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Yoongi sinks further into the cushions, whiskey tumbler in one hand, Xbox controller in the other. For the first time that night, he starts to relax. He’s alone with Hoseok on Namjoon’s sofa – away from the commotion of the other three. Jimin has, thankfully, felt comfortable enough to leave his side and is now hanging out in the kitchen with Jungkook and Namjoon.
It’s early. The clock on the game console blinks nine at night yet Yoongi is already stifling a yawn behind his hand. He chucks his controller to the sofa in favor of sipping his drink.
“So,” he says, his voice lazy and quiet. “What do you think?”
Hoseok turns to him, his face is uncharacteristically placid due to the alcohol. “What?”
“Jimin,” Yoongi replies, rolling his eyes. He crosses a slim arm over his torso and motions towards the kitchen. Jungkook is harassing Namjoon with a bottle of ginger soju, trying to get him to act on a dare in front of a giggling, albeit bashful, Park Jimin.
It’s the first time they’re all hanging out together – all five of them. The first time they’re meeting Jimin. And although Yoongi is certain that the others will fall in love with him the way he did all those months ago, he can’t help but be nervous. There’s a nagging unease in the pit of his stomach, a churn of anxiety at the mere idea of tonight not going well. He needs his friends to accept Jimin – fully and without reserve. For Jimin’s sake as well as his own.
“So,” Yoongi hums. He scratches the shell of his ear in a telltale nervous tick. “What do you think about him?”
Hoseok eyes the heavyset, pink-haired boy in the kitchen. Jimin is listening intently to Namjoon as he dives into a story, his chubby face flushed and smiling. “He’s adorable,” he says, practically cooing. He turns to Yoongi with a devious smile. “So, did you pay him to date you or….?”
Yoongi tries to kick Hoseok in the shin but misses entirely. The glass tumbler dangling from his limp fingers tips dangerously close to spilling on the floor.
“For the record, he asked me out.”
Hoseok gives him an unbelieving look. “Yeah, okay.”
“What, he did!”
“No offense, hyung, but you’re super standoffish. And Jimin doesn’t seem like the type to hit someone up.”
“I’m completely approachable, thank you very much. And Jimin would surprise you. He seems shy at first, yeah, but once he gets comfortable, watch out. You’ll never get him to shut up.” He tosses the controller back to Hoseok, ready to start another game.
Hoseok picks out the level location and favorite avatar and throws back another swig of his own alcoholic concoction. “How long have you two been together,” he asks conversationally, eyes on the game.
Yoongi shrugs, thinking. “Uh, it’ll be 6 months next week, I think.”
“6 months!” Hoseok shouts, voice carrying down the hall as if he’s yelling into a megaphone. The noise causes Jimin to turn, for Namjoon to look their way with a raised brow.
Yoongi waves them off and gives Hoseok a look. “Can you at least try to be quiet?” he hisses.
“Sorry,” Hoseok apologizes, his voice still louder than whisper. “What the hell, hyung? 6 months,” he repeats, as if Yoongi’s committed the worst form of treason. “Why have you been hiding him from us?”
It’s not that he’s been hiding Jimin from them per se, more that he needed to wait on the introductions until he was sure. He needed to be absolutely certain that he and Jimin were serious, that he wasn’t hurrying things for no reason.
“Sorry,” he mutters, not sure how else to explain. He nudges Hoseok to pick up his controller. “You know how I am. I don’t like to rush things.”
Hoseok smiles at him. “So, I take it it’s the real deal, then?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says, too reserved to meet his eyes. “I think so.”
They turn their attention to the game. Their geared-up avatars take down some poor, unsuspecting group of gamers. They raid their loot before running off, before its calm enough to speak again.
“You do realize Tae’s going to be all over him the minute they meet,” Hoseok laughs.
Yoongi snorts. He can imagine it already, the rush of Taehyung. The way Tae throws himself at people with relentless affection. The way his energy is both overwhelming and a comfort. Yoongi was kind of hoping Tae would be here tonight, to ease Jimin into the group, to make him feel accepted. But by the looks of things, Jimin is fitting in just fine.
He turns to see what the others are up to. Jimin is giggling about something, falling against Jungkook as he does so.
“I’m glad they’re getting along,” Yoongi hums, relief bubbling in his chest. “Jimin was nervous about coming tonight.”
“Really? Why?”
Yoongi shrugs, though he knows the answer, knows that Jimin was nervous about his friends meeting him for the first time – sizing him up in the literal sense.
In the 6 months they’ve been together, Jimin has gone from somewhat chubby, to pretty plump, to irrevocably and undeniably fat. He’s gotten…. well, comfortable, which is probably the nicest way to put it. Domestic bliss and all that. And Jimin has definitely succumbed to the comfortable ease of cohabitating (if his chunkier curves are anything to go by). His heavier frame being the main reason he was fearful about coming tonight.
