Work Text:
5 times Jimin says "I love you"
1st Time — "Hyung, I think I love you."
The late afternoon light spilled softly through the studio windows, casting long shadows across scattered coffee cups and lyric sheets. Yoongi leaned back on the couch, one leg stretched, his words slow and reassuring.
“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself. You don’t have to be perfect at everything. Just... focus on what you want to do, not what everyone else expects.”
Jimin, sitting cross-legged on the floor, nodded silently. The weight in his chest lightened, his body relaxing under Yoongi's steady voice. Something about Yoongi always calmed him—like still water.
It wasn’t a foreign feeling. The warmth beside him was his safe place.
And s a warm smile spread over Jimin’s lips, soft and unguarded. Without thinking too much, he simply said it.
"Hyung," Jimin murmured, soft and full of affection. "I think I love you."
Yoongi blinked, lips parting slightly. Jimin only smiled, the kind of smile that held no demand, no pressure.
"I just wanted you to know," he added, rising to his feet and moving toward the door.
Yoongi’s hands twitched slightly at his sides, the weight of those three words sinking in.
Yoongi didn't stop him.
And the next time they met, Jimin was the same as always. Yoongi pretended he hadn't spent the last few days thinking about it.
2nd Time — "I've had my eyes on Hyung since way before."
It had been a year.
It was one of those rare, unhurried afternoons when nothing demanded their time—not a comeback, not a flight, not even a rehearsal. The living room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn halfway as golden sunlight pooled over the carpet like a warm blanket.
The members were sprawled across the living room, nursing drinks and laughter. Hoseok was retelling a wild trainee story, Jungkook resting on the floor with a wide grin, and Yoongi sipping wine quietly from the couch corner.
Across the room, Jimin curled up on the far end of the couch, socked feet pressed against the cushions, a throw blanket tangled around his legs. His cheeks were just slightly pink from the wine, and his eyes glittered with mischief.
“You did not say that to the choreographer,” Jimin said, grinning as Hoseok mimicked their old instructor’s wide-eyed fury.
“Oh, I did,” Hoseok replied proudly, waving his glass. “And then he made me do wall sits for twenty minutes.”
“Legend,” Jungkook said, clapping. “Hyung, you were always getting punished for talking back.”
“You were always getting punished for slacking,” Hoseok shot back.
“I wasn’t sneaking, right?” Jungkook defended, looking toward Jimin for backup.
Jimin laughed. “Don’t drag me into it.
"Hobi-ah was this close to flirting with him to get out of it." Jin added dramatically.
Jimin laughed.
Jungkook smirked and leaned in, eyes glinting. "Speaking of... wasn't Jimin flirting with that cam guy last night? I swear I saw him leave with a confident smirk."
Yoongi stiffened, fingers tightening around his glass.
Jimin giggled. "Playful flirting. He's cute, sure. But I've had my eyes on Hyung since way before." He sipped from his wine glass and looked directly at Yoongi.
The room went quiet just a beat too long. Hoseok looked mildly confused. Jungkook gave a knowing grin, glancing at Yoongi as if to say your turn, Hyung.
“Regular Jimin is flirty enough. Who gave him wine?” Yoongi said, hiding behind his own glass of wine.
Jimin didn’t push. He just smiled softly and tucked himself deeper into the corner of the couch, resting his cheek on his palm. Yoongi felt that gaze return briefly, then drift away, respectful of the unspoken boundary.
But the words stayed. So did the memory of them.
And Yoongi—who had forgotten the first time it was said—found himself wondering how many times he’d missed Jimin meaning exactly what he said.
The others didn't say a word.
3rd Time — "You don't have to say it back."
It was well past midnight, and the city outside Yoongi’s apartment had finally gone still. The only sound was the occasional rustle of the wind and the low hum of the heater kicking in.
Yoongi had stayed late in the studio again. Jimin had texted him something about “being in the neighborhood” and showed up with a bag of takeout and a stubborn look that said you haven’t eaten, have you?
