Yoonmin au #YoonminWeek2020 #yoonminweek20_D1
Jimin is supposed to announce his engagement to a noble girl at the Masquerade Ball. But the Young Master has other plans.
Running away with the love of his life and servant of the Park family house, his sweet, sweet Yoongi.
Length: 11.5k words [two-shot]
Noble Park Jimin | Servant Yoongi
Love at first sight
Mild angst | Happy Ending
Smut | Fluff | Romance
Jimin is smitten³
Yoongi is a precious baby
Alright babies! Here I am with the first story for yoonminweek2020, the Masquerade. This will be started tomorrow and finished on Sunday due to the word count.
My tiny soulsister @K00KIE
is having her birthday very soon and this is for you, queen! I hope you like it
This is a brand new pair of yoonmin kids and I'm very excited to share them with everyone!
I'll let you guys know when the update starts.
As always, you can quote or reach me through cc. I’ll see you tomorrow!
Spin, waltz, step.
Jimin can almost tell he sees the violin notes float between the noble heads in the golden ballroom. The cheery chat, the heeled steps, the clink and clatter of wine glasses and whiny, spoiled rich children.
But as it is, the noble boy knows it to be merely the palpable flutter of his anxious heart.
“Isn’t it so, my lord?” Rosalinda, dizzily beautiful in her indigo dress and skirt of intricate embroidered pearls asks, perched on his arm with the softness of a flower.
The matching mask that sculpts down to the tip of her delicate nose contrasts vividly with her light blue eyes and the frame of her curly blond hair offers her beauty to rival that of the angels.
“Oh, most certainly, my lady,” Jimin grins ever so graciously, before addressing the small crowd in their company, “A wedding to the flowers had to be most appropriate, insistence was necessary,” the masked noblemen nod with approval.
Ever the perfect groom Jimin was. Sensitive to his future wife’s needs, he had pushed the wedding back until next spring. “Rosalinda must bloom in between the flowers,” he finishes gallantly.
“Young master! You must not nibble around, it will ruin your cake time!” Seokjin repreends, busy with the boiling cauldron of chilly.
“Seokjinnie!” Jimin whines, “But I am starving! Mother won’t leave me be for five minutes.”
He pouts to the cook, adorably charming. His mother had ordered him a ridiculous red suit for his fifteenth birthday, as if Jimin needed any more accessories to attract eyes to his wealthiness.
Like the eyes of the boy, frozen by the cutting board with a knife in hand.
Seokjin huffs, “Yoongi!” The boy startles, so hard, it seems, the knife slices a clean cut on his hand. “Oh, clumsy child.” The man groans, chilly half-heartedly unattended, “Go wash and wrap it, these onions need to be cut,” he reprimands.
The boy looks up at Jimin, hand clutched and cheeks as red as the long chilli peppers lined on the wooden table.
Was it suddenly too hard to breathe in that minuscule, stuffed kitchen? Jimin thinks so. Oh, could it be this godforsaken suit, limiting air through his pipes?
A beat of silence under Yoongi’s embarrassed scrutiny and Jimin is overcome with the inexplicable urge to take the marred hand across the table, kiss the wound and press it against his heart.
Oh, the soft red that spreads over his button nose and creeps dark enough to make the eyes shine, wide behind the unruly strands of his black hair.
And the lips, oh the lips, pink like the roses in Jimin’s mom’s front garden, plump and tender looking.
Oh god, what?
“Yoongi!” Seokjin calls again and the two boys startle hard enough to jump. Yoongi runs out and Jimin had never seen someone move so quickly, as if desperate to completely disappear off the face of the earth.
The dry pain in his throat upon swallowing, as if to lock away words much too inappropriate (what words, Jimin doesn’t know), tells him he’s suddenly parched.
“Seokjinnie,” he inquires, now meekly. The cook softens his glare directed at the well outside when he looks back at the noble child. “Who is that?”
Seokjin frowns for a beat, “Oh. Yoongi? Your mother sent word for a few new helping hands around the house, Young master. Especially with your birthday.”
“Oh,” his voice barely makes it out, gaze fixed on the open door through which Yoongi had fled as if running from the plague. “So he’ll be staying?”
Jimin is hung on the edge of believing he’s been put center front of an intricate circus. /High Society/, they call it. Juggling useless titles around like rubber balls, hiding behind masks of poorly feigned modesty and wealthy despair for even more money.
At the very least, Jimin consoles himself, today he only has to see half of their faces. Makes it easier to pretend he cares about who they are and all their uninteresting proses.
Soon enough, none of these people will matter to him.
“Young master of the Park family?” A teenage boy walks up, timid in between the golden bodies.
The simple bow-tie, dirty blond hair and the apron tied over his hips attract no more attention than a servant may get, but the glasses of red wine in his tray makes Jimin’s heart crawl its way through his throat.
“Yes?” He answers, looking poised over his nose.
“Must I exchange your drink for a fresh glass, my young lord?” The boy smiles.
Jimin stops breathing.
“Much thankful,” he tries the firmness in his voice.
And between the twinkling clowns, the young boy disappears behind the red velvet curtains.
“My lady, must you excuse me shortly,” Jimin murmurs near the crook of Rosalinda’s neck, “I believe my mother is looking for me,” he lies.
“Of course, my lord,” his fiancé concedes softly, “I will come find you later on,” she smiles, so gracious behind her mask. With his heart hurting, Jimin bids what is to be believed a short goodbye to the small crowd accompanying them.
Poor Rosalinda, certainly deserves better than a husband that won’t ever be able to make her or any other woman happy.
“Young master? Could I come in?” The soft knocks that precede the mildly rough voice behind the door make Jimin freeze in between his soft sheets.
“Yes, you may,” he calls out of habit, but his head is spinning. He can’t believe his eyes when Yoongi paces inside his bedroom, soft small steps and, must Jimin say, sweetness even in his act of silently closing the door at his back.
“Good morning, Young master,” he greets meekly. Jimin wonders if his cheeks are permanently this shade of pink or if the boy is perhaps caught in any sort of embarrassment.
“Madam has sent me to aid in your bath from now on,” he says softly, eyes fixed on the carpeted floor.
Jimin can’t help the slip of poise that lets his lips fall open.
Had it been six, maybe seven new moons since Yoongi had started working for his family? After that disastrous encounter on his birthday, Jimin had caught glimpses of the servant boy all around the grounds.
Helping out in the kitchen under Seokjin’s impatient instructions, brushing horses at the barn, aiding the old gardener in pruning the roses and even serving Jimin his own dinner. So busy Yoongi had been.
Working and bustling, out of sight before Jimin could get hold of his presence, they hadn’t talked again.
“What happened to Jisung?” Jimin has to ask.
“I don’t know, Young master,” Yoongi suddenly looks afraid. His shoulders hunch and fingers ball tight in the soft towel he brings over his arm, “If-If it wouldn’t be a problem f-for me to help you in the mornings--”
“Oh, no! Of course not,” Jimin throws off the covers, “Forgive my curiosity, please.” He stands up in his nightshirt.
Yoongi looks up, alarmed, “N-No, nothing to be sorry about, please, I--” he blushes further red and Jimin feels thorns around his heart, “I’m happy to serve Young master however he sees best,” he looks down again.
Jimin sighs. The deed is done now. Yoongi certainly thinks Jimin dislikes him.
