Archive of Our Own

Yoongi was in the middle of practice when his next student came in. The chime on the door sounded and Yoongi could hear the student sit down on the bench near the front door, waiting. He craned his head around the dividing wall to get a better look.

Unlike his usual students, who tended to be primary school-aged and mostly female (dragged to their lessons by their parent’s demanding hand), this kid appeared to be in his late teens, maybe early twenties. A soft fringe of pale pink hair shielded his almond-shaped eyes, which were busy scrolling through something on his phone. One chubby cheek was palmed in his hand and his stocky torso was clad in some band tee Yoongi had never heard of.

“Are you…. Jimin?” Yoongi asked into the hallway, hands coming to pause over the keys. “Park Jimin?”

The boy looked up, sweet pout parting before a smile. “Yeah, that’s me.” Jimin grabbed his discarded backpack from the floor and hurried into the other room. “I’m kind of late, sorry.”

Yoongi shrugged, not too perturbed and motioned for him to come over, making quick movement to stand so he could introduce himself properly. “I’m Min Yoongi, I’ll be your instructor,” he greeted

Jimin bowed politely. “Park Jimin. It’s nice to meet you, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Have a seat.” Yoongi motioned to the empty chair sitting beside the piano. “So, is this your first time playing?”

Jimin took a seat and nodded. “My brother plays so we have a piano at home. I’ve messed around with it some, but I’ve never had a real lesson.” He twisted his pudgy fingers in his hands, fidgeting with apprehension.

“Nervous?” Yoongi asked.

Once again, Jimin nodded. His round face looked slightly flushed, chubby cheeks dusted pink.

“Don’t be nervous,” Yoongi encouraged. “Today we’ll just be learning the basics of reading music. Testing out a few scales, that sort of thing.” He sat down on the piano bench and regarded Jimin with what he hoped was a friendly smile. The boy in front of him looked easily spooked, Yoongi didn’t want to make any sudden movements in case he decided to bolt. “So, what made you want to start playing?” He asked, tucking a pencil behind his ear.

Jimin shifted in his seat, thinking. “Well, I’ve always loved the sound of the piano.” He tugged at his snug tee, which was quite form-fitting around his middle. “I dance,” Jimin continued with a shrug, “so I thought it’d be cool to learn how to play.”

“You dance?” Yoongi blurted, albeit not-so-subtly. Not that anything was wrong with dance, it was just, well, Jimin didn’t exactly look like a dancer. In Yoongi’s not-so-worldly experience dancers were lithe and tall and lean. The boy before him wasn’t any of those things. He was somewhat short – about the same height as Yoongi – and slightly round – his sweet face bearing the most pinchable cheeks Yoongi had ever seen.

“Yeah,” Jimin nodded, nervousness turning into excitement. His eyes lit up as he spoke about his passion. “Modern, lyrical, ballet,” he listed. “I’ve been dancing my whole life. Nineteen years.”

Yoongi smiled at the kid’s enthusiasm. “Very cool.” He nodded. “So, are you in college then?”

“On a dance scholarship, yeah.”

Yoongi pursed his lips. Well, that was somewhat impressive.

“What about you,” Jimin asked, “are you in college? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around but we’re probably the same age, right?” He looked somewhat embarrassed with his sudden bluntness. “Sorry,” he said. He dropped his gaze to his lap. “I don’t mean to talk so much.”

“No need to apologize,” Yoongi answered. “And no, I do this full-time. Well this, along with the night-shift at a local diner. It’s not much, but it pays the bills.” Now it was Yoongi’s turn to get shy. He scratched the back of his neck. “Anyways, let’s get started. We’ll start with the names of the keys.” He scooted towards the end of the bench and patted the space beside him.

Jimin slid in next to him, his soft silhouette brushing against Yoongi’s slender side, the fit tighter than usual due to Jimin’s stature. He wasn’t fat by any means, he was just… Well, pudgy, was probably the best word. Thicker hips and a really nice butt. Yoongi scooted to the side in order to give his student more space to spread out.

“Hands out like this,” Yoongi indicated.

Jimin’s stubby fingers fanned out over the keys, mirroring his mentor’s.

Yoongi grabbed Jimin’s small hand and gave it a light shake. The silver bracelets on his wrist jingled. “Not so stiff. Arch your fingers a bit. Yeah, like that. Okay, now this right here?” He tapped Jimin’s pointer finger on the ivory key. “This is middle C. It’s home-base. You’re starting point.”

“Middle C,” Jimin repeated, finger gently tapping out a sound.

“Exactly. Then next to it is D.”

“D,” Jimin repeated. He tested out the sound with another light tap.

“And then E.”

They briefly caught each other’s eye and Yoongi all but melted underneath the boy’s soft smile.

