I follow my mother and Jimin inside, softly closing the door behind me. Slipping my shoes off, I venture father into the house, seeing it for the first time in color. I grew up here, surrounded by gray walls. Now I looked around at the yellow walls and blue furniture, in awe of how bright this room seemed now compared to my memories.
My mother came up beside me, smiling up at me as she grabs my hand.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Afraid that my words would get stuck in my throat, I settle for just a quick nod. "I remember what it was like to see colors for the first time." I looked around, worried that Jimin would overhear her. "Oh don't worry, he's in the bathroom. But anyways, it was completely overwhelming. Even after a few years, just the sight of the color yellow could leave me breathless." She giggled, gesturing to the walls. "Hence the color scheme."
She moves to stand in front of me, her face turning serious as she cradles my cheek with her hand. "How are you adjusting?"
"I'm.." I swallow, trying to find the right words to describe what I had felt in the past few days. "I'm dealing. It's just all so different. The world feels alive but-"
"But that's only when you're with him," she finishes for me, an understanding smile lifting her thin lips. The expression should've reassured me, but it just made her look sad. "I understand that, Yoongi. He's there and life is bright, it's great. But then he leaves and the color literally drains from your life, leaving you with nothing but grays."
"It's just unfair," I groan. "I was fine with how things were, had accepted my fate. And then he comes barging in, Mom, bringing all his damn colors with him. What if I don't want this?"
"Don't want what? Jimin? Do you not like him?"
"No, it's not that," I sigh, wishing she would just understand. It was easier for her when she found my father. She had no problem with pursuing him, being in a relationship. "What if I don't want the dependency that comes with it? I already feel it now, the sadness and loss when the color leaves, wishing he would stay just a little longer. It makes me sound pathetic. And if I'm really honest, it's selfish."
"Selfish?" She asks, confused.
"Yeah, selfish. After all, Jimin likes me. I know he does, he's already told me. Isn't it just selfish to keep him around just so I can experience colors? Shouldn't he get to be with someone who loves him back?"
She chuckles at me, "Oh, my dear Yoongi. It doesn't work like that. Do you really think that the only reason you-"
She cuts her words off as Jimin appears in the doorway, a smile spread across his face as he takes in the house around.
"This house is beautiful, Mrs. Min," he compliments, bringing a smile to my mother's face.
"Why, thank you Jimin." She grabs our hands, tugging us out of the room. "How about we move to the kitchen? You're father's finishing up making a late lunch/early dinner as we speak."
With each step, I can hear the sounds of dishes clanking together getting louder. My mother pulls us through an archway, bringing us into a brightly colored kitchen.
"Yoongi!" I hear my father's deep voice call out. I turn towards the sound, seeing him standing at the stove, an apron hanging from his hips as he stirs whatever he's cooking.
"Hi, Dad," I greet him, smiling as I move towards him. Remembering Jimin, I reach out and grab his hand. I look back at him, seeing his eyes wide in panic. I throw him a small smile, hoping it would help him calm down. We approach the tall man, his eyes following us the whole time, trained on our entwined hands. When we reach him, I release Jimin and step to the side.
"Dad, this is Jimin."
Jimin gives a quick bow, "I'm Park Jimin. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."
A laugh escapes my father, a smile breaking out across his face. "My wife has told me a lot about you, Jimin. All good things, I assure you. Welcome to our home. The food will be ready soon if you two would like to have a seat at the table."
Jimin follows me to the table, sinking into the chair beside me as my mother takes the seat across from me. He leans in close, whispering in my ear, "You're parents are so nice, especially your mom. She's so cheerful, how's she end up with such a pessimistic son?"
I kick him under the table, a gasp leaving his lips from the sudden pain. My mom trains her eyes on us, giving a knowing smile. I roll my eyes at her, positive that she took that as flirting. She folds her hands on the table, addressing Jimin.
"So, Jimin. What do you do?"
"Oh, I'm a trainee at BigHit."
"So you're going to be an idol?" She says, excited.
"Well that's the hope," he laughs.
"Is that where you met my Yoongi?"
"No," Jimin says, more laughs escaping him, "That was actually kind of a happy accident." He turns to look at me, his eyes softening. "I actually just ran into him one night. Literally. Just plowed him right over."
"Right there in the middle of the street, too," I add. "Then he just ran off after throwing me to the wolves." I glare at him.
"What did I do?" he asked, confused.
"You told Seok-jin about my palms! He gave me the biggest lecture ever."
"Seok-jin? That's Namjoon's boyfriend right?" My mother asks, interrupting our banner.
"Fiancé now, actually."
She claps her hands, squealing in delight. "Oh! I love weddings! How great for them!" She trains her eyes on me, her gaze expectant. "I can't wait until you get married."
