’s go see them!”
The group followed her lead, gathering near the small stage. The melody was unfamiliar, but captivating — soft guitar strums, harmonies layered like silk. Jimin and Rose, the only ones who understood the lyrics, stood especially still.
“I’m gonna go talk to them,” Rose said suddenly, moving toward the band with purpose. The music paused as she leaned in, whispering something to one of the musicians, who looked over at the group curiously.
Jennie leaned toward Jimin. “What’s she saying to them?”
“No idea,” he muttered, eyes narrowing.
Moments later, Rosé came skipping back with a suspiciously smug smile.
“I asked if they’d let you borrow their instruments. I told them you guys sings and they agreed!”
Jimin blinked. “You what?”
“You’ve got fans now,” she teased.
The band huddled, clearly discussing it. One of them gave a shrug and nodded.
“We do have a song,” Jimin began hesitantly, “but it’s not finished.”
Rose’s smile faltered slightly, but Lisa was quick to recover.
“Wait, Jimin. What about that one you finished last month? You played it for us at 2 a.m. and told us never to mention it again?”
Everyone’s eyes shot to Jimin, bright with interest.
“Guys, no.” Jimin took a step back. “It’s not ready. It’s not even that good.”
Before he could escape, Jungkook and Yeonjun stepped in like bodyguards, arms spread.
“No running, Romeo,” Yeonjun said.
“Yeah, give the people what they want!” Jungkook laughed as they nudged him toward the stage.
“You guys are the worst—”
“Shut it and go!” Jennie grinned, tugging him forward.
Reluctantly, Jimin stepped onto the stage. The band stepped aside politely, and one of them handed him a guitar, like it had been waiting for him all along.
“Uh… thanks,” he said awkwardly, strapping it on.
He turned to his friends — his chaotic, annoying, wonderful friends — and saw them all beaming at him. Even Rose gave him a double thumbs-up.
He exhaled slowly and leaned into the mic.
“This song is called… um, 'Ladadee.’”
Jungkook snorted. “He’ll work on the title later.”
Smack. “Shut up,” J-Hope muttered, slapping the back of Jungkook’s head.
Jimin strummed a few soft chords. Then came the voice — smooth, sincere, a little nervous but full of heart.
“There’s no way to say this song’s about someone else…”
The nerves in his eyes faded with every line. With each chord, he found himself again.
“There’s no way to say this song’s about someone else…”
His eyes darted nervously across the little crowd, but then—he saw them. His chaos-ridden family, grinning like proud parents. He exhaled and kept going. His voice grew steadier.
Every time you’re not in my arms, I start to lose myself…
Someone please pass me my shades, don’t let them see me down…
The lyrics flowed, and soon, the street began to fill with people,some clapping softly, others swaying. The band scrambled to grab a second donation box as the first one started overflowing.
Despite the growing crowd, Jimin didn’t stop. He leaned into the music, his shoulders loosening. He let himself enjoy it.
La da dee, la da doo, la da dee me, la da dee you…
He caught his friends cheering wildly in the crowd. Jungkook blew a kiss dramatically. Jennie was already filming. Rosé looked like she might cry.
He smiled — truly smiled — as the lyrics flowed out of him. His voice, his story, his moment.
And for the first time, under a foreign sky, on a borrowed guitar and makeshift stage, he didn’t feel scared.
He felt seen.
—————
TAEHYUNGs POV
The car rolled to a gentle stop in front of a sleek, glass-fronted restaurant bathed in warm, amber lights.
“Is this the place?” Jin asked from the front seat, peering out the window like a curious tourist.
“Yeah,” Namjoon replied, already unbuckling.
They stepped out one by one, the evening breeze brushing past them with the faint scent of roasted garlic and sweet wine. The city was alive in that quiet, poetic way — laughter in the distance, a dog barking from a nearby alley, the occasional car humming past.
“We should walk a bit after eating,” Namjoon suggested, stretching his arms above his head.
Just as they were heading toward the restaurant entrance, Taehyung caught something in the corner of his eye — a faint shimmer of stage lights, a soft rhythm of music, and the gentle pulse of a crowd nearby.