Jimin brushed away his fringe to the side with his free hand, the light pink of his hair accentuating the pink swell of his lips.

Yoongi’s heart leapt into his throat.

Oh no, he thought. Here I go again.

—

Yoongi fell in love with a boy once. A former student of his, last year. He was tall and dark with a genuinely kind smile and big doe eyes and he didn’t love Yoongi back, not even a little. It wasn’t a big deal, of course, well, apart from the emotional devastation of the one-sided love ripping Yoongi’s heart out of his chest.

He swore he’d never fall again – especially not for a sweet-smiling boy that happened to double as his student. But here he was, lying in bed, dozing off to the thought of the chubby boy that laughed like sunshine.

—

“I brought my notebook like you wanted,” Jimin said as way of hello as he walked into Yoongi’s practice room. “I don’t have the best handwriting,” he explained with a shy smile, “but I think I got the notes right.” He pulled his staff paper out of his backpack and handed it over.

Yoongi flipped to the first page. Jimin’s tiny handwriting splattered the pages, perfectly drawing out the bass and treble clef notes. “This looks good,” Yoongi said with a satisfied nod.

It was Jimin’s fourth lesson and he was already excelling. Thanks to his background in dance and his brother’s passion for playing, Jimin had taken to the keys like a fish to water. The enthusiasm in which he played was another reason Yoongi was smitten. Add in his fairy-like nature, the ridiculously endearing eye-smiles, and his chubby, pinchable cheeks? Yoongi was falling hard.

“What are we working on today, Yoongi-ssi?” Jimin asked, sliding into position. His snug, stripped tee rode up as he sat down exposing a bit of his soft belly. He tugged it back down, over the slight swell of his curves.

“Jimin, I told you to call my hyung, remember?”

Jimin’s face visibly blushed. “Oh yeah. Yoongi-hyung,” he repeated.

Yoongi rolled his shoulders in an effort to relax. He tried not to focus on the heat radiating off of Jimin’s body, or how sitting side-by-side like this had Jimin's plush lips only inches away from his own. Jimin’s lips were another reason Yoongi was falling hard. Lips and butt actually. Out of anyone Yoongi had ever dated, no one rivaled Jimin in either department. Not that Yoongi had been looking or anything…. It was just a general observation.

“I think we should start on a new song,” Yoongi suggested. He pulled out a new book he had picked up on his latest trip to the music store. “You’re ready for the next workbook, actually.”

“Level 2?” Jimin asked, somewhat surprised.

“Level 2,” Yoongi parroted in agreement. He turned to the first page of the new book, sealing the page open by pushing down the crease of the spine. “You keep going like this, you’ll outplay me in no time.”

Jimin caught Yoongi’s smirk and giggled. “I don’t think that’s possible, hyung.”

As with most of their lessons, they started with a warm-up, progressed into scales, and paused for a bit of small talk before ending with the main piece.

“How’s dance going?” he asked after they’d finished their scales.

“It’s okay,” Jimin shrugged. He let the conversation go quiet.

Yoongi quirked a brow. It wasn’t like Jimin to go quiet when prompted. Usually, the kid was prattling on about every little detail of his life, about the butterfly he spotted outside his practice studio on the way to class, down to the cool new bubble tea shop that opened up on the south side of town. “What’s wrong,” Yoongi questioned.

Jimin shrugged again. He tugged at his too-tight tee and frowned. “I got in trouble today with my sunbae.”

“Your dance instructor?” Yoongi clarified. “Why?”

Jimin bit at his lip. He played with the rings on his fingers, spinning the band with quick flicks of his finger. “He had to talk to me about my eating habits.” Jimin scrunched his nose at the memory. He ran a pudgy hand through his candy floss hair. “I’ve been putting on weight recently and it’s not practical for a dancer.”

Yoongi wasn’t quite sure how to answer. He wasn’t the best when it came to comforting people and he didn’t have a clue what was expected in the dance world. “I think you look fine,” he blurted out truthfully, hoping his words were somewhat helpful.

Jimin sighed. "Thanks, but it’s not just about looking the part. There’s a certain amount of strength and form when it comes to dance and doing the choreography, you know? And I’m not in top shape right now. It’s my own fault,” he added hastily. “I get so stressed out with exams and all the pressure from the dance studio, I end eating a bunch of junk. It’s so hard not to. My roommate is always leaving sweets everywhere and my mom makes the best yaksik.” He looked at Yoongi with a bashful smile. “Sorry, I don’t mean to talk your ear off about my own personal problems.”

“I don’t mind,” Yoongi insisted. “And I meant what I said. You look perfectly fine, exactly as you are.”

Jimin dropped his gaze to the piano keys and smiled. He bit his lip when the blush started to creep up his neck.

“So, piano,” Yoongi said, snapping them back to the present.