“Well, I’m ready for my bath, then.”
When they reach the washing room, the shade of deep crimson Yoongi has painted over his cheeks as he undresses Jimin of his single garment is nothing if more motive for wonder.
The last servant pours steaming water into the metal tub and leaves with a bow behind the wafting smoke.
Jimin sinks in the hot water with a satisfied sigh. Oh, it has been a minute since he’d taken a proper bath.
“Is there a soap of your preference, Young master?” Yoongi asks softly behind him. Jimin bites his lip. Could he fix the situation?
Ever since seeing Yoongi for the first time, the noble boy had been intrigued with the fluttering of his heart. Was it sudden infatuation, much like Jimin’s obsession with flowers and intricate romance novels?
Certainly any person would say a servant is anything but interesting.
And yet Jimin had been wanting to know everything he could about Yoongi, without being given opportunity to.
“You can choose for me,” Jimin decides on saying.
“I wouldn’t know anything about them, Young master,” he hears the apprehension in his voice and turns around with a slosh of water.
“Yoongi, was it?” Jimin leans over the metal lid as Yoongi’s eyes widen.
“Yes.” He breathes, “Yes, Young master.”
“I’m not trying to get you in trouble,” Jimin smiles as benevolent as he can, “Don’t be afraid of me.”
The red blush creeps down Yoongi’s neck and disappears under his plain shirt, “I would never think that of Young master,” he murmurs, looking down, “I-I have been clumsy in the past. My picking might not be the most appropriate.”
Jimin feels himself warm up, not from the water, but from the thought that flourishes upon his mind.
Yoongi is adorable.
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen, Young master.”
“Oh, you’re older than me. Have you ever kissed before?” Jimin now says mischievously and, to his joy, Yoongi’s face turns immediately crimson.
“I--what?” he stammers and Jimin laughs openly.
“I’m just joking!” The giggle leaves delighted peels, “Oh, Yoongi.” He wipes off a tear of pure amusement, “Let’s use the jasmine. It’s my favorite,” Jimin points to the soap on the top of the wooden counter.
Barely recovered from his shock, Yoongi shakily reaches out for it.
As he bathes and spreads the gentle smell of jasmine over Jimin’s body, hands calm and mouth pressed into a thin, delicate line, especially when he brushes over forbidden places, Jimin does his best to keep from saying any more outrage.
Jimin traverses the salon, the carpeted halls and large rooms, a rhythm to his escaping dance as he sneaks his body around crowds and flies over empty corridors.
The mask slides down his nose from exertion, a sheer lining of sweat over his skin from nervous anticipation.
The glass of red wine, long swallowed and left over a randomly passing tray washes warmth over his chest and settles fluttery in the pit of his stomach.
The corners look exactly the same, halls darkening the further Jimin wovens himself into the mansion that extends deep into the grounds cradled by the dense forest of the south. But the instructions to the smuggler had been clear.
The violin has long left his ears, and now Jimin follows a dangerous waltz of his own. In a fit of insanity, the memory of Yoongi almost being caught fleeing from his bedroom through the window two nights ago makes Jimin want to laugh.
There would be no enjoyment whatsoever had Yoongi failed in his escape, as severe, unimaginable punishment would have awaited his flesh.
The shameful scandal of a dirty servant boy rolling around his noble young master’s sheets was certain to ruin the Park family name.
Jimin scoffs, indignated.
A servant, rough and plain, yet a composition more beautiful than any art piece Jimin had ever been made to study. The stains of work over his pale skin, the sunburnt cheeks and the chapped lips, the unruly hair, dark as coal, as his eyes.
The hands that hurt themselves over tough tasks, yet curved around Jimin's waist with the gentleness of a feather.
The arms, so strong from carrying heavy buckets of water and wood for their family's comfort --
the arms that sustained Jimin every time he gracefully unmounted his horse, bringing him softly down until they stood chest to chest, breaths mingling among fresh hay and dangerously thin wooden walls.
At seventeen, Jimin had taken deeper into his habit of reading.
After tiring writing lessons and piano, dance and business, math, geography, the holy words and the dirtiness of noble agreements his widowed mother had made sure
to provide him and his brothers with ever so fiercely, all the boy could crave for was finding an old, dusty book in their library, fingers running through the ornate, golden glazed titles on their backs.
And then finding Yoongi in their orchard.
“There you are,” Jimin cheers, just as his feet cross the fence.
Yoongi turns his face back, body stretched to reach up to what looks to be a perfect round orange.
The smile that spreads in his face upon the sight of Jimin, so wide and pure is enough to make the noble boy emotional.
“Young master,” Yoongi finally collects the fruit into the woven basket perched on his arm. His voice is soft, ever so meek, but laced with happiness.
Jimin lifts up the book and smirks, “I found the sequel.”
Yoongi’s face lights up like a ray of sun, “Oh!” Then, he blushes, “Y-Young master didn’t need to--”
“Hush now,” Jimin says softly, blushing himself, “You wanted to know what happened next, didn’t you?” He raises one eyebrow and the sight of the pretty servant chewing on his pink lips melts his insides like warm applesauce.
Yoongi nods at his basket.
That makes Jimin smile in triumph, “Then it’s time to harvest those apples.”
Once a week, Yoongi works all day long in the orchard. Of such wealthiness the Park family is, rich enough to have vast expanses of fruit flourishing every season.
Jimin’s mother, the Madam, is especially fond of grapes and pomegranates, that Yoongi harvests carefully to her enjoyment, alongside some fruit to bring over to the trading market down in the village.
Over the two years serving their family, Yoongi had worked himself to the bones, but so hard and graciously, the servant boy had earned the Madam’s benevolent interest.
Be it tending to her roses, cooking her favorite desserts or caring for her sons, Yoongi had excelled in his dedication.
With firm assurance he wasn’t disturbing Yoongi’s hard work, Jimin would come to find him plucking the fruit in season off the branches with a book in hand, to read Yoongi about worlds and people his unfortunate illiterate state wouldn't ever be able to reach him.
Jimin had managed to teach him the alphabet, but busy as Yoongi ever was, the servant boy couldn’t dedicate himself to fully learn how to read.
So Jimin did it for him.
At first, his confused heart had concluded Jimin was just a kind person. The Madam had taught them, after all, to be respectful and benevolent to their staff. Thankful.
And Jimin had always thought he had much to thank Yoongi for.
But now, as every smile and pleased sound Yoongi shyly made upon Jimin’s expression of the story made his heart hurt, oh did it hurt so good, Jimin had started wondering /why/ would he come out of his way to read in the orchard and nowhere else.
Yoongi’s delight, so pure and unabashed, often made tight lumps climb up Jimin’s throat, almost rendering him silent with emotion, if the sight of his inquietation wouldn’t worry Yoongi himself.
And Jimin read aloud until his voice softened and his throat scratched, until Yoongi had finished harvesting fruit enough to feed his family and trade off.
“Come rest for a bit,” Jimin calls, sat under the apple tree, hand extended, “You’re exhausted.”
Yoongi looks down, shining with sweat, cheeks flushed from exertion. Before, Jimin had been in the habit of taking out a fan from his pocket to soothe Yoongi’s skin.
But the action had been deemed so inappropriate by the servant boy, mortified to have his Young master even considering working himself to his benefit, Jimin had stopped doing it, albeit grumpily.