“Wait, guys. Look.” He pointed down the street toward the small crowd gathered near what looked like a makeshift stage — string lights glowing, people swaying, something about the air pulling you in.
“Let’s check it out.”
“Maybe after eating—” Namjoon started, always the practical one.
“C'mon, let’s just take a peek. Won’t take long,” Jin cut in, already redirecting his steps.
Namjoon looked to the rest. A chorus of nods answered him. He sighed. “Fine. Five minutes.”
They walked closer, the sound becoming clearer — a live voice, warm and textured, pouring emotion into every note. The crowd clapped, some people dancing without a care. Something about it felt unpolished and honest.
He leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse of the performer. There — at the edge of the stage, blonde hair glinting under the soft lights. Someone’s back was blocking him making it hard for him to see the singer properly and it didn’t help that the person was too tall for his own good.
He pushed forward slightly, curious. The voice felt familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
And then — just as the person blocking him moved a little, just as he was about to finally see their face—
Yank.
“Hey!” A hand clamped around his wrist, jerking him back.
“What the—”
Beomgyu. Of course.
“Someone recognized you, dumbass,” Beomgyu muttered, dragging him backward. “You want a mob forming? We need to bounce.”
He started dragging him back toward the others. He twisted around, trying to catch one more glimpse of the singer, but the heads and lights swallowed them up again.
Disappointment hit his chest like a dull thud.
The others were still watching, eyes bright, bodies gently moving to the beat. Beomgyu leaned toward Namjoon and quietly explained the situation. A shared look passed through the group. No words — just silent agreement. Time to go.
They turned back toward the restaurant, though the music still rang in the air behind them.
He trailed behind them, defeated. The music still floated through the night, echoing behind him, but the image of that almost-face haunted him more than the melody.
He walked like a someone whose whole life problems weighed on him, sulking, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Jin tried to joke about something, but he barely registered it.
All he could think about was that damn voice.
And why it felt like he’d missed something important.
Text
DANCING WITH DANGER
BTS fandom: Vmin
Chap: 4/?
Ship: Vmin
CHAPTER FOUR
AUTHORs POV
Night blanketed the warehouse like a shroud. The harsh white lights buzzed overhead, casting stark shadows across blood-smeared floors and scattered corpses.
Taehyung sat on a crate at the center of it all — calm, legs crossed, cigarette burning lazily between his fingers. Smoke curled in the still air as his men stood in formation before him, heads bowed. No one dared meet his gaze.
To his right, Yoongi stood with arms folded. Kai, beside him, had his hand wrapped in a fresh bandage, blood still leaking through. On the left were Jin and J-Hope, weapons slung and tense.
He brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaled slowly, then exhaled.
“So… he got away.”
It wasn’t a question. More of a quiet accusation.
No one answered.
He stood.
The men snapped upright, posture rigid. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the lights.
Taehyung let the cigarette fall to the concrete and crushed it under his boot. His voice dropped low — too low.
“I’m disappointed.”
A pause.
Then he stretched out his hand.
Without hesitation, Jungkook approached and placed a sniper rifle in his palm.
Taehyung glanced at it, then at his men.
“You want to fix it?”
His voice was almost amused.
“Shoot yourselves. That might help.”
A beat of silence.
They shifted, eyes flickering to each other — panic just beneath the surface. No one moved. No one dared breathe.
Taehyung raised the rifle slowly, aiming down the line.
“Or would you rather I do it for you?”
The threat wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be.
And then—
A ringtone.
Loud. Bright. Completely out of place.
Jungkook checked the screen.
“Tae… it’s Chin-sun.” He announced
The line clicked open, and a small voice came through — soft, innocent, annoyed.
“Dad, where are you? You forgot movie night again.”
The shift in Taehyung was immediate. He lowered the sniper, exhaled slowly, and reached for the phone. The hardness in his face softened — only slightly — but it was enough to stop a bullet.
“I didn’t forget,” he said, voice gentle now. “I’ll be there soon. Watch the start with Chin-sun, alright?”
A groan came through, older, female. “He won’t let me. He’s been sulking since school because you didn’t pick him up.”
Taehyung pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Fine. I’m coming now.”
A squeal.
“Okay! Don’t be late. I won’t sleep ‘til you come!”