Jimin giggled.

—

When Yoongi turned 18 he moved to Seoul to pursue music full-time. Playing the piano would always come first, but it didn’t exactly pay the bills. Lessons brought in some cash, but it didn’t fully pay for rent, let alone everything else. Which is how Yoongi found himself working part-time at the Cozy Corner Café. Being a waiter at a 24-hour diner wasn’t romantic by any means, but it allowed him to live somewhat comfortably without abandoning his one true love of the piano.

Saturday night was Yoongi’s last shift of the week. The café sat near both the neighborhood high school and the town’s fine arts college, which made weekend nights super busy. Yoongi was rushing double orders of Pajeon, trying to keep up with the swell of late-night diners when the entryway bell sounded, announcing another arrival of guests.

Yoongi turned to grab some more supplies from the refrigerator when he spotted the familiar puff of bubblegum hair peaking up from behind the barstools. “Jimin?” he asked as he leaned over the cut-out window.

“Oh, hi,” Jimin looked up, round cheeks blushing as they met Yoongi’s sight. He pulled his hoodie down off his head and fluffed the ends of his hair with his fingers. “I forgot that you worked here.”

“How’s it going?” Yoongi asked.

“Well, I have three exams tomorrow, plus an audition. And a ton of homework. I’m kind of freaking out.” Jimin spread his notebooks and textbooks across the counter, clearly planning on camping out for a while.

Yoongi finished up his current task, fastening napkins around the silverware. “I’m almost done with my shift. I can join you if you want.” He hoped he wasn’t being too forward, but there was something about Jimin that tugged on Yoongi’s inner compass. The more he saw him, the more he needed to be nearer. “I’m not that great at math but if you have any essays that need looking over, I can lend a hand.”

Jimin quickly beamed at the prospect. “Absolutely.”

After washing the vacant tables and slicing a fresh container of lemons, Yoongi made his way over to Jimin, sighing with exhaustion as he plopped down beside him. His body all but curled forward, slouching against the counter.

Jimin slid some of his stuff to the side in order to make room. “Tough day?” he asked, zeroing in on Yoongi’s sleepily eyes.

“Long shift,” Yoongi clarified, cupping his chin in his palm. “I had a table of 10 with four screaming toddlers. I swear I still have noodles in my hair.” He scrunched his nose and plucked at his hair, the ends twisted with something undecipherable. He smiled when Jimin giggled. “So what are you stressing out about?”

Jimin closed his textbook and rested his arms atop it, mimicking Yoongi's pose. “My dance audition tomorrow.” He stuck the end of his pen in his mouth, lightly nibbling the cap. “I have to audition for the next-level class. Usually, I’d go straight into the next level, but I haven’t exactly done well enough to move on. I think they’re going to make me repeat the course," he sighed. "And if I repeat the course I can’t be in the showcase.”

Yoongi looked at him with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“Just sucks,” he muttered. “Makes me really unmotivated to keep trying. Like, if they don’t think I’m good enough, what’s the point? Maybe I really am awful.”

Yoongi bounced his knee against Jimin’s plush thigh. “I know I haven’t seen you perform, but if you pick up dance the way you pick up piano, there’s no way you’re not amazing.”

“You really think so?”

Yoongi nodded. It was the truth, after all. The kid picked up piano like a natural, like he had an affinity for all things music. Yoongi was sure dance wouldn’t be any different. “Let me get you a milkshake,” he proposed. “On the house.”

“No, hyung. You don’t have to do that. Let me pay for it at least.” Jimin was already reaching in his pocket for some crumpled-up bills when Yoongi halted him with a hand on his arm.

“I got this,” he insisted. “Seriously, it's fine. Most of the containers are going to go bad soon anyway. So, what’s your poison? Chocolate? Vanilla? Green Tea? Red bean?”

“Got any strawberry?” Jimin asked, eyes alight under a soft dusting of lashes.

“With or without whipped cream?”

“Is that even a question?”

Yoongi let out a soft laugh. He called over one of the workers bustling behind the counter and put in an order for two. “So, how come I’ve never seen you in here before?”

“I’m in here all the time, but I usually take over that back corner.” He pointed over Yoongi’s shoulder towards the small alcove hidden away from the overhead lights. “It’s a nice place to study. Plus, this diner has the best fries.”

“Our kimchi fries?” Yoongi asked, smiling knowingly when Jimin nodded. The kimchi fries were a best-seller. Yoongi had watched them get made so many times over the past year he could recite the recipe in his sleep.

When the milkshakes were ready Yoongi eyed Jimin’s closely, making sure plenty of whipped cream was loaded on top, along with their signature chocolate biscuit and a bright pink cherry. “One strawberry milkshake,” he said handing it over. “Enjoy.”