Now, Yoongi sits by his side, wafting warmth and soft peels of tired gasps.
“Is Young master hungry?” He asks.
“Why, do you have something for me?” Jimin puts the book down while Yoongi fumbles with one of the baskets at his back. He turns around with the biggest, plumpest, most perfect red apple Jimin has ever laid eyes on.
“I thought Young master would like this one,” he murmurs, offering the fruit with a look under his long lashes Jimin had learned to read as hopefulness.
Hopefulness of what, the noble boy doesn’t know exactly, but something in his heart always tells him Yoongi would be tremendously crestfallen if Jimin was ever to refuse his offer.
He had never dared to entertain the thought.
“It looks like a jewel,” Jimin takes it in his hands, awed and Yoongi shrinks bashfully, blushing so soft under the gratefulness.
“It’s for Young master,” he repeats.
“Share it with me?” Jimin inches forward, the apple suspended in between them, “It’s big enough for both of us.”
Yoongi looks taken aback, to his dismay, “I--N-No please, Young master. It’s dirty to share it with me, I’m--”
“What? It’s not dirty,” Jimin gasps, indignated, “Whoever told you that nonsense?” He frowns and now Yoongi is positively terrified, eyes so wide, they seem like plates, none of the healthy blush over his pale, panic-ridden skin.
“/I’m/ asking you to share with /me,/” Jimin presses and god, he’s so angry. How could Yoongi ever think that of himself? When his hands and care were all over the comfort Jimin has had for years now?
“I,” Yoongi chokes, panting, “I’m so sorry, Young master, it wasn’t ever my--” To Jimin’s absolute horror, his eyes are shining with tears.
“Yoongi, no--” Jimin reaches out, but much like Yoongi had done on the first day they’d met, he’s on and off his feet, dashing out of the orchard. “Yoongi, wait!” He calls out, but the servant boy is already out of sight.
Jimin deflates, apple loose in his hand. With tears tight in his throat and eyes trained on the fence, he waits, as if Yoongi were to suddenly reappear.
"Shit," he hisses quietly, the curse forbidden to even grace his lips at the threat of having his mouth slapped.
The noble boy doesn't know how long he stays hunched over his crossed legs, staring into space.
But when he decides to finally move, the sun is halfway setting down behind the mountains.
He finds Yoongi sweeping the barn in half darkness under the precarious lantern hung on the peg.
He moves slowly, distracted. Jimin bites his lip, heartbroken when Yoongi stops to wipe under his eyes with the rough fabric of his shirt.
As if he hadn't been feeling guilty enough, Jimin almost crumbles with sadness. How could he have upset Yoongi, of all people?
The servant boy sniffs quietly, back to sweeping as if his feelings weren't more important than working late. Had he been crying all this time?, Jimin's heart whimpers.
He approaches, careful steps over the path to not make any noise. When Yoongi stops, forehead resting against the sweeper handle and face crumbling silently, Jimin is much too distraught to not intervene.
"Yoongi," he calls in the softest murmur, but it still makes Yoongi jolt with fright. He turns, terror overwriting any other feeling. With no control, the tears roll down his face, a pair of daggers sliding down Jimin's chest.
He steps forward, cautious, as if Yoongi is a wounded animal.
The servant boy seems to snap out of his trance, fumbling to wipe his face clean, "Y-Young master, how--how can I help?" The last word breaks and poor Yoongi looks so frustrated.
Jimin wants to cry.
"Oh, Yoongi," he says, a broken whisper, standing a step away. "Don't cry."
His words seem to have the opposite effect, however, because Yoongi is driven just short of weeping.
"I'm sorry," he sobs quietly, "I--I will--I will stop--I pro--promise," he hiccups, furiously wiping at his eyes and Jimin hadn't ever seen /anyone/ so sad before.
It breaks him.
When the sweeper hits the floor with a loud snap, Jimin realizes he has Yoongi held tightly in his arms. Frozen like a marble statue, the boy seems to have ceased working any bodily function.
"Hug me back," Jimin says into the messy hair on his temple. When Yoongi still doesn't move, he pulls away. "Are you mad at me?" He whispers, throat closing.
The look of surprise in Yoongi's eyes almost drives him insane.
And Jimin has to brace himself when, in visible desperation, Yoongi fumbles to hug him. Jimin wants to cry when he puts a hand on Yoongi's chest to stop him.
"That wasn't an order," he croaks, "Yoongi. Yoongi, you can say no to me."
"Please, Young master, I'm not--" he starts breathing faintly, "Forgive me," he begs, crumbled apart.
"For what," Jimin fights to hold back his own tears, "What could you have possibly done to need forgiveness?"
Yoongi swallows, earnest, "I wasn't rejecting--I didn't mean to--but I--I'm just a servant, you must not dirty yourself with--with me," he stumbles through the words, the hiccups of sheer nerves toiling his speech.
Jimin bites his lip hard, decided not to get mad again, "Yoongi. Stop talking nonsense." He says firmly. Yoongi sucks in a breath. "I'm the one apologizing."
But Yoongi shakes his head, atribulated, "I offended Young master, it wasn't m-my intention, it--it wasn't because I didn't want--" he works himself up yet again.
"Shhhh," Jimin puts a hand on each of his arms, "You didn't. There was no offense," he says, as slowly and patient as possible, eyes boring into Yoongi's. "You did not do anything wrong whatsoever, alright?" He says, as if speaking to a child.
Yoongi looks as fragile as one. Was this how the mind of a servant worked, terrified of committing mistakes, of wronging their employers?
Had Yoongi been a servant before in another home and been punished for that, perhaps?
"Is that why you ran from me? You thought I was angry with you?" He inquires ever so softly. Yoongi looks down, sniffling. "Can you tell me?"
The servant boy hesitates, wiping off another tear. Jimin hurts as if he had drunk poison to see him try and breathe to calm himself down. Yoongi doesn't look at him when he speaks.
"I'm no--no one to give Young master any presents, but I--I thought you would like…" his voice breaks and so does Jimin's heart, "F-For always being kind to me a-and for reading to me, I just wanted--" his chest stutters with belated hiccups,
"But I didn't mean to offend you, I was just t-telling the truth, I wasn't meaning to reject Young master, I didn't mean--I couldn't bear being hated--"
"What?!" Jimin cuts, flabbergasted, "Yoongi, no! Absolutely not!"
He reaches out, frantic and Yoongi's wide eyes are framed by the hands pressed over his cheeks, "Don't you ever dare to think that!" He chastises, "Hate you?" He says, scandalized, "I couldn't hate you for anything in the world."
The soft pink lips fall open, "Y-Young master--"
"How dare you think that? I can't allow you to think so low of yourself," Jimin grumbles, "No one is allowed to hate you!"
Yoongi's tears are flowing freely, hot against the skin of Jimin's hands. "I'm sorry," he simply murmurs. Jimin sighs and retreats. There is a gracious blush creeping into Yoongi's face.
He looks down, meek. "The thought of Young master h-hating me for rejecting his offer, I… I couldn't bear," he croaks, but he seems calmer.
"Did it hurt badly? Thinking I hated you?" Jimin asks, soft earnestness and prickling cheeks.
"N-Nothing ever hurt more," Yoongi mumbles, rubbing over his chest.
"Here?" Jimin puts a hand over his, exactly on top of his heart.