"I'll make sure to tell them you said congratulations," I say, ignoring her last statement. If it bothered her, she didn't show it. Although, by the look on his face, Jimin was pretty surprised by my words.
"There's no need for that," she says, waving off my offer. "I can just tell it to Namjoon himself when he calls this week."
"Namjoon calls you?"
"Thank god, or else how would I ever know anything about your life? It's not like you call," she says, her voice more teasing than actually upset. "So he calls me once a week, just to give me updates." She shrugs her shoulders, as if it was no big deal.
Part of me was upset that she was using Namjoon to keep tabs on me, but honestly could I blame her? I haven't exactly been the best son the past few years. Ignoring their calls, making excuses why I couldn't visit. I can't blame her for going behind my back, I'd probably do the same thing if I was her.
The clattering of dishes gets all of our attention as my father sets bowls out in front of each of us, kimchi fried rice piled high in our bowls.
"I love kimchi fried rice," Jimin breathes, "Thank you for the food."
After we all follow suit in giving our thanks, we start eating. The sound of chopsticks on glass the only sound in the quiet room.
"Wow, this is amazing, Mr. Min," Jimin compliments.
"It's nothing much, but thank you. It's a favorite at our restaurant."
"You guys have a restaurant?" Jimin asks before taking another bite of his food.
"It's a fairly new place. We just opened it last year, but it's pretty popular," my father says.
"Oh don't be modest, dear. Everyone who comes in there loves your cooking!" my mother exclaims. A light blush rises in my father's cheeks at her praise.
"Your brother is sorry that he couldn't be here, Yoongi," my mother informs me, her voice sad. "He really wanted to see you. He misses you so much."
"It's okay. Where is he, anyway?"
A smile fills her face and I almost regret asking as she speaks. "He's meeting Ara's parents. Oh, Ara is his sou- his girlfriend." She catches her mistake in time, giving me a small smile. "You should've seen him. He was a nervous wreck. It was adorable. I mean it was for nothing, really. They're going to love him. Who wouldn't lo-" She looks at us, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm rambling aren't I?"
Jimin shakes his head, a smile gracing his lips. "Not at all. I think it's great how much you love your sons."
Her eyes light up, a grin spreading across her face. "See, dear! He gets it!" She exclaims, lightly elbowing my father. "All my friends think that I'm too boastful. But what mother wouldn't be? I have two wonderful sons. One who helps us run the restaurant. And another-" she reaches for my hand, squeezing it slightly. "Who is a wonderful music producer. They're happy and healthy? What else could a mother ask for?"
"Wonderfully put, dear," my dad says softly, brushing a kiss across her knuckles.
"Thank you," she says, a blush rising in her cheeks.
"Wow," Jimin breathes, turning to me. "You didn't tell me your parents were so cool, Yoongi. I was nervous they weren't going to like me."
"Why wouldn't we like you?" my mother asks. "I like everyone who likes Yoongi."
"And like him, I do," Jimin whispers, his eyes never once leaving mine.
I turn away, a blush rising in my cheeks. Clearing my throat, I stand from the table. "Is everyone done eating?"
I collect the dishes, carrying them to the sink, very aware of the sound of Jimin's footsteps behind me. I turn on the faucet, rinsing out the bowls as Jimin leans over my shoulder.
"I can't believe you grew up with them. They're so great," he says.
I grit my teeth, his words hitting a nerve.
Easy for you to say. You didn't grow up with them always breathing down your neck. Soulmate this, soulmate that. That's all they care about.
I didn't tell Jimin any of this, of course. Instead I settled for a basic, "Yeah, they are." Once the bowls were all clean, I turned around to face Jimin, our faces inches apart. Taking a deep breath, I look into his eyes. "Look, Jimin. You're going to hear some things today that might sound a little…. Farfetched." He tilts his head in confusion.
"What do you-?"
"Don't worry about it right now," I say, cutting him off. "Just promise me that, no matter what, you'll keep an open mind. And don't run away. If at the end, you want nothing more to do with me, then I'll accept that. But please, please, hear us out first." I stare at him, my eyes pleading.
"Are you going to tell me that you keep people in the basement? You're kind of scaring me, Yoongi," he says, a few quiet laughs escaping him.
"Please, Jimin," I almost beg him, "Just promise me."
"Yeah, fine fine. I promise. I think you're underestimating how hard it is to get rid of me."
"Great," I breathe out, grabbing his hand. I pull him back to the table with me, resuming our earlier seats. I meet my mother's eyes, giving a small nod. Her smile disappears, her eyes growing serious. She speaks, her usually quiet voice filling the kitchen.
"Shall we get to business then?"