He smiled. A real one — rare and dangerous in its own way. The men didn’t dare comment, but the tension in the room dissolved like smoke. Some even breathed relief.
“Kookie hyung!” the boy chirped again.
“Yes, champ?”
“Buy ice cream. Dad always forgets.”
Jungkook laughed.
“You got it.”
The call ended. Taehyung handed the phone back, all traces of warmth evaporating.
“Too bad,” he muttered, passing the sniper to J-Hope.
“The fun’s over.”
The tension snapped, and the room began to breathe again.
He turned and walked toward the exit.
“Check the bodies. If anyone’s still alive, I want answers.”
His voice was cold again.
“Jin. Yoongi. Stay behind, make sure none of my shipments are missing. Kai, jhope, Jungkook— you’re with me.
They nodded, stepping into action.
Outside, the car engine growled to life as Taehyung slid into the passenger seat. He tapped his earpiece.
"Liz. Status?”
A sultry voice responded.
“We had to get creative. His bodyguards were stubborn. But we isolated him — slipped him through the hidden door. He’s in your mansion. Basement.”
Taehyung’s lips twitched.
“Good. I’m on my way.”
He glanced at Kai, noticing the red streak seeping through the bandage.
“Jungkook, drop him at Eunnie’s. That wrap won’t hold.”
Jungkook nodded, and the car disappeared into the night.
———————-
The mansion basement was dimly lit, not from lack of resources but intention — a quiet hell beneath marble floors. Stone walls, soundproofed and sterile, reflected the coldness of the man who now stepped through the metal door with silent finality.
Taehyung’s boots echoed with purpose. He didn’t speak at first. Didn’t need to. The man strapped to the chair was already trembling, his wrists raw from struggling, blood crusting the corners of his mouth.
Taehyung’s presence was thunder without the sound — controlled, brutal, quiet.
Against the wall stood Liz, her black hair cascading like ink down her back, face blank as stone. She looked like danger dressed in Balenciaga — eyes sharp, still chewing the pink gum she’d popped moments before. She didn’t blink when the man begged.
Beside her, Jennie stood with arms crossed, a ghost of a smirk on her glossed lips. Her all-white suit made her look untouchable — and she liked it that way. She raised a brow when Taehyung glanced at her.
“Nienie,” he acknowledged coolly.
Jennie rolled her eyes and flipped him off without hesitation. “Only Taemin gets to call me that, psycho.”
That twitch at the corner of Taehyung’s mouth? It was as close to a smile as a man like him allowed in rooms like this.
But his face hardened again as he stepped closer to the bound man, drawing a gloved hand along the edge of a nearby steel table. Tools were laid out with surgical precision. He picked up a pair of pliers.
“You tipped the cops about the organs,” Taehyung said softly. “Even though we both know… it was you. Not me.”
The man whimpered, trying to deny it, but Taehyung’s gaze silenced him.
“And you walked into my club,” he continued. “With full knowledge of what I’d do if I saw your face.”
He crouched beside him, pliers turning in his fingers like a toy.
“Tell me,” he said, voice low and calm, “how’d you find the warehouse? No one knows about it. Not unless they’ve got a death wish or a mole.”
The man stammered, eyes wide. Taehyung didn’t wait.
He grabbed the man’s hand and squeezed hard enough to snap bone. There was a scream, sharp and pathetic.
“No one,” Taehyung whispered, “touches my business without bleeding for it.”
He stood, brushing his gloves clean like he was wiping flour off after baking.
“Liz. Jennie. You’re done here.”
Liz gave a lazy salute and turned on her heel. Jennie followed, whispering something sarcastic as the door hissed shut behind them.
Taehyung stared at the broken man for a beat, then turned to J-Hope standing at the entrance.
“Clean it up,” he said flatly, before walking out.
——
By the time Taehyung reached his penthouse floor, the stench of blood had been replaced by popcorn.
Taemin was already curled up in the center of the massive home theater sofa, nestled between Jungkook and a mountain of blankets, his wide black eyes glued to the screen. His jet-black curls fell over his forehead, cheeks round with youth, and a remote clutched in his tiny hands like a weapon.
He was five. Brave, stubborn, and ridiculously attached to horror movies.
