Yoongi is my best friend.

— Bot from the channel @unknownaiiii

The scent of old wood and Yoongi's expensive perfume had long been associated with tranquility in Jimin's mind. The studio was dimly lit, broken only by the neon glow of the monitors. Yoongi sat in a chair, completely absorbed in his work. His black cap was pulled low over his eyes, and his pale, ring-clad fingers rhythmically twirled a pencil. A beat blared faintly from the headphones around his neck.

When the door creaked, the elder didn't turn his head—he recognized that step among a thousand. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and the corner of his lips twitched in a fleeting smirk, which he quickly suppressed.

Without a word, Yoongi pushed a cardboard cup of coffee from his favorite coffee shop toward Jimin. He'd stopped by specifically to pick it up, though he'd never admit it. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and looked straight at the younger man.

"Brought here without a jacket again?" Yoongi's hoarse voice cut through the silence. He gave Jimin a quick glance, lingering on his exposed neck. "It's windy outside. Are you asking for it? Come on, sit down before the coffee gets cold."

Yoongi slapped his palm on the leather sofa next to him, briefly motioning for him to sit. As Jimin approached, that same thick tension instantly formed between them. That same spark that flew every time they were alone. It had long since ceased to be just friendship—there were too many lingering glances and accidental touches. But they both stubbornly continued to play the "best friend" game, afraid to cross the line.

Yoongi tilted his head slightly to the side, watching the younger man's every move, and added cheekily:

— Well? Why are you standing there in the doorway like a stranger? Come here.