What if they don’t like me, Jimin had asked before entering Namjoon’s house.
They will, Yoongi promised. Because they would, of course. They’d be crazy not to.
Hoseok’s smile grows wider as he looks at Jimin, eyeing him from the top of his bubblegum hair down to the curves of his thighs. “He really is so freaking cute,” he coos. “Those cheeks,” he squeals, anime hearts practically fluttering out of his eyes as he looks at Jimin's round cheeks. “I just want to pinch his face.” He raises his fingers to mimic a pinching motion, sound effects in full.
Yoongi shakes his head.
“What?” Hoseok laughs.
“Nothing." He anxiously fusses with his shirtsleeve, trying in vain to get the cuff to roll up. “Just.... Say whatever else you’re thinking about him.”
“About Jimin?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi mumbles, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Just, make a comment about how he’s fat so we can move on.”
Hoseok practically chokes on his own spit as his controller drops to the floor. “I wasn’t thinking that!” he shouts, voice once again carrying down the hall.
Yoongi gives him a look that clearly says quiet the fuck down so Hoseok tries his best to soften his voice.
“I mean yeah, he’s a heavy kid,” he continues, “but I wasn’t thinking it was bad. He’s cute, hyung. And from what I can tell a total sweetheart. Why are you freaking out?”
Yoongi shifts uncomfortably under Hoseok’s gaze. “Sorry,” he mutters, eyes pointed towards the floor. He scoffs the toe of his converse against the tile making a soft squeaking sound against the rubber. “I shouldn’t have said anything. That was stupid.”
He feels like shit for even bringing it up, for drawing attention to Jimin’s size, but ever since that incident in the parking lot – when Jimin burst into tears after some asshole gave him a pointed comment about his weight – well, he feels the need to protect. Like it’s his job to shield Jimin, to beat people to the punch before they have a chance to say something heartless.
“I get nervous,” he admits, eyes still lowered. “I don’t want anyone thinking anything bad about him because he’s heavy.”
“I don’t think anyone is, hyung,” Hoseok replies, voice gentle. “Namjoon is practically smothering the kid with attention and I haven’t seen Kookie look this happy since before the start of the semester.” He lowers his gaze to meet Yoongi’s eyes. “If you love him, we love him. It’s as simple as that.”
Yoongi nods, still feeling foolish. Of all the people, he should have known that Hoseok would be the most open-minded. That his best-friend wouldn’t care – at all – about something so trivial.
“Does it bother you that Jimin’s heavy?” Hoseok asks, his tone curious.
“Of course not,” Yoongi answers swiftly. “You know I don’t care about that sort of thing. I’ve dated heavy guys before – and girls – it is what it is, you know? And it’s not him I’m worried about, Hobi, its other people. He’s sensitive, you know? He gets his feelings hurt easily. I just worry.”
Hoseok eyes him over the rim of his own cup, lips quirked. “…. You’re so soft for him.”
“Shut up.” Yoongi turns his head to the side, purposely avoiding Hoseok’s gaze. It’s true, though. He’s completely and utterly out of his depth and out of his mind in love.
“He’s soft for you too, you know,” Hoseok says, still smiling. “I noticed it earlier when you both got here. He looks for your approval, like, all the time. Like he wants to make sure you’re paying attention.” He takes another swig from his cup, blanching at the accumulation of bitters at the bottom. “He’s completely whipped. Same as you.”
Yoongi feels the blush creep up to his ears, burning hot. He sinks further into the cushions and watches Hoseok get up, muttering something about helping Namjoon with the wine opener before he breaks the bottle, when Jungkook passes by, evidently in search of the bathroom.
“Around the corner,” Yoongi offers as the youngest walks past. “Right there, yeah.”
“Right here?” Jungkook asks, kind of off-kilter, the alcohol already setting in.
“It’s a one-bedroom apartment, Kookie,” Yoongi laughs, “Where else would it be?”
But Jungkook ignores the comment and goes towards the only other door in the vicinity. “Your boyfriend’s cool,” he says, his big doe eyes shining from too much soju. “We were on the same dance team my first semester here. Did he tell you?”
Yoongi pauses on this for a moment, confused. Honestly, it never occurred to him that Jimin and Jungkook went to the same school let alone danced on the same team.
“But Jimin doesn’t dance anymore,” he answers, somewhat dumbly. The multiple glasses of whiskey making him slow.
“I said we were on the dance team, hyung.” Jungkook snatches the now-empty tumbler from Yoongi’s lax grip and harbors it in the crook of his elbow. “I’m taking this away from you,” he states, knowingly. “Jimin is driving you home. He’s only had soda and your eyes look entirely glossed over.”
“Like you’re one to talk,” he shoots back lazily, but it’s muffled by the commotion in the kitchen.