“This is huge,” Jimin gasped. "And probably more calories than I can count. I shouldn’t be eating this....”

“Why not?

“I'm supposed to be dieting. I’ve been putting on weight, remember?” Jimin explained, reminding Yoongi of the conversation they had a few days earlier. And okay, maybe Jimin was looking a little bit rounder as of late. A little curvier in the hips, a little chubbier in the cheeks.

“My sweet tooth is the whole reason I’m in this mess,” Jimin added. He poked at the milkshake with his spoon, looking at the dessert with such forlorn wanting.

Yoongi wasn’t sure if it was his place to say something, but Jimin looked so dejected he decided to go for it. “I don’t know much about dance,” he confessed, eyes locking with Jimin’s. “But if you want my opinion, life is short, and you should do what makes you happy. And if what makes you happy is a strawberry milkshake? Then eat it.”

Jimin blushed from behind his metal tumbler. “I wish you were my sunbae, Yoongi-hyung.” He eyed Yoongi shyly before wrapping his plump lips around the candy-striped straw. He swallowed a big gulp.

“I’m your piano sunbae,” he supplied with a smile.

Jimin giggled. “That’s true.” His tongue lapped at the fluffy, white cream and he popped the cherry in his mouth with a satisfied smile. “This is the only thing getting me through exams right now. Well, this and our piano lessons.”

Jimin’s sentiment sent shockwaves through Yoongi’s heart. “I’m sure you’ll be okay,” he reasoned, his entire soul melting for the boy at his side. “And I’m always here if you need me. Free milkshakes and Hotteok and all that.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Jimin subconsciously plucked at his sweatshirt, only drawing more attention to how poorly it fit. His plump thigh bumped into Yoongi’s slender hip as he shifted closer. “The last thing I need is fried Hotteok and that’s exactly what I want right now.”

“Jiho,” Yoongi called. The waiter behind the counter stepped closer. “Can you put in an order of Hotteok?”

“Yoongi,” Jimin whined. He fell over on him, laughing.

It wasn’t that Yoongi had a thing for bigger guys. It was more that he didn’t give a shit if his crush was carrying a few extra pounds. Physical appearance wasn’t something that had stipulations. In Yoongi’s mind, if you were hot, you were hot. And Jimin was exactly that. Boy, girl, fat, thin, tall, short, it was whatever because what Yoongi fell in love with – in addition to pouty lips and really nice butts – was soul. And Jimin had the prettiest soul Yoongi had ever seen. Jimin’s soul looked like candy floss and tasted like strawberry milkshakes and lit up like sunshine every time he smiled and Yoongi was falling hard.

—

Jimin played through the last few measures of his new piece, only clanking a few wrong notes when the melody picked up in the middle. When he finished, he looked at Yoongi expectantly, shy almond-eyes peeking out from underneath his pastel fringe, clearly looking for approval. “Was that okay?” he asked. “I know I messed up on the second page. I keep forgetting about the F-sharp.” He grabbed the spare pencil from atop the piano and penciled in a little reminder next to the key change.

Yoongi couldn’t help the bubbles of pride that billowed in his heart. “That was good, Jimin-ah. You just need to adjust your stance a bit. You’re not giving your elbows enough room to move with the keys.” He stepped out from behind the bench.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asked as Yoongi moved to stand behind him.

“Well,” Yoongi scratched at his neck. “I know I don’t have the best posture, so do what I say, not as I do…. Here,” he said, placing a solid hand on the small of Jimin’s back. “Pull up a bit with your core so your back is straighter. It’ll make it easier to reach the keys.” He gently pushed his slim fingers against Jimin’s plushy back. “Try to straighten a bit.”

“Like this?” Jimin asked but he only moved slightly.

“Little bit more,” Yoongi encouraged. He placed his other hand on the curvature of Jimin’s soft belly, sandwiching the kid between his outstretched palms. “There you go,” he said when Jimin pulled up with the motion. “That’s it, just like that.”

But when Yoongi kept his hand on Jimin’s belly a bit too long, Jimin quickly sucked in his stomach to get away from the touch.

“Sorry,” Yoongi quickly apologized, snapping his hand back.

“No, it’s okay." Jimin waved off his apology. "It’s me. I’m just... a little self-conscious about my body right now. It’s stupid, I know,” he finished in a rush, eyes dropped to where his fingers rested on the keys.

Yoongi moved back to Jimin’s side. He sat down, eyes meeting the younger boy with gentle conviction. “If it’s because you’re worried about what I think, don’t. You already know how I feel. You’re cute,” he confessed before he could stop himself.

Jimin’s soft smile lifted all the way to his eyes. He flopped his lilac sweater over his hands and curled his fingers into his palms.“Yoongi-hyung? Do you want to go out sometime?”