They ate in friendly conversation. Catching up and just feeling each other’s company.
Now they sat on the floor, backs against the couch, the empty containers between them. Jimin had rolled up his sleeves and Yoongi had shed his hoodie.
Yoongi looked… tired, but softer than usual. Peaceful, even. Like for once, he didn’t feel the weight of being someone brilliant and burdened all at once.
"You good?" Jimin asked.
"Better now."
They sat shoulder to shoulder. Familiar. Comfortable.
There was a long pause. The kind that came when there was nothing urgent to say, but something honest wanted to be spoken.
Jimin inhaled a deep breath. "You know, sometimes I think I started loving you before I even learned to love myself."
Yoongi didn't move. But he definitely tensed.
Jimin didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to.
"I don’t say it to make things weird. And you don’t have to say it back. I just... I want you to know. It doesn't come with conditions." He smiled, small and tired. "I'm not embarrassed about it anymore."
Yoongi didn't say anything for a while. Then, "You're not making it weird."
Jimin smiled.
They stayed like that for a while—quiet, close, not touching more than their shoulders already were.
Eventually, Yoongi turned his head just enough to ask, “Want to stay over?”
Jimin smiled wider. Not triumphant, not hopeful. Just… soft.
And when Yoongi offered a hand to pull him up, Jimin took it.
4th Time — "And that's why I love you , not him."
It wasn’t immediate, but Yoongi noticed.
After that night in the studio, Jimin stopped saying it. He was still warm, still kind—but more careful. A little quieter.
The others eventually forgot there was a time Jimin followed Yoongi like a puppy.
Tonight had been hectic. Yoongi wasn’t paying attention to the buzzing group chat. He was pacing around his studio, sipping the last of his coffee and glancing at the clock every three minutes. The session with Jimin was supposed to start at 11. It was nearly 11:30 now.
He finally typed in the group chat:
yoongi: anyone seen jimin?
Jungkook replied almost immediately:
jungkook: he’s with Seojun hyung. they had lunch plans i think?
Yoongi stared at the message. The words didn’t quite compute. His eyes flicked over them again, as if repetition would yield a different meaning.
Lunch plans. Seojun. Hyung.
Right, the model. Yoongi didn’t know about Seojun until now.
It hit him like a cold rush—one of those delayed shocks that didn’t hurt right away, but made the world tilt slightly. He sat down too fast, setting his coffee cup aside and rubbed his temples.
Jimin missed a recording session, so he asks in the group chat. Jungkook casually mentioned he was out with the model. Something in Yoongi went cold.
It wasn’t like he expected Jimin to be forever at his beck and call. Still…
Jimin arrived the next afternoon with a bottle of Yoongi’s favorite whiskey and an apology written all over his face. His bangs were slightly damp from the summer heat, his cheeks flushed, either from rushing or guilt—or both.
“I’m sorry,” he said, holding out the bottle like a peace treaty. “I should’ve let you know. It was last minute and I didn’t think—”
“It’s fine. You’re not a trainee anymore. You’re allowed to have a life.”
That earned him a tiny glare from Jimin. “Still. I made a commitment.”
Yoongi took the bottle and stepped aside, motioning him in. “Come on. Let’s work.”
They recorded quickly. Clean. Focused. Jimin was professional, poised.
Afterwards, Yoongi hesitated, "Wanna try that whiskey you brought?"
Jimin smiled. "Sure."
The whiskey warmed their throats and relaxed their shoulders. They sat on the floor, backs against the console, a bit too close but pretending not to notice.
A fit of laughter broke out over a story Jimin told—something about Jungkook trying to prank Hoseok and accidentally scaring himself instead.
Jimin’s head fell back in a laugh so sudden he lost his balance and tipped forward, shoulder bumping into Yoongi’s chest. Yoongi’s arm caught him automatically.
“God,” Jimin chuckled, bracing his hand against Yoongi’s thigh to steady himself. “I’m not even drunk.”