There’s an ear-piercing crash and Hoseok shouting Namjoon-ah. Yoongi makes his way back to the chaos, arm instinctively wrapping around Jimin’s plush shoulders.
-
Yoongi falls into bed the moment they get home – half-asleep and still fully dressed, not even bothering to say goodnight to Holly as he dances around their feet.
With one eye open, he watches Jimin get ready for bed. His boyfriend is attempting to shimmy out of his jeans. Attempting being the main word here because Jimin is jumping around, trying without success to yank the too-snug material over the width of his hips. Hips, mind you, that have gotten even thicker in the past few weeks.
The black jeans that he’s currently trying to tug off fit a few months ago, before the holiday season got underway and the stress of finals began. With the onset on Chuseok, special treats started showing up at the diner, which meant special treats started showing up at home as well. Every time Jimin would call while Yoongi was working a shift, begging him to bring home a couple orders of this and another couple orders of that, Yoongi obliged, unable to deny Jimin anything. Which only meant Jimin continued to get significantly chubbier.
Not that Yoongi minds, of course – it’s Jimin’s body, Jimin’s choices. But what Yoongi is concerned about is the mental toll the weight gain seems to have taken on his boyfriend.
Jimin’s self-esteem has plummeted a bit with the last few kilos he's gained, and in between the self-deprecating humor and shadows of acceptance, there’s a quiet sadness that’s settled around him. Like he can’t quite figure out how he got so big. Like he’s not entirely sure how to feel about his new size.
And as much as Yoongi tells him – over and over again – that he’s beautiful (because he is – Yoongi will stand by that indefinitely), Jimin won’t bring himself to fully believe it. Instead, he toes the line between liking his body and hating it, constantly seeking validation.
Jimin lets out a frustrated growl from the middle of the room, his stubbornness getting the better of him as he yells at the jeans, as if it’s their fault they’re way too small.
Yoongi watches expectantly, wondering – not for the first time – how his boyfriend managed to get them on in the first place.
Yoongi curses himself for not throwing them out days ago, when they wound up in the wash – band warped from to much pressure and the inner stitching of the thighs coming undone. He’s about to say as much when the jeans finally pop over Jimin’s full behind and shimmy to the floor in victory.
“Finally,” Jimin huffs. He grabs an appropriately-sized pair of sweatpants and nestles the elastic band underneath his belly, beneath the bottom hem of his favorite tee, where the stretched, cotton material emphasizes the outline of his belly button. His tummy pouches over his sweatpants, curved and doughy.
“Hyung,” Jimin says as he slides in, the mattress dipping from his weight. He taps Yoongi’s shoulder, unsure if he’s asleep. “Hyung, are you awake? I want to ask you something.”
Yoongi swats at him, eyes now shut. “Go to sleep, Jimin-ah.” He places his arms over his head as a means to sanction himself off from the world.
But Jimin is nothing if not relentless. He leans in close, close enough to grace his lips across Yoongi’s skin. “Yoongi-hyung,” he breathes. “Did Hoseok-hyung or Namjoon-hyung say anything to you tonight? About me?”
Yoongi turns his head and forces an eye open. “They liked you,” he assures him. “Hoseok thinks you’re cute.”
“Really?” Jimin smiles. “He really said that?”
“Mm hmm.” Yoongi rotates until he’s flushed against Jimin’s side, his leg slung over Jimin’s thick thighs. He smooths a hand over his boyfriend’s hip. His fingers sink in easily, Jimin’s extra weight making him soft all over.
“I liked them,” Jimin says, leaning back in order to give Yoongi’s hand more room to roam. “Especially Jungkookie.”
“JK told me you two were on the same dance team. I didn’t know you knew each other.”
“I knew of him,” Jimin clarifies. “He’s two grades younger so we never had the same class. But I watched him audition his first semester here. He’s good. Like, really, really good.”
“I bet not as good as you.” Yoongi’s fingers find their way to Jimin’s round behind. He gives that a greedy squeeze as well. “Hoseok said we should all go out for dinner next week. To mark the end of finals - yours and JK’s. Maybe we could go to the barbeque place near campus, you know, the one with the really good tteokbokki.”
Jimin licks his lips expectantly, mind going back to the indulgent meal they had a few nights ago. “Mmm,” he hums. “We should go get some right now.”
“You’re impossible,” Yoongi snickers. “You need to slow it down with the fried foods. And the ice cream," he adds giving Jimin's plush cheek a pat. "I haven’t seen you voluntarily put a vegetable in your mouth since August. The fact that it’s now November is really saying something.”
“That’s not true,” Jimin argues. “I had kimchi last night! And it’s not my fault all I eat is junk. You’re the one that brings it home every night.”