Yoongi’s smile went gummy. He nodded, trying like hell to keep his voice from wavering. “Yeah. Sure. I'm mean, I’d like that.”

“Really?” Jimin perked-up. His cheeks squished up to his eyes. “Are you sure? You know I meant like a date, right?”

Yoongi snorted. “Yeah, Jimin-ah, I got that.” He smiled fondly at Jimin’s sweater paws and the way Jimin lunged forward in a hug, practically jolting them off the bench.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Yoongi mumbled against Jimin’s mess of hair, eyes crinkling at the corners. He gently pushed him back. “Let’s finish your lesson, alright? Piano first, then we can hang out.”

“Like a proper date?”

“Like a proper date,” Yoongi promised.

“I do have one request, though….”

Yoongi’s heart thumped expectantly in his chest. “And what is that?”

Jimin closed the gap between them, smashing his lips against Yoongi’s heart-shaped mouth in a brief, peach-flavored kiss. “That,” he said with a satisfied smirk.

Yoongi lost his bearings for a moment, blinking stupidly with his mouth hung open. Though he hurriedly got with the picture and cupped the back of Jimin’s head, pulling him in for another taste.

He coaxed Jimin’s tongue into his mouth, melting against him. A little moan gravitated from the back of Jimin’s throat and Yoongi pulled him in tighter.

“I got you,” he said, licking a line across the swell of Jimin’s bottom lip, and Jimin all but bucked against his touch.

—

About a month after they started officially dating, Jimin invited Yoongi to one of his performances. It was a small performance, specifically designed to fill the lull after Chuseok and before the winter holidays started.

Yoongi was oddly nervous. It wasn’t like he was the one up on stage, illuminated under the giant florescent lights, but his heart thumped loudly in his chest all the same, knees jiggling anxiously through the first few performances as he waited for Jimin’s group to perform.

When Jimin stepped on stage Yoongi’s breath got caught in his throat. His boy was beautiful. The ease at which he moved – so clumsy in person but so graceful on stage – body moving lyrically in tandem with the music. Yoongi couldn’t look away.

Jimin was easy to spot, what with his pouty lips and bubblegum-tinted hair. He was also bigger than the other dancers, though his plushy silhouette didn’t appear any less elegant. His stance was poised, his shoulders high, and Yoongi inwardly cringed for thinking, months earlier, that his boyfriend didn’t look like a typical dancer. Jimin was a dancer. Probably the most beautiful dancer Yoongi had ever seen.

Yoongi texted him after the performance was over, knowing full well Jimin wouldn’t get it until he got home.

Yoongi
You were incredible. Love u

He didn't know if it was too much too soon. If he just exposed his heart in an all-too-raw, embarrassing way. But within seconds Jimin text back.

Jiminie
♡♡♡♡!!!!!

Yoongi let out a sigh of relief.

—

Three months into their relationship, Jimin was nestled on the sofa watching some anime on Netflix – one that he’d seen more than a dozen times. Yoongi was fussing about in the kitchen, finishing up the Bulgogi and heating up a big pot of rice.

“Yoongi-hyung?” Jimin called from the other side of the room. He shifted positions and turned to stare at Yoongi from behind the back of the sofa.

“Hmm?” Yoongi hummed. He turned off the rice cooker and fetched a big, ceramic bowl from above the refrigerator. He grabbed the Bulgogi from the stovetop and distributed the contents onto two plates.

“Do you think I’ve gotten fat?”

Yoongi met Jimin’s face from across the room and shrugged. “A little bit, yeah,” he stated honestly.

Jimin gawked at him.

"What?"

"Hyung, that's so rude. Also, how can you say it so casually like that? Like it's not a big deal.”

Yoongi toppled a healthy portion of rice onto each plate, adding a bit more to Jimin’s serving. He grabbed two sets of chopsticks and closed the drawer with his hip. “Because it’s not a big deal.” He didn’t see what the fuss was about. His boyfriend was chunky, the sky was blue, the world kept spinning, and life went on. He reached over the back of the sofa and handed Jimin his plate.

Jimin folded his legs underneath him and pouted. He poked at his food with the blunt end of the chopstick, mumbling under his breath.

Yoongi looked over at him with an unimpressed frown. “Eat,” he instructed. “I made this just for you and I know that it’s your favorite.”

Jimin sulked. He huffed even louder before stabbing at the rice. “If I eat this I'm only going to get fatter," he spit out.

“Jimin-ah."

“What? It’s true.”

Yoongi set his plate on the coffee table. He circled his thumb in a circle over his boyfriend's plushy side before pulling him close. “What's wrong? Why are you acting like this?"

Jimin leaned back against Yoongi’s narrow chest and rested his head on his shoulder. He shoved a bite of beef in his mouth, cheeks billowing out with the intake of food. He huffed out another sigh. “I officially have to repeat my dance class." He hastily poked at his rice and shoved in another mouthful. “I’m no longer in the showcase.”