Yoongi smirked, his voice low and teasing. “I bet that guy you went out with could never make you laugh like this.”
Jimin stilled, still curled against Yoongi’s side. The air shifted.
Then, slowly, he looked up—eyes meeting Yoongi’s from where he was still half folded into him.
“And that’s why I love you, not him,” he whispered.
The smile faded from Yoongi’s lips.
Because this time, the words weren’t flirty. They weren’t playful. There was no teasing glint in Jimin’s eyes.
Jimin rested his head on Yoongi's shoulder. "I'll always be in love with you."
There it was. A tone of exhaustion.
Yoongi didn’t say a word.
But damn, if his heart didn’t crack wide open.
Seriously, this boy.
This boy who never asked for anything. Who gave and gave. Who sat by his side like gravity pulled him there, not because he was waiting—just because he loved .
And Yoongi, for all his careful silences and guarded heart, suddenly hated the fact that Jimin had to sound so tired when he said it.
5th Time — "It makes you feel stupid."
There had always been a kind of gravity around Jimin, Yoongi thought. People were just drawn to him. It wasn’t just his looks, though that helped. It was the way he made space for people. How he tilted his head when he listened. How he offered laughter like it cost him nothing, and love like it cost him everything.
And for the longest time, Jimin had loved him .
But now... that warmth didn’t reach as far.
He still smiled at Yoongi. Still greeted him softly with a "Hyung," and still sang with that same silken voice that never missed its note. But he didn’t linger. He didn’t touch his arm during soundcheck, didn’t tease him about being grumpy, didn’t wait outside his studio after midnight with takeout and a mischievous glint.
He had pulled his heart back.
And Yoongi felt the absence like static in his chest. Always there, always buzzing. And maybe he deserved that. Maybe this was what came of letting something precious sit too long unacknowledged.
The interview started easy enough.
They were seated in a cozy semicircle on low couches, the seven of them dressed down in oversized sweaters and faded jeans. The lights were warm. The mood was light. The questions were the kind they’d answered a hundred times.
But then the host smiled and asked, “What does love mean to you right now?”
A simple question. Harmless, even.
Namjoon answered first—elegant as always, his voice thoughtful. “Love’s become less about big gestures and more about constancy for me. ARMY, my family, the members. It’s the everyday presence. That’s what holds me now.”
Jin joked first, then grew softer. “Love is what makes you want to keep showing up. Even when things are hard. Even when you don’t feel strong. You get up anyway because of love.”
Yoongi’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He wanted to formulate a proper answer when his turn would come, he really did. But all he could think about was Jimin, his stupidly cute chubby cheeks, his undeniably warm smile, the many moments they had shared together and Gosh, it was exasperating how he couldn't picture anything else.
He forced himself to focus and readied an answer somehow—about passion, about the way he wrote songs. About how love lived in the quiet, in trust, in choosing someone.
But before he could speak, the interviewer turned to Jimin.
And Jimin, always sweet, always poised, stared ahead with that small smile of his. The one Yoongi knew by heart.
“Love?” Jimin echoed softly, nodding a little. “For me, it used to mean hope. Expectation. Something that made you brave.” He looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “But… I think sometimes love is what makes you feel foolish. When you keep giving it even when you know nothing will change. When you stop expecting anything, but the feeling doesn’t go away.”
The room was quiet. Everyone still, barely blinking.
Jimin smiled—gentle, tired. “I guess love is also what teaches you how to let go. Even if it stays with you.”
Yoongi nearly stood up, he shifted forward in his seat.
His chest clenched so hard it almost knocked the air from his lungs. It wasn’t just that Jimin had said those words—it was the way he said them. Not bitter. Not dramatic. Just... like someone who’d accepted being unseen.
But he wasn’t unseen.
Yoongi had seen every version of Jimin. And now he saw the one who had stopped hoping.
He didn’t realize he had moved until the others turned toward him, brows lifted.
Yoongi flushed instantly, gripping his jeans with both hands, forcing himself still.
