Dangerous Games

The studio door opened at exactly 3:12 p.m.

Yoongi didn’t look up right away—he was too focused on pretending not to care.

Then he smelled him.

Spiced vanilla and something warmer. Something heady. Dangerous. Like the moment right before lightning hits.

Yoongi’s fingers froze over the keyboard.

He looked up—and nearly choked.

Jimin stood there, one hand on his hip, dressed in something that could only be described as an attack.

Tight black mesh top, sheer enough to show the smooth curve of his chest and the glint of silver rings running down his sternum. High-waisted leather pants that hugged his hips like they were custom made. Platform boots. Glossy lips.

And that look.

That look that said, I know what I’m doing to you.

Yoongi sat back slowly, arms crossing on instinct, jaw clenching.

“You’re late,” he said.

Jimin walked in like he hadn’t disappeared for a whole day. Like he didn’t leave Yoongi spiraling in his own head.

“I’m exactly on time,” Jimin replied, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “You just missed me.”

Yoongi didn’t blink. “Where were you yesterday?”

“Miss me that badly?”

Yoongi said nothing.

Jimin’s smile sharpened. “You didn’t answer my question last time.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Which one?”

Jimin stepped closer. “Do you hate me… or do you want me?”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Yoongi’s jaw ticked. “I think you like playing with fire.”

Jimin leaned in, just a breath away from him. “Maybe. But I want to see what happens when it burns.”

He was too close. Too warm. Too intentional.

Yoongi stood, the chair sliding back sharply against the floor.

“You’re not here to flirt,” he snapped. “You’re here to work.”

“Then let me sing.”

“Like that?”

Jimin’s eyes flicked down his body. “Does it bother you?”

Yoongi didn’t answer.

Because it did.

Not because it was too much—but because it was perfect. And he didn’t want perfect to belong to someone else.

Jimin stepped around him and entered the booth.

Yoongi stared through the glass, watching him slide the headphones on like a crown. Watching him close his eyes, lips parting around lyrics that hadn’t even been written yet.

He looked like sin behind glass.

And Yoongi was the idiot who built the altar.

The beat started—low, slow, dark. Yoongi’s style. And Jimin flowed into it like silk on skin.

When he sang, Yoongi forgot how to breathe.

But what messed him up wasn’t the voice.

It was the way Jimin looked at him while he sang it. Every note directed. Every breath a message. Every word a threat.

Jimin was saying I know you want me.

Saying I dare you.

Saying Touch me and it’s over.

When the track ended, Yoongi didn’t even realize he was gripping the edge of the desk.

The door opened again, and Jimin stepped out.

No words.