Yoongi planted a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It's such bullshit," Jimin spat angrily. "I know I've gained weight, but that doesn't make me a bad dancer."

"Of course not," Yoongi piped in.

Jimin sighed. "I don't know. I think I’m going to change my major.”

“Babe,” Yoongi hummed in sympathy, his fingers danced up and down Jimin's side. “Just because some asshole said you can’t do the showcase doesn’t mean you have to give up dance. That’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Jimin protested. “They won't let me dance if I don’t get in shape so I might as well find something else.”

Yoongi kissed the shell of Jimin's ear, nuzzling him gently with is nose. “Or you could get in shape….” he offered quietly, breath puffing against Jimin's ear. “I can help out if you want. I'll stop bringing home junk from the diner and you can use the workout equipment in my room. It’s not a lot, but I can show you a few exercises.” He squeezed Jimin’s fleshy arm, barely feeling the muscle underneath.

Jimin's lips turned down into a pathetic pout. He looked up at Yoongi with pleading eyes. "I thought you liked my body."

“I do,” Yoongi sighed. “I’m just saying, if you want to lose some weight, I can help.” He brushed a hand over Jimin’s pudgy middle, dipping the tip of his thumb into the crevasse of Jimin's belly button, the outline of such was visible through the tightly-stretched material.

“I know I should but....” Jimin paused. “What if I don’t want to lose any weight?” He played with the ripped hole in Yoongi’s jeans, grazing his fingers over the boney knee where his skin peeked through the threads, refusing to meet Yoongi's eyes

“Is that what this is about?” Yoongi asked. He quirked his head to the side to catch Jimin’s eyes. “You want to keep the weight but you’re too embarrassed to say so?”

When Jimin didn’t say anything, Yoongi let out a soft laugh.

“Baby, nobody cares if you like being bigger. You also don’t have to be a dancer.”

“But I’m not good at anything else,” Jimin argued.

“That’s not true," Yoongi argued. "You’re good at lots of things.”

“Like what?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Well, piano, for one. Art, singing...." he trailed off.

Jimin smiled happily at the praise. “I am pretty good at drawing.”

“There’s lots of things you can do. Things that won’t completely damage your self-esteem.” He planted another kiss along Jimin’s softened jaw and nibbled hungrily at his plush cheek. He covered up the red mark with his lips.

“Maybe I’ll do art,” Jimin sighed, relaxing further into Yoongi’s arms. “And I can still dance for fun, it just doesn’t have to be my profession.”

Yoongi hummed in agreement.

“And you’d be okay if I happened to…. you know.” He looked up at Yoongi, eyes searching.

“If you what,” Yoongi prompted.

Jimin's face flushed bright red, the apples of his cheeks tinted with embarrassment. “If I gained more weight,” he mumbled. "Not a lot but...."

Yoongi pinched at the roll of chub on Jimin’s side where it billowed over the band of his jeans. “You’re not exactly skinny right now, I don’t see how that would be any different.”

Jimin slapped Yoongi's hand, his mouth agape in shock. “Sometimes you can be such a dick, Min Yoongi, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah. Eat your Bulgogi.” He smoothed his fingers through Jimin’s hair, his lips pulling up into a small when his boyfriend cooed at the touch.

—

Yoongi took an extra shift at the diner when another waiter called in sick. They were short-staffed on a Friday night and Yoongi couldn’t say ‘no’ when he knew how packed it would be. Friday nights meant baseball games at the high school, which meant an influx of high school students crowding in after dark.

Yoongi was helping out in the kitchen, flipping Hotteok when Jimin called.

“Hyung, come home,” Jimin whined into the phone. “I’m bored and I miss you and your house is creepy when you’re not here.”

“Then stay at your dorm,” Yoongi laughed into the receiver, trying to conceal the cell phone in his palm. His boss was adamant about no phones during work hours. “I’m at the diner right now, I can’t really talk,” he added when Jimin’s huffed out a labored sighed.

“Hyung,” Jimin whined.

“Jimin,” he shot back in the same obnoxious tone.

Jimin’s melodic laugh flitted through his ear. His giggle lit up the corners of Yoongi’s heart. “Fine. When do you get home?” The sound of gum smacked in Yoongi’s ear.

“I’ll be home at ten, okay? Give me two hours,” Yoongi mumbled. He quickly typed in a to-go order on their communal computer and brought the serving dishes out to the front. “Jimin, I really have to go, we’re swamped.”

“Wait, wait,” Jimin hurriedly spoke. “Can you bring me some kimchi fries and Mandu. Oh! And some Bindaetteok? Please?” he added, voice sweet and cheerful.