He didn't speak then—not because he didn’t want to, but because if he started now, he wouldn’t know how to stop. So he waited. He swallowed his words and looked down, cheeks pink, ears red. No one said anything. The interview moved on.
But something had shifted.
An hour later, when they were filing out into the evening air, the vans waited with open doors and their names written on post-its in the windows.
Jimin walked quietly behind the others. He was reaching for his mask when Yoongi turned around.
“Hey—”
Jimin looked up.
Yoongi stepped closer. Just enough to close the gap but not enough to touch. He opened his mouth, closed it, ran a hand through his hair, then looked at him like he wanted to say everything but didn’t know where to start.
“You…” Yoongi tried again. His voice was rougher than he meant. “You’re not stupid.”
Jimin blinked, caught off guard.
Yoongi looked down, his throat working. “The people who don’t see it. That kind of love. That kind of heart. They’re the stupid ones.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked to his van before he could make a mess of what little he’d managed to say.
Jimin stood there for a beat too long, mask forgotten in his hand, gaze fixed on Yoongi’s retreating back. And if his heart fluttered a little at that half-confession—if it ached with new hope and old pain—he didn’t let it show.
He just breathed in deep, and followed.
+1 — "Say it again."
It was raining.
Soft, unbothered rain that made the windows blur and the streetlights halo. The kind of rain that made people quiet. That made music sound deeper.
The others had all gone home after a long day of meetings, but Jimin had stayed behind in the dorm kitchen, finishing tea and folding dish towels like he was waiting for something, though he didn’t quite know what.
Yoongi returned late.
He came in with his hood half up, his headphones still around his neck, droplets of water on his sleeves. He didn’t say anything at first—just set his keys down gently on the table and poured himself a glass of water.
Jimin didn’t speak either. He just watched Yoongi move around the kitchen like he’d done a thousand times before. Familiar. Comfortable. Quiet.
Until Yoongi looked up.
And didn’t look away.
Jimin blinked, startled by the attention. “Hyung?”
Yoongi didn’t answer immediately. He stepped closer, glass still in hand, until they were just across from each other at the counter.
The rain whispered against the window.
“I was thinking…” Yoongi said finally, his voice soft, rough at the edges. “About how you used to say it. Just... casually. Like it didn’t cost you anything.”
Jimin looked down, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth. “It cost me everything, actually.”
Yoongi nodded slowly, guilt flickering behind his eyes. “I know that now.”
Silence again. A different kind. Weighted. Not uncomfortable, but full.
Yoongi reached for the tea towel Jimin had just folded and fiddled with it—unfolding, refolding—like his hands needed something to do while his heart worked itself out.
“I’ve thought about it,” he said, quieter now. “The first time you said it. The second. The fifth. I kept telling myself you’d stop.”
Jimin laughed softly under his breath. “I did.”
Yoongi’s eyes lifted. “I know.”
He paused. The towel now folded perfectly. Too perfectly.
Then: “Say it again.”
Jimin blinked, uncertain. “What?”
Yoongi looked at him directly. “Say it again. One more time. Just once. I want to hear it.”
Jimin didn’t move for a long breath.
Then he looked at Yoongi—really looked at him—and saw that he meant it. Not because he needed to be loved. But because he finally wanted to be.
So Jimin exhaled, steady and quiet, and said simply, “I love you.”
Yoongi closed his eyes.
And smiled.
Not a grin. Not a smirk. Just a small, genuine curve of his lips like something soft had finally found its way home.
When he opened his eyes, they were a little glassy.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t kiss him. He just got closer and pulled Jimin into a hug—one arm around his back, the other around his shoulders, holding him close and tight and quiet.
Jimin leaned into it like he’d been waiting for years.
Yoongi’s voice was barely a whisper against the crown of his head.
“I love you too.”
No drama. No fanfare.
Just two boys in a quiet room, with rain on the windows and hands that didn’t let go.
Please show your support if you like my content: ko-fi