Yoongi nods with bitten lips, "Just--Just the thought," his voice breaks and horribly a tear slides down, "I like--I mean, I enjoy b-being with Young master whenever I can."
"I love having your company." Jimin declares, eloquently,
"I always look forward to spending time with you," Yoongi flushes adorably red. "I could never hate you, Yoongi. Not you. You're… you're special," Jimin murmurs and, more than emotion of realizing words out loud, his entire heart bursts red inside his chest.
"Young master," Yoongi says, as if boneless.
"And stop with this 'dirty' foolishness. We could eat off the same plate for all I care," Jimin frowns, dizzy with thoughts blaring inside his head. "Okay?"
"Okay," Yoongi nods timidly.
“Now,” Jimin pulls the apple from his pocket, to Yoongi’s open-mouthed surprise. Even with wet eyelashes and a red nose, face a little dirty from all the sweeping, he looks so absolutely soft in Jimin’s eyes.
“Do you want to share with me?” He asks kindly, “It’s alright if you don’t want to, I promise.”
When a sole tear escapes from the corner of Yoongi’s eyes, a weird, fleeting thought passes through Jimin’s mind.
Yoongi has no pretense. No disguise, no character to play in front of him. And while wearing emotions on one’s face is very ill-advised as nobility, Jimin adores the fact that with Yoongi, he can just show the rawest, undignified part of himself without worry.
“I would love to share it with Young master,” he looks into Jimin’s eyes from under his eyelashes, voice a murmur, face a blushing red porcelain.
Jimin gets the first bite, the apple the sweetest he’s ever had, tender under his teeth, perfect. He offers it to Yoongi, licking the juice off his lips. The servant boy gives it a timid bite and Jimin whines.
“Oh no, bite it like a human,” he pouts and Yoongi flushes absolutely red, opening his mouth wider to take a proper piece off. “There we go. You didn’t have dinner either, did you?”
“No,” Yoongi swallows.
“What are you two doing here at this hour?” Seokjin’s voice almost makes Jimin curse out loud, but Yoongi jolts with a frightened gasp.
“By the jesus, Seokjinnie! Do you want me to die of a heart attack?” Jimin puts a hand over his chest.
Seokjin scoffs, “I wouldn’t have almost killed /anyone/ if you two were inside as the hour demands, Young master,” he squints and gives Yoongi a pointed look. “What are you doing here?”
Jimin must admit he's nervous. Much can go wrong in their plan and if they were ever to be caught, Yoongi would be the one facing punishment.
As he dashes through the darkened corridors in search of the majestic double doors of the library in the Kim family mansion, the worst possible outcome plays undeterred inside of his head.
At midnight, the smuggler had said. Jimin thinks it's perfect. Half an hour before the waltz, Rosalinda will still be thinking him to be with the Madam and no one will be in search of Lord Park Jimin.
By the time someone actually misses him, Jimin will be far away into the southern border.
The library door opens quietly under his measured push and, for precaution, Jimin locks it behind himself.
The vast shelves stacked with well worn books and the loveseats are of no interest to him at the moment. Jimin stands, a masked contour of a silhouette against the open door that leads to the balcony.
From here, Jimin can see the forest.
"Young master" the soft voice makes him spin around with a gasp.
The noble colors make Yoongi look angelic in his well cut suit Jimin had borrowed him some nights prior. A beautiful indigo fitting the contours of the body Jimin himself had contoured with abandon countless times.
The sight of the perpetually unruly hair kicks into his heartbeat, but the carefully common mask sitting gently over Yoongi's face makes him effectively unrecognizable to the untrained, distracted passerby.
"Oh, my sweetheart," Jimin stammers, dripping with love.
Yoongi comes to him, timid, yet eager and Jimin meets him halfway with his lips.
Like a parched, desperate man, he cups the face of his beloved, thumbs gracious on the edges of the mask and mouth urgent over the chapped lips.
Yoongi melts into his embrace. His hands circle around his waist and his mouth opens to Jimin's tongue that swipes over his teeth and pulls delicious little sighs of pleasure with practiced ease.
As he turns eighteen, Jimin starts rebelling. That is at least, what the Madam likes to accuse him of when he doesn't comply with the ridiculousness of the noble life.
Piano? Dancing the waltz? Business talk and the intricates of conversation among all the greedy snakes of high society? Poetry? Composition, etiquette?
From the moment Jimin opens his eyes until he fades off, exhausted in his bed, the day is filled with nonsense
Yet he recognizes himself to be acting childish, can his mother understand that learning a craft and working with it would be much more appealing than climbing his way to the noble heavens with heels made of absurdity?
Jimin has no time of day to waste with these things.
The noble boy jolts, sloshing water in the calm river. The call comes from within the trees, grown so close together in the earthy margins of the current that runs, crystal clear behind the vast grounds of their property.
"Young master!" It calls again and, this time, his eyes widen. The light crunch of steps over gravel and leaves approach and Jimin would recognize that unruly black hair /anywhere./
"Young--oh!" Yoongi halts his hurried gait as he emerges from the trees, "Young master, what are you doing?!"
He comes then, running until his knees are hitting the dirt by the rock where Jimin's clothes rest, haphazardly folded in his haste to get rid of everything and jump into the water.
"Yoongi? What are you doing here?" He's too curious to hide his surprise. Wet to the bones, naked into the water, Jimin shivers when a soft breeze flutters over his skin.
"The Madam has sent me to look for you. She said you are late for your lessons," Yoongi leans his hands over the dirt.
Jimin huffs, "I'm not going to any lessons. I'm taking a bath," he says, snobbish.
Yoongi sputters, "But--But Young master will be in trouble--"
"Worth it," Jimin looks over at him once more, nonchalant. To hell with all that nonsense. As he takes a better look at Yoongi's state he frowns. "Jesus, what have you been doing? You're completely covered in filth."
From his stained shoes, to the brown dirt on his legs and face, hair powdered with leaves and twigs, Yoongi seems to have escaped a fight with a tree.
"I was looking for you, Young master," he flushes, shrinking under scrutiny.
"Oh," Jimin coughs.
"Please come back with me, the Madam will be furious with you," he pleads.
Jimin sighs, well aware that Yoongi is right. But the tenderness that spreads over his chest at Yoongi's worry, as if Jimin were to face horrible punishment and not just an earful from his mother is heartwarming.
His heart almost snorts, as if Jimin weren't already used to thinking Yoongi's every action was charming and deserving of adoration.
The noble boy had been past the bridge that said /I'm chin deep in love,/ not even stopping to evaluate his feelings. Yoongi has long been the owner of his heart and his affection.
And Jimin had a great suspicion the feeling was very mutual.
"I'll come back with you, if," he smirks at his suspense and Yoongi's yearning face, "You join me."
"What?" The servant boy stammers, madly flushed, "Young master--" he tries to protest, but Jimin renders it futile.
"You heard me." He raises one eyebrow, "Besides, don't you actually want to take a bath? It's scorching hot and you're all covered in dirt," he argues.
"B-But that's not appropriate," Yoongi says faintly.
Oh heavens, Jimin loves to tease him, "What is inappropriate about taking a bath? Isn't it you who bathe me, Yoongi?" He smirks wider this time, as if Jimin hadn't seen Yoongi's mad blush every time he'd tended for his mornings.
