short termed : jimin & yoongi

41.

２９／７／２９
monday.

"jimin?"

yoongi yells from the top of the stairs,
in search for the male who was
supposed to be beside him when he
woke up. but he wasn't,
his boyfriend wasn't.
or was it a dream, like he thought
it could've been. and the truth about
jimin's "child" was his niece. was
that part a dream too? does that mean
he has to run all the way back to the
cafe? does that mean he has to go
back to being sad and lifeless again?

will tomorrow be all a dream again?

"jimin are you there?"

please don't let this be
a fucking dream.

for the love of god,
please, please don't let
this be a dream.

"down here, hyung"

jimin calls from the
lower level.

oh, fucking thank you god.

"what're you doing?"

"making pancakes
of course"

"it's... three thirty p.m though"

yoongi questions, glancing
at his lock screen, a picture
vividly popping up. a picture of a
drawing that jimin had drawn.
a little sponge with stick figure
arms bending into a heart and his
name with a little message
at the bottom.
"love you min yoongi"

"pancakes can be eaten
any day and any time"

jimin slightly scolds, offended
because of yoongi's tone.

"make me a cat"

the older ignored jimin's
pouting face, which he
could see from the back.
his puffy cheeks expanding
from the side and still
flipping the half made
pancakes.

"small or big?"

jimin asks, already
over yoongi's statement.

"medium, thanks
jimin"

"can't you call me
something more lovely?"

he mumbles to himself,
underneath the air and
low sizzling. while he squeezes
the bottle in detail to make the
requested animal. but the
dominant heard it.

"thanks, babe"

yoongi slides over to the
stove where jimin was standing,
curling his arms around the
cook's waist. who was now
frozen and bright red, the red
that yoongi had always found
showstopping.

and this tine yoongi doesn't
hesitate to lean into jimin's
jaw for a quick peck. then
quickly shuffles off, going back
upstairs and into the bathroom
where he needed to wash himself
up.

whereas the cook was still
frantic about the cat call
and peck. he crouches down
still holding the spatula,
crossing him arms which
rested on his knees and
buried his face in.

"why are you so cute?"         

       "why're you so cute?"

"fuck, i love you too much" 

"i'm so fucking in love. why?"

--end of alternative ver.2/2--