Chin-sun sat nearby, her long blonde hair falling like sunlight across her shoulders. She had her feet curled under her, a tub of popcorn balanced on her lap, already shuddering from the last scene.
“I swear to God,” she muttered, “if that creepy girl crawls out of the TV again, I’m done.”
Cue: exactly that.
A pale hand slid out of a well in the movie. Chin-sun yelped, nearly spilling the popcorn.
Taemin didn’t even flinch. “She’s slow,” he said calmly. “I could outrun her.”
Jungkook snorted. “Spoken like a true mini-mafia heir.”
The door opened again and Yoongi sauntered in, hands in his pockets, his expression deeply unimpressed.
“We still watching the same haunted chick go in circles?”
“Yoongi-hyung!” Taemin chirped, wiggling under the blanket.
Yoongi settled into the nearest recliner like a bored cat. “Let me know when someone actually dies.”
A second later, the killer on screen took out a guy in one clean strike.
“There,” he said. “That’s more like it.”
Jin and J-Hope entered not long after, arms full of snacks.
“I brought gummy bears!” Jin announced.
Taemin sat up. “The sour ones?”
“Obviously. I’m not a monster.”
“You literally stabbed a guy with a wine bottle last week,” J-Hope muttered.
Taehyung entered quietly last, standing in the back for a moment as he watched them — the chaos, the laughter, the peace.
He looked down at Taemin — his son, his world — and his face finally softened.
“Move over,” he said.
Taemin shifted just enough for Taehyung to sink in beside him. The boy leaned into his side immediately.
The horror movie played on, but the room was full of laughter.
“I bet Jin dies first if this were real,” Jungkook said.
Jin gasped. “Excuse you?”
“You’d trip trying to save your skincare,” Yoongi added.
Jin flipped them off with one hand while sipping soda with the other.
Taehyung let out a low chuckle, rare and warm. “You’d all die. Except me and Taemin.”
Chin-sun threw a pillow at him. “I’d survive!”
“Sweetheart,” Taehyung said, catching the pillow mid-air. “You screamed at a girl with wet hair.”
“Because ghosts don’t shampoo, Tae!”
Just then, the door creaked open again.
A tall man stepped in — broad shoulders, chest stretching the fabric of his black tee, jawline sharp enough to carve glass. His honey-blonde hair was tousled, face calm, eyes warm.
“Namjoon!” someone called.
Taemin jumped up. “Uncle Joon!”
Namjoon caught him mid-air with a practiced ease, settling the child on his hip like a pro.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Did the scary girl kill anyone yet?”
“Two,” Yoongi replied, deadpan. “She’s aiming for you next.”
Everyone laughed. The room pulsed with life, sarcasm, and safety.
And for once — for just one night — the monsters stayed on the screen.
———————
Jimin lay sprawled across his bed like a prince in exile, headphones jammed in his ears, music blaring while his thumb scrolled aimlessly through his phone. The faint flicker of LED lights bathed his room in a moody glow — cool, detached, peaceful.
That peace, however, didn’t last long.
Because his mind wandered.
To this morning.
To her.
Min-yun. His eternal nemesis in a shared womb.
It was her fault he got into trouble with their mom — again. No tears, no tantrums this time. Just a few perfectly timed words and that angelic face, and boom — he was the villain of the day.
But now?
Now it was nighttime.
And at night… demons rise.
Jimin smirked — slowly, devilishly, like a Disney villain realizing the hero left their sword behind.
He removed the headphones and placed it around his neck, slid off his bed, then tiptoed to her room.
The door was open.
Bathroom light: on.
Water: running.
He peeked in. Steam rolled out like a fog machine.
“Perfect,” he muttered.
Operation: Skincare Sabotage was a go.
He scanned her vanity like it was a bomb squad mission. So. Many. Bottles.
“What the hell is this?” he muttered, picking up one small jar. “Snail slime? Why do girls do this to themselves?”
One by one, he swapped labels, unscrewed lids, and re-lidded them wrong. Serums went in the lotion jar. Clay mask? Replaced with an expired avocado mash from the mini fridge. That $80 anti-acne spot cream? He spiked it with a drop of red food coloring from the kitchen.
To top it off, he drew two tiny devil horns on her mirror with lipstick — the one she hides and thinks he doesn’t know about.