"You can come back alone and dirty or return clean and in my company, you choose," he says jokingly.
In truth, one more plea from Yoongi and Jimin would have no choice but surrender.
But when Yoongi looks down, red to the tips of his hair, Jimin smiles in triumph. "Promise?" He says softly.
"Cross my heart and die," Jimin gestures, completely smug.
It's not often he gets to be in Yoongi's company for long, undeterred. And Jimin is no idiot. If the Madam ever so slightly suspected he had been harboring affections for a house servant, Jimin knew Yoongi would be sent away forever.
But a moment of peace in the calm, unassisted river? As Yoongi timidly removes his clothes and Jimin respectfully looks away, mindful of his shyness and modesty, the noble boy's heart is pounding through his ears.
A light slosh nearby tells him Yoongi has entered the river, but Jimin waits until he's close enough to look.
"What?" Jimin looks up to find Yoongi's inquiring face.
With water at their chests, Jimin can still see the smooth expanse of skin and the timid muscles from all the hard work Yoongi does for his family. If he as much as looks down, the crystal clear water wouldn't be able to hide Yoongi from him.
But Jimin is suddenly finding it hard to even swallow.
"Something wrong?" Yoongi asks softly. Jimin knows well there is no such thing as modesty in the servant quarters. But he's never seen Yoongi naked, even if Yoongi had seen his body countless times.
"Forgive me, but you're so pretty," he breathes and the hint of heat in his face coupled with Yoongi's own wide-eyed blush makes Jimin bite his lip.
"Y-Young master is pretty too," now Yoongi's face is flaming, black eyes shining in contrast. Jimin feels feverish. “If that isn’t… rude of me to say.” He mumbles the last part.
Jimin sputters. "Let's wash you up?" He offers, turning to the rock behind himself to retrieve the soap he's been using.
"N-No, Young master, you don't need to use that on me," Yoongi grows disconcerted at the sight of Jimin's jasmine soap bar.
"Why not?" Jimin frowns. "You don't like it?"
"No, I mean, yes," Yoongi rushes to say, embarrassed, and the little pout his lips make explaining himself is the most beautiful thing Jimin has ever seen him do, "B-But that's… that's your favorite, it's not for me."
At that, Jimin sighs. He's torn between exasperation and endearment, soap clutched in hand, "What have I said about that, hm? Anything that is mine, I will share with you without any problem," he says pointedly, reminded of their misunderstanding almost a year ago at the orchard.
"But--" Yoongi bites his lip, entirely red, "It's nice soap."
"Exactly," Jimin smiles softly, "Can I wash you? I would love for you to try my favorite soap."
He says as softly as he can and Yoongi finally surrenders, smiling himself in a way that almost crushes Jimin's heart with sweetness.
He blushes so prettily when the soap runs over his skin, Jimin's fingers close behind, caressing it tenderly pink from shyness. He carefully washes his arms, his chest, his waist underwater and his legs.
Yoongi submerging and coming up with wet hair is a sight Jimin can live off forever. The coal black strands pushed back, the high cheekbones and the long eyelashes sprinkled with water droplets, so ethereally beautiful, the noble boy feels short for air.
"Let's wash your hair too," he says in baited breath, dying to make the moment last forever.
But Jimin soon realizes his mistake. With his hands in Yoongi's head, their chests almost touch with the closeness.
His sweet servant boy is slowly flushing red down to his chest as Jimin massages through his scalp and it must certainly feel heavenly, Jimin thinks, because his mouth falls slightly open.
"All done," Jimin murmurs, mesmerized when Yoongi looks into his eyes.
His hands submerge to wash off the soap, but the noble boy is hypnotized. Jimin doesn't understand how Yoongi, made entirely of such delicate sweetness, can render his mind completely blank.
"Young master," his lips, so plump and pink, slightly pout and Jimin realizes, mortified he's been staring at his mouth.
Yoongi doesn't move a muscle when his hand comes up to cup one side of his face and his thumb softly smothers the flesh of his bottom lip until Jimin can see the whites of his teeth. So tender.
When he looks into his eyes again, Yoongi is the one staring at his mouth. Jimin approaches, just a tad. Yoongi doesn't pull back.
As he slowly closes the distance, the black eyes turn hooded, glazed, until they're so close, Jimin murmurs, "So pretty," and their lips brush on each other.
When he presses the first kiss into Yoongi's lips, Jimin is half expecting the boy to jolt.
But instead, Yoongi melts into his hands.
Taken with courage and mad beating heart, Jimin captures his upper lip and suckles on the flesh. When his other hand comes to cradle the other side of his face, he feels the ghost of Yoongi's fingertips on his waist below the water.
His lips are chapped, but so warm as Jimin kisses deeper. /I haven't kissed,/ Jimin suddenly remembers Yoongi saying all those years ago and he wonders if up until now, Yoongi still hadn't done it.
When he softly pulls back with a suckle, Yoongi is panting, completely red and Jimin's heart is past the point of exploding.
"Was that good?" He murmurs between their lips. Yoongi feels like soft clay in his hands, warmed and pliant like Jimin has never seen him before.
Almost as if, for Jimin, anything was allowed. That pulls up a traveling shiver through his spine and the noble boy doesn't even dare imagine all he'd wanted to do if only they had the time to spare.
Yoongi barely gets to nod dazedly before Jimin is kissing him again.
Jimin knows they don’t have long to spare, but he can’t resist. Two days ago, when he’d sent Yoongi into town with money and half of his heart to arrange for their secret departure, the noble boy had been broken by the separation.
He just wants to assure himself the boy in his arms is real and not fruit of a heartbroken delusion.
“Young master,” Yoongi pants as soon as Jimin pauses in devouring his lips, fingers curled in his expensive suit.
“Don’t call me that,” Jimin cuts him, almost ferocious, “I’m not Young master anymore,” he says, Yoongi’s jaw held in his hand, “Say my name.” He then pleads.
His beloved seems to need a moment to gather his voice, eyes wide, so dark in the moonlight, so open, dancing on Jimin’s face, “Jimin,” he says, softly as the noble boy hasn’t ever heard.
“Wait,” Jimin takes off his mask and chucks his own to the floor.
Off goes his nobility and Yoongi’s servancy and Jimin could certainly imagine a waltz they could dance to, as he pulls Yoongi by the waist and they softly rock, side to side.
“Say it,” he asks again on the skin of Yoongi’s cheek in a delicate whisper.
“Jimin,” he murmurs, “Jimin,” Jimin almost cries when Yoongi tenderly rests his cheek on his shoulder and melts into his embrace. "My Jimin," he says and Jimin feels the heaviness of emotion.
"Only yours, my love," he noses under his ear, lips brushing on the skin he'd never had permission to mark his. All this time, Jimin has had to survive on tender adoration, as to not leave behind any vestige of their forbidden love.
But now. Now Jimin can paint his affection over Yoongi's entire body without holding back.
And so he does, with the first open mouthed kiss that bites into the flesh, a passionate suckling that makes Yoongi moan softly and leaves behind the most beautiful red.
Jimin licks soothingly over it and moves lower, hand curled in Yoongi's hair to pull his head back and allow for access.
"Youn--Jimin," Yoongi whines, lost in pleasure, too sensitive after years of gentle loving.
But Jimin only grows more passionate, spurred by his sounds until Yoongi's long neck is a sea of blooming red roses and predictably, his pleasure presses swollen against Jimin's body.
