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It starts very casually. Almost like it had always, always been that way. Maybe it had.
Jimin strolls past the kitchen, the sounds of Yoongi and Jungkook milling about inside, making dinner, filling the air. It’s a cosy evening; the heating is on, most of them are wrapped up in cosy jumpers, and Namjoon had come back from the studio with cookies. While the others had eagerly accepted the treats - they try their best to eat healthily, but sometimes it makes cravings for junk food much, much worse - the bustling around had allowed Jimin to escape.
He could have been honest. It isn’t unheard of for them to diet, and he’s sure that the others would have been understanding, but something in his head was urging him to be secretive. He worried that if he revealed his new diet, the others would try to stop him.
For now, he’s busying himself with his phone, looking through his photos.
There are hundreds of them. Some of them are him and Taehyung, on dates, or simply spending time together. There are photos of them on trips, and secret photos of Jungkook’s puffy morning eyes and Seokjin’s bed hair. He’s got photos of Hoseok when he’s dancing, and Yoongi passed out on the couch. There are even snapshots of Namjoon working in his studio, headphones on, too focused to notice Jimin coming through the door.
Normally, looking through the photos would cheer him up, but right now they’re bringing his mood down. He wants to delete the pictures where he’s present, especially ones where they’re at company dinners or brunch, but he knows that he can’t. Despite hating himself for being there, he doesn’t want to let go of the memories.
He rubs his thumb up and down along the side of his phone, feeling the sound buttons beneath his finger. Dinner, he hopes, will not be too extravagant. He’s been doing so well recently, exercising every single day in addition to dance.
Jungkook flops down on the cushions next to him, and Jimin presses the power button on his phone, sliding it into the pocket of his sweatpants. He wasn’t given permission to take some of those photographs.
“I've been kicked out of the kitchen,” Jungkook complains, flinging an arm across his face. He tries not to, but Jimin can’t help but be jealous of his junior. If he was naturally more muscular, like Jungkook or Jin, he’d be happier weighing more. Unfortunately, his genetics dictate that the weight he gains sits on him more like baby fat. “Yoongi-hyung says I’m not listening to him.”
The TV flickers in the background, a gentle reminder of where he is. Jimin fakes a smile. “What were you making?”
Jungkook frowns. “Um, I’m not actually sure. I just did what he told me. Kind of.”
Anxiety rolls over Jimin like a wave. He fusses with the sleeves of his jumper, trying to shake off the dread in the pit of his stomach. He can’t remember when this fear began. He must of been in middle school, because that’s when his dance teachers became more strict about their appearances. A cold flush hits him and he jerks upright, jumping off of the couch like he’d been burned.
Luckily, Jungkook rarely needs an explanation. He barely looks as Jimin rushes out of the room, wringing his hands together like he was trying to squeeze all the water from a cloth.
He’s so afraid, but of what? Gaining weight? Possibly. Sometimes, he feels normal, and he can eat a full meal (maybe a little more). It’s only afterwards that the crushing guilt hits him. On those days, he ends up doing a hundred push-ups in the dim light of his bedroom, two-hundred jumping jacks if he’s not feeling better even after all of that.
Right now, though, he needs to see what he’s allowed. What his diet permits him to eat.
He flicks through the pages of his notebook, ignoring the red pen that circles failures. Messy, almost illegible handwriting stares back at him, most of it scribbled in under the dim lights of music show bathrooms. Some of the ink is in splotches, where tears have dripped onto the pages. Failures happen too often, and he feels sick.
Today’s page is empty. He’s supposed to be fasting - he tries to fast for two days every week - but he knows that he can’t.
The red pen scratches onto the paper, an angry reminder that he should be doing better. After all, he’s had every chance to rectify his greediness.
An idea hits him.
He writes down his idea, and he feels some of the weight on his shoulders lifting. It’s dangerous, yes, but it’s effective. Anything he can do to fix this, he will do without hesitation. It’s only a diet, after all.
The sound of Taehyung calling everyone to dinner rings through the dorm. Jimin closes his notebook, and slips it back underneath his mattress, making sure the pen has dried properly. As he steps into the hallway, he feels lighter. His steps are gentle as he pads across the floor, and there’s a smile on his face. Things are really looking up.
He’s greeted by the others, and handed a plate of warm food. Some kind of kimbap dish - it’s probably made of leftovers - and Jimin sits down, settling his hands delicately either side of his meal.
“Eat it while it’s hot, Jimin,” Seokjin chides, setting Jungkook’s dinner in front of him, his hand lingering on the younger’s shoulder. “Yoongi worked hard on this… concoction.”
Beside him, Yoongi squawks indignantly.
Maybe Jimin goes back for a second helping. He’s feeling relaxed, so he barely thinks when he adds more to his plate. It’ll be fine, because there is always a solution.
Underneath his mattress, his notebook sits. The red pen’s message is sitting in the forefront of Jimin’s mind as he eats.
‘Purge’ it says.
And, of course, whatever the notebook says, goes.