Then?
He made a graceful exit like the villain he was.
The living room glowed with warm yellow lighting, and the TV played a news anchor droning about politics and grain prices. Boring as ever.
Jimin descended the stairs, feigning total disinterest. His mom and dad sat together, sipping tea, eyes on the screen.
His mom turned her head slowly, narrowing her eyes like she was spotting a tiger on the savannah.
“You’re… down here?”
Jimin flopped onto the couch beside her and grabbed a throw pillow. “Yeah. So?”
His mom blinked. “You never come down here when we’re watching the news. Are you sick?”
“I live here too, you know.”
“You called us 'boring, lifeless vampires’ last week.”
He gasped. “That’s slander.”
His dad didn’t look away from the screen. “That’s verbatim, actually.”
Jimin shrugged innocently. “Well, tonight I felt like… family time.”
He smiled. Too wide. Suspiciously wide.
His dad finally turned to glance at him, one brow lifting like a man who’s raised chaos before and recognized the scent of it.
Then — a SCREAM.
Blood-curdling. Rage-filled.
Followed by a shriek:
“JIMIN!!! YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!!”
Jimin sucked in a breath, then slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh that exploded from his chest. His mom flinched.
“What the hell—?” she started.
Thundering footsteps pounded down the stairs like an earthquake on Red Bull.
Min-yun appeared.
Robe flapping. Hair dripping. Her face — oh God — covered in weird red splotches, polka-dotted like an angry strawberry.
She had one slipper in hand, eyes WILD.
His dad looked at her face. Choked on his tea.
His mom covered her mouth like she’d just seen a murder, trying to stay serious.
“JIMIN, YOU FUCKER!”
“Hey! No swearing in the house!” Jimin shouted as he leapt off the couch like an Olympic gymnast.
She charged.
He ran.
They screamed in stereo, chaos bouncing off the walls.
“YOU MESSED WITH MY SKINCARE!”
“I didn’t touch it! Maybe it’s just your natural face finally showing!”
She GASPED.
Everyone — everyone — knew Min-yun’s #1 rule: Never. Call. Her. Ugly.
She launched at him with a scream of fury, tackling him onto the carpet like a wrestler on pay-per-view. They rolled, they kicked, they pulled each other’s hair like rabid squirrels.
“I’M GONNA MURDER YOU, JIMIN!”
“STOP PULLING MY HAIR YOU PSYCHOPATH!”
“YOU LOOK LIKE A FERRET WITH A PERM!”
“YOUR FOREHEAD LOOKS LIKE A LANDING STRIP!”
“ENOUGH!!” their mom bellowed.
Their dad grabbed Min-yun mid-pounce and hoisted her off like she was a feral cat. Her hair was a mess, eyes wild, robe barely clinging on as she flailed in his arms.
“I swear to God,” she growled, “I’m gonna shave his eyebrows in his sleep!”
“You’re welcome to try,” Jimin coughed, still laughing from the floor.
Their dad turned away quickly, biting his fist to stop from laughing. Their mom, ever the iron-willed matriarch, sighed as she helped Jimin up.
“Okay. That’s it. Settling time.”
Jimin and Min-yun froze.
That phrase — dreaded, sacred, mom-declared.
Their parents believed in 'settling time’ like it was gospel. Sit in a room. Talk it out. Hug it out. Apologize or else.
It was therapy… if therapy involved folding arms, glaring across a coffee table, and muttering half-assed “sorry"s while planning your next attack.
Still.
No one disobeyed Settling Time.
Especially not when Mom had the Look.
Jimin groaned. "Do we have to? She literally tried to snap my spine.”
“You started it!” Min-yun hissed, still squirming in their dad’s grip.
“I’m innocent! This was divine punishment for lying this morning!”
“You put SALSA in my TONER!”
Their mom clapped her hands once. Sharp. Final.
“Sit. Now. Both of you.”
And with that, the two terrors of the household — still glaring, still covered in the evidence of war — dragged their feet to the kitchen table like kids awaiting execution.
The living room fell back into silence.
Their dad exhaled, turned back to the news, and sipped his tea.
“Honestly,” he muttered, “I should’ve just stayed in Tokyo.”