They kiss, suddenly desperate, as if conscious of their broken shackles, aggressive and demanding, moans lost in between their lips as Jimin presses their bodies and moves in sinful waves.
After their first kiss, Jimin doesn't let himself lose to wonder.
Suddenly, their secret, before so soft and caged into their own chests, grows wings that the noble boy can't hesitate to prune.
Stolen kisses for stolen moments, vigilant of their love from prying eyes.
Jimin knew of his brothers' escapades and acts of debauchery with many of the maids around the grounds, an open secret they liked to discuss, revealing sinful acts in too much detail to Jimin's both mortification and delight.
"As long as they do not get pregnant, we certainly do have fun," the oldest brother had said once, as it was usually common for maids to have bastard children working for noble families.
"But how do they not get pregnant, if you're… doing it?" Jimin once had the courage to ask.
The maids in the Park family had devised an easy solution, Jimin had come to learn.
He'd considered himself so lucky. What to them was used as an alternative, to him and Yoongi it was simply making love as they should.
They had progressed into it quite fast, as sneaking affections only made their reunion more desperate for compensation.
It had started, Jimin remembers, when he once caught Yoongi alone at the empty barn.
Pressed against the wall, the servant boy is always bent to Jimin's every wish, surrendered to his passion. When Jimin had dropped to his knees and untied the string of his pants, it had been the first time Yoongi stopped him.
"Young master, what are you doing?" He asks, madly red and out of breath.
"Let me take care of you," Jimin looks up, fingers hooked on his waistband, "Please, my love."
"Don't you dare say it's dirty," Jimin glares, "I want to." He says, nuzzling into Yoongi's pleasure.
For the first time, he had given Yoongi pleasure until the servant boy burst in bliss, on his hands, on his mouth, down his throat and dripping off his lips, so easily driven into nirvana, so preciously sensitive.
Yoongi had bitten his lips to keep quiet as Jimin swallowed around him and sucked with abandon, face flushed and clothes suddenly too hot, hair pulled into Yoongi's fingers as a desperate measure to not wisp into dust.
And Jimin had worked until his mouth grew sore, until his tongue tingled and tears sprung from his eyes. Yoongi had succumbed with a whine he hadn't been able to contain, trembling violently against the wall and knees buckling into Jimin's embrace.
He had accepted Jimin's dirty kiss happily, ready to return the favor, if only they hadn't heard steps and voices fast approaching and Jimin had to flee to take care of himself elsewhere.
The first time they made love, Jimin had shoved Yoongi's pants down as he pushed him into a stack of hay.
He had been in fiery desperation, worked up from testing on himself what his brothers had described as "preparation" they did to the maids before engaging in their lustful acts.
Dripping with arousal, he had cornered Yoongi into a hidden storage and begged between kisses. "Make me yours."
Yoongi had obviously not known how exactly to do that, but had complied nonetheless. Thrown over the sweet hay, the servant boy had let Jimin straddle him and slowly sink into his hardness, breathing raggedly as if his chest were to explode.
It had burned and hurt and Yoongi had been so worried, ignoring his own pleasure with soothing hands over Jimin's waist and thighs, along with the sweetest kisses that made the noble boy tear up from love.
But their time had been limited and Jimin couldn't bear being pulled apart from their loving and soon, he was riding Yoongi with desperation.
Hands pressed over his chest, hips sinfully galloping to heaven and hair sticking to his forehead, Jimin had thought nothing was more beautiful than Yoongi submitted to pleasure because of him.
The way his beloved had looked at him, as if Jimin were his precious sweetness and not the opposite, the way Jimin had wanted to scream his name when his vision blinded in white and Yoongi had fallen with him, too taken, too connected.
It had been a one way ticket to the land of dangerous bliss.
On the second time, Jimin had bent Yoongi against a rock and taken him on the river, as per the servant boy's own choice.
Yoongi had braced himself against it, body entirely flushed red and spine curved to take everything he could. Jimin had kissed every inch of his body he could reach, driven wild with pleasure and Yoongi's own murmured renditions of /Young master,/ moaned softly just for him.
As the months and years passed, they had grown smarter.
By the time Jimin turned twenty, they had easily figured out a way for Yoongi to sneak in and out of his bedroom, unnoticed.
A soft knock on the washing room’s door and Jimin would be springing from his bed.
He receives Yoongi with longing kisses and gentle hands pressed on each side of his face, as if an entire day without seeing each other is enough to render him desperate.
And Yoongi comes surrendered, buckling knees and soft pleasured murmurs as he stands between Jimin’s spread knees in front of the bed and lets the noble boy softly lavish his skin.
“You have worked so hard today, haven’t you, my love?” He says adoringly, carefully removing piece by piece of Yoongi’s attire. Some days are harder than others and Jimin is vigilant of that.
“I’m alright,” Yoongi will always say, shivering at the brush of Jimin’s lips on his stomach, “I’m here for--”
“You’re here to see me,” Jimin presses a kiss on the flushing skin. “I will take care of you.”
To Jimin, their secret encounters might go in a myriad of ways. As he got older and busier, as Yoongi got more responsibilities as well, their time during the day had been cut horrifyingly short
(maybe only time enough for a few heatedly sneaked kisses) and their nighttime, albeit mostly used to feverish passion, is the only precious time they have.
Sometimes Jimin would be waiting, ready to lavish his beloved and make him his as Yoongi moaned under him, tenderly cared for.
On other nights, Jimin would have prepared himself and received Yoongi halfway into pleasure, ready to beg to be taken on the nearest surface available.
And his beloved would comply with his every request, curling their fingers over the sheets, the top of the dresser, the vanity or even on the very same door Jimin had just let him through, loving Jimin like he craved.
Not rarely, all they’d do is roll on the soft sheets, whispering nothings among kisses.
Maybe Jimin would read Yoongi a story while playing with his hair until the servant boy passed from exhaustion, maybe they would lie face to face and Yoongi would tell him stories of his working childhood with his voice low and soft like velvet.
“But you always take care of me,” Yoongi says flushed in response to the kisses crawling up his stomach.
“Well, then, my love. Come lie down for me.” Today Jimin is calm. The phial of their oil rests by one of the pillows, as Jimin had slowly made sure he would be ready for their encounter. But before that, he wants Yoongi spoiled.
The servant boy climbs up the bed with his help, exposed and flushed and Jimin takes off his own nightshirt.
They have time.
The noble boy can softly push open his legs, caress them down to Yoongi’s hips and travel up his waist until they rest on the planes of his chest.
He can stop and admire his delicate beauty amongst the signs of a hardworking life.
Were Yoongi to have been born a noble child, Jimin knows all efforts would have been made to keep him soft and away from strenuous tasks, for the boy looks so fragile, even if that assumption is untrue.
Lying over his sheets, dark hair spread over the pillows, Yoongi looks angelic, half-lidded eyes glazed with pleasure and little pink mouth open to call for his Young master. Jimin comes on top of him, kissing markless trails over the skin until their lips meet in slow passion.
There is time.
Jimin is ready to die for their kisses, more than a mere press of lips, the only way he has to make Yoongi understand how much he’s missed, how much Jimin wants to trade everything he has just to see his beloved happy and cared for in his arms.