Yoongi balanced his phone on his shoulder and jostled a customer’s to-go order into a plastic bag. “You told me you were having dinner tonight with your dance friends. I thought you were going to that new place off the Gyeongchun Line? The Jjigae place or whatever.”

“I did,” Jimin answered. “We just got back. It was cool, but I’m still hungry.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes fondly.

Lately, whenever Yoongi was at the diner, Jimin would call or text him with an order, as if Yoongi was his personal delivery boy. The way Jimin had been eating lately, it was like he never stopped being hungry. Add in that lack of physical movement ever since he switched from dance to drawing and what you had was a heavier Jimin.

Not that Yoongi minded. The main benefit of Jimin’s weight-gain was his increased self-assurance. Not having to deal with daily reminders about how wrong his body was did wonders for his confidence. He was happier, more relaxed. Not to mention his ass looked downright sinful, curving out over sturdy thighs in his black, skin-tight jeans.

“Okay, so fries, Mandu, Bindaetteok. That it?”

“Strawberry milkshake?” Jimin asked, his voice sunny.

“Another one? Really, Jimin?”

“Please,” Jimin whined.

“You’re addicted, I swear,” Yoongi teased. He grabbed a discarded receipt from the pile near the cash register and wrote down Jimin’s order. “Alright. I gotta go. You’re gonna get me fired.”

“Extra whipped cream,” Jimin added, not even listening.

“I know, I know,” Yoongi uttered. “Aish.” He quickly ended the call with his thumb and shoved his phone in his pocket. His boss walked by, eyeing him suspiciously and Yoongi hope to god he didn’t look too guilt-ridden.

Park Jimin. Yoongi shook his head.

That boy was going to be the death of him, it was only a matter of time.

—

When Yoongi got home he was greeted by a jumping puppy and an equally excitable Park Jimin. Jimin came barreling at him, practically knocking Holly over in the process, cheering as he took the bags from Yoongi’s grasp.

“You’re seriously more excited to see the food than me?” Yoongi asked incredulously. “You do realize I paid for all this myself, right?”

Jimin hid his laugh behind the bag. “At least Holly was excited to see you.”

Yoongi scoffed. He kicked off his shoes and shrugged his bag to the floor. “Let’s see how nice I am when you’re sick with a stomach ache from eating too much food and you’re begging me to rub your belly.” He made his way over to the sofa were Jimin was flopped back down, unpacking the contents of the to-go order. His black, thick-rimmed glasses were perched on the end of his nose, feathery hair un-gelled and messily flattened atop his head.

“Is that my sweatshirt,” Yoongi asked. He tugged at the hem of Jimin’s form-fitting black hoodie – the same one that hung off of Yoongi’s small frame like an oversized parka. "So, in addition to mooching off my job at the diner, you're raiding my closet now, too?

“Is that okay?” Jimin asked, diving into the dumplings. He stuck the whole thing in his mouth, cheek billowing out with the too-large bite.

Yoongi eyed him, warmth already spreading through his body. “Yeah,” he said somewhat casually, though in all honesty it made his heart flutter. Seeing Jimin in his clothes made the breath catch in his throat.

But Jimin misread Yoongi’s calm demeanor as unease rather than arousal. He looked down at his curved belly, to the sides of the sweatshirt where his love handles rounded out against the fabric, pushing the material to its limit. “I can take it off if you want me to."

"No, it suits you. Keep it."

"I won’t stretch it out too much, I promise.”

“I don’t really care if you do,” he said, plucking a dumpling from the carton and popping it in his mouth.

Jimin's jaw dropped in betrayal. “Hey,” he shouted, quickly snatching it back. "That's mine."

Yoongi laughed at the shocked look on his boyfriend's face. “You seriously won’t let me have one? When did you get so greedy?”

“Fine." Jimin folded. "Here, you can have one.” He plucked another dumpling from the container with his chopsticks and floated it near Yoongi’s lips, waiting for him to open up. Though, when Yoongi went to take a bite Jimin stuck the dumpling in his mouth instead. He giggled.

“You brat,” Yoongi exclaimed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

He watched as his boyfriend plowed through the rest of the dumplings, then the mung bean pancakes, the milkshake, and last the fries. The fries, which couldn’t have tasted all that good, what with the now-tepid, congealed cheese hardened on top and the chunks of ribeye ice-cold. But Jimin seemed quite content to finish it all, hiding a burp behind his small hand as he nuzzled deeper against Yoongi’s side. He leaned solidly against him, his weight sinking them deeper into the cushions.

Yoongi tucked an arm around Jimin's thick shoulders, pulling him closer. He watched Jimin’s eyes flutter, sleepy gaze drooping closed before blinking open again, fighting to stay awake.