Their mom sat them both down like two kindergartners who’d just fought over crayons, still breathing heavily from having to break up the hair-pulling deathmatch.
She perched on the edge of the coffee table, hands folded, gaze sharp enough to slice through steel.
“Now,” she said, voice low. “We are going to talk like civilized people. You two are twins, not bloodthirsty gladiators.”
“I don’t think gladiators were this annoying,” Jimin muttered, arms crossed.
“Say that again,” Min-yun hissed.
“I dare you to say that again,” their mom snapped, cutting her eyes to both of them. “This is settling time, not round two. Now each of you—three things you appreciate about the other.”
Jimin blinked. “I thought this was therapy, not a punishment game.”
“Start talking.”
Jimin rolled his eyes. “Fine. I appreciate… that she hasn’t legally changed her name to Jimin #2 yet.”
“That’s not a compliment,” Min-yun snarled.
“It is to me”
“Y-” she started but Jimin cut her off
“Mom said three things. Let me finish,” Jimin said with a fake smile. “Two, I appreciate her unmatched ability to ruin every peaceful morning I’ve ever had. And three… I appreciate that she hasn’t legally changed her name and run away yet. Though, there’s still time.”
Min-yun scoffed. “Wow. That’s rich coming from a guy who still cries when the housekeeper folds his hoodie wrong.”
“Lies!” Jimin shouted, scandalized.
“Enough,” their mom sighed, already regretting her life choices. “Min-yun, your turn.”
She tilted her head, smiling sweetly—too sweetly. “I appreciate that Jimin has a face. That can be fixed with makeup. I appreciate his commitment to petty crimes. And I appreciate that he’ll be too busy running the company one day to ever bother me again.”
Jimin’s mouth fell open. “You actual—”
“Alright, that’s enough!” their mom clapped. “Wow. Incredible. Therapy goals. Truly moving. Now separate before I separate you both permanently.”
As the twins stood up, still hissing insults through their teeth, their dad—who had been sipping tea with the expression of a man used to living in a zoo—spoke up:
“Jimin, come to the company tomorrow morning. I want you to meet someone.”
Jimin blinked. “Why?”
“He’s one of my longest business partners. I want you familiar with the people you’ll be working with when the time comes. No need for introductions later.”
“Ughhh,” Jimin groaned like he was being drafted for war. “Why do I always get punished for existing?”
Min-yun beamed, practically glowing from her spot. “Looks like someone has to wake up early.”
Jimin glared. “Shut it.”
The twins were finally “dismissed,” though that word meant nothing because the death glares they threw each other on the walk back to their rooms could have melted the house’s foundation.
And then—
SLAM.
Two doors slammed shut in unison.
So much for “settling.”
Jimin grumbled under his breath as he flopped onto his bed. “Unbelievable. I live with a swamp witch in designer robes.”
Then his eyes caught a fur ball
“Aera,” he murmured.
The cat lifted her head, her eyes half-lidded and glowing like emerald gems, before she sauntered over to him. Her paws barely made a sound as she approached, tail flicking with a lazy elegance. Jimin reached down, and she immediately jumped into his lap, curling up with the ease of someone who knew they were the center of the world.
Aera was small but sleek, her coat a mix of warm caramel and golden cinnamon, the kind of color that reminded you of soft sunlight through a window. Her fur shimmered like the last streaks of daylight at dusk. Her ears were sharp, twitching with every noise in the room, and her green eyes shone with an intelligence that made Jimin wonder if she was secretly plotting something.
He chuckled as she nudged her head against his hand, a gentle purr rumbling from her chest.
“Sorry I wasn’t around last night,” he murmured, scratching behind her ears. “Hoseok hyung ditched me, and then Min-yun had to go and spill the beans.”
Aera blinked lazily at him, then proceeded to curl tighter into his lap, as if to say, whatever. You’re home now.
“I think Chang-wook hyung brought me home though. That man’s basically my guardian angel in Gucci.” He sighed dramatically, rubbing her soft fur. “I guess I’ll thank him tomorrow, before I have to head to the company again…”
The weight of reality hit him, heavy and unavoidable. Jimin groaned and fell back onto the bed, arms flung out in exaggerated exasperation. Aera stretched out beside him, her tail flicking gently against the mattress, her presence a silent reminder of calm.