When he softly settles Yoongi on his stomach and grabs hold of the mounds of his buttocks, a gentle kneed that renders the servant boy a boneless, spread out treasure, all Jimin wants today is for him to relax.
He knows Yoongi would let himself be loved in any way Jimin wants best, but when he licks a straight trail of fire upon his entrance, he has no intention of taking him tonight.
Yoongi is exhausted, that much Jimin knows, and his beloved, who can’t have respite anywhere else, can come rest his spent body spread over Jimin’s bedding.
“Oh, Young master,” he hums with his low voice, coiled and curling from pleasure as Jimin licks and suckles wet, filthy kisses where he’s now most sensitive.
The noble boy could lose himself in it, driven by the sounds, completely hard between his own legs and dripping beads of satisfaction from Yoongi’s pleasure alone.
He can’t mark, can’t fully paint his love over the skin, but Yoongi has no complaints. With a heavy heart amongst the clouds of bliss, Jimin dreams of the day Yoongi could be his without restraint.
Was there ever such a possibility?, he thinks as he moves Yoongi into his back again, cork popping off the phial and oil spreading over the readiness Jimin had pulled out of him with his adoration.
Yoongi is confused but for a second, before Jimin straddles his form and slowly sinks into fiery damnation.
A place, a world where no one knew them, an existence made possible for Yoongi to be his without being shunned, he dreams, moving his hips with passion that evokes tears, oh so good.
Under his splayed hand, Yoongi’s heart is galloping at breakneck speed, face lighted from the vision of his Young master, as if he were his blessing and not a forbidden fruit that would inevitably, one day, poison them both.
"Touch me, please," Jimin breathes, just to have his beloved's affection where it pleads the most.
Moaning, so absurdly sensitive, Yoongi still has it in himself to gently wrap his long fingers around his hardness and help drive Jimin mad the rest of the way and succumb shortly after, shuddering over the sheets, feverish.
Jimin has no recollection from when he started with the habit, but now there isn't a day when he won't softly clean Yoongi's skin, tongue lapping over whoever's release it is.
Then, a gently wet, cold towel from the washing room over their mess, for Yoongi can't stay the night in his arms until sunrise.
"I love you so much," he whispers into his swollen lips and Yoongi drinks it all, so desperately enamored.
"Oh god," Yoongi shudders, cheek pressed against the wall, driven mad with oversensitivity.
Released and sated from Jimin's lips just a few minutes ago, his beloved now bends his back to have his Young love press in between his clutching thighs, for unfortunately, they have no way of affording full passion tonight.
No time, no resources, not reasonable, as they would have to travel by horseback riding.
But it's nonetheless okay, Jimin thinks, rolling his eyes back as his hardness rubs almost raw and ready to spill his release in tight ropes over Yoongi's legs.
His treasured love is sated and cared for, nothing else matters.
Jimin moans and shudders as it leaves him boneless, hot, desperate kisses marking red on Yoongi's nude back.
The masquerade waltz must be about to start, if his calculations are correct.
The attendees certainly waiting for the highlight of the night, when the youngest son of the Park family would announce his engagement with Rosalinda Walters, the sole heir of her fortune.
If Jimin feels any guilt, it would be towards the noble girl, who has only the best of intentions, merely complying to her family's wishes.
He hopes Rosalinda finds it in herself to one day forgive him.
But now Jimin stands in commoner clothes for the first time in his life, rough fabric over his skin as Yoongi helps him dress himself, for their noble vests would be foolish to wear during their escape.
For the first time, Jimin stands bare faced, before his beloved and before the world.
When the clock strikes midnight, they escape in between the forest shadows, leaving behind their old lives, their masks, their evidence and a dark room witness to their scheme.
Jimin walks from side to side, consumed with anxiety.
A week ago, he had been promised in marriage.
Foolishly, the noble boy had always known the day would come. As the youngest of three sons and heir to much less fortune, Jimin would obviously one day have to aid his family by marrying in whichever way the Madam found most adequate.
And now, as he’s turned twenty-one, the day has come.
Rosalinda Walters, the only daughter of the Walters family, one year younger. As Jimin is presented to her for the first time in the very visiting room in his own home, he admits the girl is the owner of uncommon, blinding beauty.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” he graciously takes her hand and softly puts a kiss on the back of it. Rosalinda looks appropriately coy.
“As it is mine, my lord,” she responds.
Jimin isn’t about to throw a fit in front of their parents, he knows best than that. The Madam smiles with prideful approval and Lord Walters announces he’d like for them to be married before winter.
But Jimin’s mind is already running like a violent river current during storm. “If you allow me word, my Lord,” he says cordially over his internal panic, awaiting for permission.
“But of course,” the man smiles, certainly satisfied at his politeness.
Jimin throws in all the charm he’s been trained to have among the rich snakes, a mask, impenetrable with false smiles and forfeit excitement.
“If it is not inappropriate of me to say such things, my Lord,” he looks at his mother briefly and his voice almost falters when Yoongi comes into the room, carrying a tray with tea to be served. Oh heavens.
“Go on,” the lord concedes and Jimin swallows his words.
But he can’t wait for his beloved to leave the room. When Yoongi softly deposits the tray on the center table, invisible to everyone else, Jimin deems it appropriate to finally speak, cold sweat forming on his temples.
“My lady is of such astounding beauty,” he looks at Rosalinda and she blushes delicately at the compliment, “Wouldn’t she look ethereal on our wedding day among the blooming flowers of spring?”
A beat passes.
From the corner of his eyes, Yoongi mildly stumbles into his serving, but fortunately doesn’t attract to himself any unwanted attention.
As he leaves the room with a bow, silently, Jimin softly lets out the desperate breath he’s been holding.
But he’s still suffocating with agony. Why gods, must his beloved go through this?
Lord Walters seems much too pleased with his words. “A gallant young man, I see,” he looks at the Madam, who graciously accepts the credit for Jimin’s charming nature,
“It is true a spring wedding would be the talk of the town,” he muses, fingers brushing his thick mustache, “What is your opinion, Madam Park?”
“A beautiful union for certain, my Lord,” the woman smiles, “Rosalinda would look stunning.”
Jimin had never made such monumental efforts to not let his mask crack.
His mind flies to Yoongi, working for his family at that very moment, certainly having to hide his broken heart just as Jimin is hiding his. What could he do, oh god, to prevent such disaster?
Pushing the wedding back won’t be enough if Jimin doesn’t find a way out of what is to be his and Yoongi’s permanent separation.
Living without his beloved is not an option.
As the noble boy spends the week buried into arrangements and dispensable pleasantries, catching sight of Yoongi is impossible. So cruel life is, to not allow the noble boy to have the servant in his arms to assure him everything would be fine.
Was Yoongi now working among unshed tears of heartbreak? His beloved had always been so easy to break in Jimin’s hands, heart and love so entirely surrendered, nothing could shield him if Jimin was ever to commit such outrage.
And his head spins the entire week, lost in deviations of his Yoongi, his pure love, undeserving of any misery life had thrown at him.
When Jimin wakes up that morning, finally free, for now, he has no time to spare in any more suffering.
Catching Yoongi during the day would be dangerous, with all the emotions in boiling point, but Jimin risks a gentle brush over his hand as he feigns walking into the kitchen for an apple.
“Please come see me tonight?” He whispers into Yoongi’s ear, so soft, barely audible over the bustling of pans and pots. He hadn’t been able to stay and see if Yoongi had complied.
