Mimi had always adored Yoongi. From the time he was a lanky teenager tagging along behind Jungkook, she thought of him almost like a second son. He was quiet but warm, polite but sharp, and his deep voice carried a steadiness that reminded her of a man far older than twenty-two.

But lately… lately Mimi was noticing things she shouldn’t.

Like the way Yoongi’s eyes sometimes lingered on her chest when she leaned forward to pour coffee. Or how he would glance at her legs when she crossed them in her short dresses. The first few times, Mimi brushed it off as imagination. He was Tae’s boy, after all—she had watched him grow up.

But Yoongi’s stares were deliberate. Heavy. And as a woman who had lived four decades being desired, Mimi knew desire when she saw it.

It began on an ordinary Tuesday evening. Mimi was alone at home, folding laundry in her living room, when her doorbell rang. She opened it expecting Tae—but instead it was Yoongi, holding a small paper bag.

“Yoongi?” she blinked. “What are you doing here, honey? Jungkook’s not home.”

“I know,” he said simply, lifting the bag. “I was walking past the bakery and thought you might like these. They had those cream buns you always talk about.”

Her heart gave a little squeeze. He had remembered? She stepped aside, smiling. “Come in, sweet boy. You didn’t have to.”

Yoongi followed her inside, sitting on the couch while she fetched plates. His eyes followed her every movement, not like a boy watching his mother’s friend, but like a man watching a woman he couldn’t get out of his head.

When she bent down to set the plate on the table, she felt his gaze like a touch against her cleavage. Mimi straightened slowly, her throat suddenly dry.

After that night, Yoongi began dropping by more often. Sometimes he came with Jungkook, but more and more, he came when Jungkook wasn’t around. Always with an excuse—fresh flowers for the table, a bottle of wine, a bag of snacks.

“You spoil me,” Mimi teased once as she arranged tulips he had brought.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” he answered quietly, his voice so steady it sent a shiver down her spine.

And then there were the small touches.

When he reached past her for a glass, his fingers brushed hers, lingering too long. When he laughed at something she said, his hand would rest on her thigh just for a heartbeat, warm and solid. When he hugged her goodbye, his hands pressed a little lower on her back than they should.

Mimi tried to ignore it, but her body noticed every single time.

One afternoon, Mimi was in the kitchen in her usual house clothes—tiny shorts and a loose tank that left little to the imagination. Yoongi arrived unannounced, carrying her favorite iced coffee.

“You really shouldn’t keep bribing me like this,” she teased, taking the cup.

“I just like seeing you smile,” he said simply. His eyes didn’t leave hers.

Mimi felt her chest tighten. She tried to play it off, sipping quickly. “You’ll make some girl very happy one day, Yoongi.”

“What if the girl I want is already in front of me?”

The words hung in the air. Mimi froze, nearly choking on her drink.

“Y-Yoongi…” she whispered. “Don’t say things like that. You know how dangerous—”

“Why?” he interrupted softly, stepping closer. “Because you’re my mom’s best friend? Because people would call it wrong? I don’t care. I’ve liked you for a long time, Mimi.”

Her knees weakened. She should have stopped him, should have scolded him, but the honesty in his eyes stripped away her defenses.

That night, Mimi lay awake in bed, unable to erase the memory of his words. She thought of his deep voice saying her name, of the way his eyes lingered on her, of the way her pulse always quickened around him.

Forbidden worries swirled in her mind. What if Kook found out? What if Tae did? What if she lost everything?

And yet… when Yoongi showed up the next day with another excuse, another gift, another soft compliment, she found herself opening the door again.

Her heart whispered what her head refused to admit—she was beginning to want him too.

The bold flirting became more daring.

“Your shorts get smaller every time I come over,” he teased once, his eyes flicking down her thighs.

“Yoongi!” she gasped, swatting him with a dish towel.

He smirked, unbothered. “What? I’m just telling the truth. You’re too beautiful not to notice.”

Another time, when she bent over to grab something from the cabinet, he murmured low, almost to himself, “God, you drive me crazy.”

Her breath caught. She pretended not to hear, but her body betrayed her with a rush of heat between her thighs.

Mimi was torn. She was still the same woman who folded Jungkook’s laundry, who cooked for him, who teased Tae over wine. But when Yoongi looked at her with that steady, hungry gaze, she didn’t feel like a mother anymore. She felt like a woman. Desired. Alive.

And though she tried to resist it, Mimi knew the truth.

Yoongi wanted her.

And the worst part?

She was starting to want him just as badly.