Jimin smiled, flicking off the bedside lamp. The room dimmed into a soft hush, only the moonlight spilling through the window to kiss the sheets. Within moments, he felt his body relax, his breathing slow. Aera, ever the queen, curled up against him, her warmth soothing him into a peaceful sleep.
He let out a quiet sigh, the kind only a person who had a cat could understand. With Aera by his side, there was no need for drama queens or side characters. Just her, and him, and a world of soft purrs and quiet comfort.
To be continued…..
Link
take off the mask - past_the_moon - 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS [Archive of Our Own]
Chapters:
1/1
Fandom:
방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Rating:
Mature
Warnings:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships:
Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin
Characters:
Kim Taehyung | V, Park Jimin (BTS), Kim Namjoon | RM
Additional Tags:
Gender Issues, Discussions of the boys’ time in the military, Soulmates Kim Taehyung | V & Park Jimin, Comfort, BTS LA Music Camp, Coming Out, (Namjoon comes out not Jimin), Sex, (it’s not graphic), Jimin’s body issues, Canon compliant/canonverse, one sided Namgi from BOTH SIDES!! so you will see it clearly won’t last past the end of the fic, romantic happiness for everyone who wants it!, (and aromantic happiness for everyone who wants that!), (happiness all around)
Summary:
Jimin’s not a girl, he’s just not… manly. Whatever that means.
Text
NEW FIC
Hold Me Tight —
Taehyung-centric hurt/comfort featuring Jimin and Jungkook !
— i also have the second work in the series “It’s Just Fanservice!” Almost ready for publishing, so stay tuned!
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77789461
Hold Me Tight - lunetaes - 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS [Archive of Our Own]
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I want to find fellow Vminers online and it feels like I’m looking for water in the desert. Like I get it it’s not the most popular duo out there, but come on, it’s BTS?? I find so much stuff online yet I can’t find the people I can talk to 😭
I’m stuck on this Vmin train for months now, and it feels lonely in here 💔
Also. I would LOVE fic recommendations and shit. I try to draw them, but my will to draw is always close to 0, so there’s that.
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Village — an interactive (horror-ish) AU
Jungkook and his friends wake up someplace entirely unfamiliar and completely desolate. They have no memory of how they got there. Their phones and hiking supplies are all missing.
Can YOU make the right choices, the ones that get all three of them home safely?
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sinto sua falta todo santo dia…
às vezes me pego pensando se você sente a minha também. se quando alguém diz meu nome, minha imagem aparece na sua cabeça, ou se aquela música que ouvíamos juntas ainda te leva pra mim. se algum filme, algum lugar, alguma frase boba ainda te faz lembrar de nós.
tenho medo de estar amando sozinha. de estar sentindo falta sozinha. medo de você estar criando novas memórias, rindo de coisas novas, vivendo a sua vida normalmente, enquanto eu ainda fico presa em tudo o que fomos um dia, segurando lembranças que talvez só eu ainda guarde.
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Vmin | general
3.2k words | letters
ˋ°•*⁀➷
Link:
Someone, somewhere - promenadedream - 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS [Archive of Our Own]
Answer
I saw that, but I wasn’t really sure how else to reply because if not about personal relationships, then what could a lack of a birthday message mean? Maybe I’m just not getting it, does anyone else have any thoughts? 😭
Answer
I fear he’s too locked in with his Instagram aesthetic.
On a serious note, I wouldn’t consider this anything at all, honestly. Jimin has missed other’s birthday messages as well, and he was with Taehyung in person, anyway. They were interacting normally. As the members have said before, these birthday posts aren’t necessary and the existence or lack of existence of them aren’t indicators of their relationship.
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Merry Christmas to the Jimin to my V <3
Thank you for being my first real friend here, I don’t think I could ever put into words how much you mean to me. At some point this year you were truly the light at the end of the tunnel and I will forever and ever be grateful for you. Also hoping you wont get tired of me and my 24mins long voice notes any time soon xx
I love you and i’ll always be just one call away from you <3
Happy Holidays OG wife @endlesssolace from your Christmas Santa ❤️