And now Jimin can’t sleep, pacing desperately inside his bedroom, not even undressed from the tiring day, wondering almost aloud if Yoongi would even want to still meet him in the quiet of night, now that Jimin had been promised away.
Their romance has scooped so much of Yoongi, rubbing in his face he’d never be able to claim Jimin his, calling him a dirty, forbidden secret with an expiration date, no matter how fiercely Jimin had tried to assure him otherwise.
Were those lies? Would Yoongi now be thinking Jimin had lied to him all these years, only to have for himself Yoongi’s affections, his body, his pleasure and now throw him away at the sight of a proper union?
Jimin’s lips had nibbled themselves past the point of bleeding as he’d worked his mind all week for a solution. If Yoongi rejects him and ends their love altogether, the noble boy has no choice but to fulfill his duty to society.
But oh, if Yoongi is still his. Jimin has concocted a plan.
Three weak knocks on the washing room door make him jolt, as if Yoongi had been kicking his way in. Jimin plucks it open, breathless with agony and the sight almost renders him into his knees.
Eyes cast down, visibly swollen, skin rubbed red under his damp eyelashes, Yoongi stands before him meager than Jimin has ever thought possible. The noble boy freezes for a second too long, suddenly too conscious of his next move.
Yoongi must not think he’s here for the wrong reasons, not now when Jimin is certain the wrong words would break him beyond repair.
But his silence pulls a soft croak off the bitten lips, “You called for me, Young master?”
“Yes,” Jimin pants, offering a hand, “Yes I did, my love,” he says sweetly and a tear makes it out of the corner of Yoongi’s eyes. He looks up, crushed in pain, twinkling eyes stomping on Jimin’s throat.
“Please, Young master,” he pleads brokenly and more tears fall and his head shakes, “If I’m--if I’m here to just say goodbye, please just let me go.”
Jimin’s heart turns inside out and his own eyes instantly fill with pain, but he still tries, “Yoongi, I,” he can’t breathe, “If you don’t ever want to see me anymore, I will understand,” he promises, “But hear me first?”
“Will Young master want to bring me to his new home?” Yoongi asks to their feet, defeated.
Jimin’s mouth falls open. The thought of keeping Yoongi as a secret lover had been so outrageous, it hadn’t ever crossed his mind in the slightest.
“I would never do that to you, Yoongi,” he says, crushed and his tears roll down his face. “I could never.”
“Then why have I been called here?” He frowns, confused.
“Oh, my treasure, do you really believe that would be the option I would want to offer you?” Jimin can’t avoid feeling wounded. Would Yoongi ever stop thinking so lowly of himself?
He blinks repeatedly, face crumbling and tears abundant.
“I am just a servant, Young master,” he croaks, “As much--as much as you have made me feel that I’m not, that’s what I am.” Yoongi is almost hunched over heartbreak and Jimin absolutely hates the world down to the very cells.
He scrounges his brain, thinking of his plan, discourse passing over and over between his ears. For once, he won’t let himself be taken over with anger. There is no time for that, no place for repeated reassurances.
Jimin wants to offer a solution.
“And what if I wasn’t a noble anymore?”
“What?” Yoongi looks into his eyes.
“What if I was just a common man, with nothing to his name but my will to live by your side,” Jimin says softly, gauging his reaction, “What if suddenly your Young master didn’t exist?” He tries softly brushing his thumb under Yoongi’s eyes.
Yoongi doesn’t pull back and his heart twitches with hope.
“W-What do you mean?” He’s suddenly wide-eyed.
“What if,” Jimin whispers, gently taking Yoongi’s hand into his and pulling him close, “What if one day we were to gather all we have,” he says almost into his lips,
“And leave everything else behind, just the two of us. Leave to a place no one knows who we are, so far away,” Yoongi gasps, “So far away they would never find us.” Jimin murmurs ever so gently, dripping with hope.
Yoongi’s eyes dance over his face, perhaps looking for any sign of deceivance, but when both of his hands grasp for Jimin’s arms, the noble boy realizes it is to grasp himself in reality.
“You want us to run away?” He whispers, scandalized.
“Run away with me, my love,” Jimin cups his face, “Then we can be together like we deserve.”
Suddenly, Yoongi is a flood of tears in his arms.
It is a kick to the heart when they collide into embrace and Jimin feels himself held for dear life into Yoongi’s curling fingers, “Oh,” he pulls back and takes Jimin’s face into his hands, a look of delighted, tearful adoration before the noble boy is kissing his blinding smile.
“Oh, my treasure, my sweetheart,” Jimin holds him tighter than ever and that is how they spend the night, pressed close while the Young master relays his entire scheme until the sun rises.
Halfway into the forest, Jimin feels his feet light.
In the dark, Yoongi’s hand is firmly clutched in his.
With a bag of meager belongings and half of Jimin’s intended inheritance he had taken from the Madam’s vault and given to Yoongi before sending him into town to arrange for their escape, Jimin is traversing the portal to his new life.
“Ask for two horses at the border of the forest, alone,” Jimin had instructed, “No need for a guide. The less they know about who’s coming with you, the safer you’ll be, my love.”
They had gotten supplies for two weeks of travel and Jimin hopes they can reach far into another distant town before having to look for more.
With a borrowed noble suit carefully packed, Yoongi had left the Madam’s house that morning to never return again.
By now, I believe most people must have realized of my departure. I certainly do know you have realized Yoongi’s as well.
I will never know if you ever suspected of us, but as a witness to our first meeting and Yoongi’s long time roommate, I feel it in my heart you deserve to know we have escaped together.
We will not be returning, as leaving my life behind was the only way I could truly make Yoongi happy in this unfair world.
Yoongi has left with me his best wishes for you, as well as his most comfortable pillow and his favorite apron.
“Jimin,” Yoongi says lovingly under the rosy sunset. Fingers curled on the hairs at his nape and lips soft on his cheek, his beloved sits over his lap, rested enough to continue traveling.
“Say it again,” Jimin runs his hands up inside his shirt, a wet kiss on the crook of his neck, “Say it again, my treasure.”
“My Jimin,” Yoongi says into his lips, a secret murmur, a force of habit they’ll hopefully lose.
Jimin wants to scream their love into the world.
Life from now on, will be hard. Jimin will have to relearn everything. But as Yoongi says the sweetest /I love you/, unprompted by Jimin’s own customary first words of adoration, he realizes again he’s ready to take on every challenge.
Bared open, without a mask, he’s fallen for the sweet servant practically at first sight. His adored Yoongi who had offered his heart knowing well, perhaps even expecting it to be returned broken.
His treasured love, who still kept himself by his side, for Jimin’s love had been the only affection he’s ever wanted.
His beloved, who deserved everything Jimin could ever give.
And now, as finally a grown man, an independent creature, Jimin thinks, savouring the sweet lips, now he can provide Yoongi a life worth living, a life of open happiness. Certainly a thousand times better than ever could a foolish, love-stricken Young master.
“Share it with me?” He pulls out a plump, dark red apple from the saddlebag. Yoongi’s eyes look into his and the smile, oh the smile is the most beautiful he has ever shown Jimin.
And the answer that appeases his heart, Jimin hopes to hear for all their days to come. Yoongi boldly takes the first bite.
“I would love to.”