Yoongi danced his slim fingers down the front of his boyfriend’s tummy, over the tops of his thick thigh, scratching his blunt nails over the warmth of Jimin's leg. But instead of sighing happily from the touch, Jimin let out frustrated moan. He shifted underneath him with a wince.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked.

Jimin looked up at him with a pout. “I’m uncomfortable,” he mumbled, wincing again as he shifted to a different position.

“Is it your belly?"

Jimin nodded.

"I told you not to eat so much,” Yoongi answered knowingly.

“It’s not because I ate too much," Jimin huffed. "It’s my jeans.” He sat up suddenly, jolting Yoongi in the ribs with his elbow. "They hurt."

"Let me see." Yoongi grabbed him at the hips, already lifting the sweatshirt.

“What’re you doing?” Jimin asked but Yoongi ignored the question, too focused on rolling up the material in order to get a better look.

“These are tight, babe,” Yoongi said as he felt the stretched-apart fly - not even buttoned at this point but still clutching Jimin's sides in a tight grip.

The flaps were inches away from closing. Red marks dug deeply into Jimin's skin, leaving chaffed indentations around the width of his hips. Yoongi dusted his fingers over marks. "Jimin, this can’t be comfortable.”

“But I don’t fit into anything else. These are my biggest pair."

“Well, that’s obviously what stores are for. Get up,” Yoongi commanded. He swiftly pulled Jimin to his feet.

"Where are we going," Jimin complained, dramatically stomping down the hall as Yoongi nudged him from behind.

"We need to find you something to wear that won't cut off your circulation. Come on." He dragged Jimin into his bedroom, to the mess of his closet.

He dug through the piles of clothes and scattered piles of laundry, carelessly throwing random t-shirts out of the way until he found the one article of clothing he was searching for. “Here,” he said eventually, handing Jimin a pair of black joggers. “Put these on.”

“Yoongi.” Jimin rolled his eyes with an exasperated frown. “If my jeans don’t fit how the hell do you expect me to get into your pants. I've got almost 20 kilos on you, hyung."

“They’re my brother’s,” Yoongi explained. “He left them here a while ago. He's not... quite... the same size as you, but they'll probably fit okay.” And with that he tugged at the belt-loop of Jimin’s jeans, indicating him to take them off.

Jimin obliged, though his cheeks were red. He made a point not to catch Yoongi's eye as he placed his hands on his shoulders, trying to steady himself as he shimmied out of the tight material. He fumbled with the button.

“Suck in a little, Jimin-ah.”

“I’m trying,” Jimin huffed. He sucked in another deep breath, his pudgy frame jiggling with the rough movements.

With a tight grip on the flaps of the jeans, Yoongi tugged sharply until the material finally squeezed over his boyfriend's behind and collapsed in a heap to the floor. He helped Jimin pull the black joggers over his hips, situating the stretched waistband underneath the curve of his chubby middle.

“They’re a little tight,” he mused, tugging the hoodie down to fully cover Jimin's tummy. “But they’re more comfortable than the jeans, right?”

Jimin shrugged. "I guess," he muttered, adjusting the fit across his hips. His fingers went to his mouth in a tell-tale anxious gesture. "I'm probably going to stretch these out too," he admitted.

Yoongi gave him a soft smile. “I don't care if you stretch out every piece of clothing I own. You're officially welcome to anything in my closet." He grabbed at Jimin's hand to stop him from biting his nails. As cute as it was when Jimin got shy, he hated to see him truly embarrassed. "So, wanna go on a quick walk with me and Holly?” he asked, changing the subject.

Jimin's nose immediately scrunched with disgust. "No. Let’s just go to bed. It's late and I'm tired."

“So lazy,” Yoongi chuckled with a gentle poke to his boyfriend's belly.

Jimin swatted at him with his sweatshirt paw. "Don't poke me."

Yoongi smirked. He went to poke him again, but this time Jimin turned in an attempt to dodge his hand, which had him tripping over the extra material that pooled around his feet. He almost stumbled face-first into the bedpost.

“Serves you right,” Yoongi laughed with a playful slap to his boyfriend's behind.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't deserve the pillow that smacked him in the face.

—

Yoongi slept in the next morning only to be woken by the sound of the piano. A beautiful melody, one that he recognized, flitted into the room. The deep chords and melodic tune danced like a siren’s call in Yoongi’s ears. He scratched at his hair and forced himself to get up, to pad down the hardwood floor towards the practice room where his upright piano sat.

Jimin was perched in the center of the bench, intensely committed to whatever he was playing. His tongue poked out between his lips in concentration, the rounded swell of his belly butting up against the edges of the keyboard.

And like so many times before, Yoongi felt as though his heart was bursting. He smiled to himself, making a memory of the scene before him, and shuffled into the kitchen to make breakfast.