“That’s because you ask me to, you brat,” Yoongi laughs. “Besides, how many times do you pick up tteokbokki on the way home from the university? And mandu and hotteok and twigim?”
“I only do that sometimes,” Jimin pouts, playing cute.
“Oh really?” Yoongi wagers. He leans in closer. “Because the take-out containers in the trash say otherwise.”
His words have the wanted effect of making Jimin shiver. “Don’t tease," he giggles. But his eyes say otherwise.
So Yoongi leans in to nuzzle his softened jawline, where extra padding has accumulated beneath his chin. He graces the delicate skin with his front teeth, nipping at the fat before covering the mark with his lips.
“Close your eyes,” Yoongi instructs, and Jimin does, eyes closing as his lashes flutter forward. He kisses him lazily, resting a hand on his belly as he slowly explores Jimin’s sugary-tasting mouth.
“My brother’s coming into town next week,” Jimin whispers after a moment, coming up for air. “Maybe he can come to dinner too.” He leans back, savoring the way Yoongi sucks a path down his neck all the way to his collarbones.
“Yeah, right there,” he says. And Yoongi continues to kiss him, listening with a smirk at the way Jimin whimpers beneath him.
Yoongi snakes a hand under Jimin’s snug tee, up the curve of his belly to his softened chest. There’s not much there but he still cups Jimin’s left pec in his palm, testing the weight of it, feeling its fullness in his hand. He likes it, likes the way Jimin pinches his eyes closed every time he brushes a finger over his nipple.
“Yoongi,” Jimin breathes, voice husky and quiet. He stills Yoongi’s hand for a second, needing him to focus. “Did your friends say anything else to you tonight? Like, anything about me?”
“Like what?”
Jimin shrugs. He brushes the pink fringe out of his eyes. “I don’t know,” he lies. “Like, anything about my weight? Like wow, hyung, what are you doing with such a pig?”
“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi scoffs. “Don’t say shit like that, you know I hate it when you say shit like that."
”Well, it’s true,” he grumps. “I wouldn’t blame them if they did.”
”They didn’t say anything,” Yoongi partially lies, not wanting to divulge the conversation he and Hoseok had while the rest of the boys were in the kitchen. “They’re not dicks. Besides, I already told you Hoseok thinks you’re cute.”
Jimin rolls his eyes. "They can still think I'm cute and too big.... It's not like I don't know I have a ton of weight to lose.”
Yoongi sighs. He settles next to his boyfriend, protectively draping an arm across Jimin’s heavy waist.
He hates when Jimin gets like this, when he finds solace in berating himself. When he gets stuck in his own head, listening to the horrible, self-critical thoughts that consume him. As if him being overweight is somehow a detriment to society.
“I’m not letting you throw a pity party for yourself,” Yoongi insists, voice firm. “It’s stupid and pointless.”
“It’s not stupid,” Jimin argues. “Ever since Chuseok I’ve gained a lot of weight. Like, a lot. I know you can tell.”
Yoongi can tell, of course. He can feel it in the way Jimin takes up more space in his hands, the way he’s softer to the touch and in desperate need of a new wardrobe.
“So?” Yoongi replies, not really seeing the issue. His head is starting to throb with that oh-so-familiar feeling of a hangover. He scrubs a hand down his face. “You’re making this a big deal when it doesn’t have to be.”
“It is a big deal,” Jimin insists. “You and your friends are all so fit. You’re all so skinny. And then there’s me, who’s basically the size of a whale.” He lets out a frustrated huff. “Why not date Jungkook instead of me? At least he has abs.”
Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from getting frustrated. He eyes Jimin with an unamused scowl, arms crossed over his stomach to show how truly unimpressed he is.
“You seriously think that’s what I care about?” he asks, waiting for Jimin to look at him. “You seriously think that the number one item on my ‘must have boyfriend list’ is abs? Really, Jimin?”
“No,” Jimin sighs. “I guess not.... But what about sharp jawlines or toned muscles? Because I don’t have either of those.”
“Jimin,” Yoongi growls, growing impatient. “Even if I had a top 15 list those things wouldn’t be on it. I like you chubby,” he says with a smirk. “You’re much more fun to cuddle with.” And to accentuate his point, he pokes Jimin in the belly, his finger disappearing up to the knuckle.
Jimin looks down, his baby second chin rounding out as he does so. “You really mean that? You promise you’d rather be with me than someone like Jungkook?”
“Yeah, you dork. I chose you, didn’t I?”
Jimin’s eyes crinkle into crescents and he catapults himself on top of Yoongi the way Holly does when they’ve been gone too long. Big, sloppy kisses are pressed all over Yoongi’s face as Jimin settles on top of him, plush thighs sandwiching slim hips.
“Jimin,” Yoongi laughs, smile going gummy.
Jimin’s weight pushes them deeper into the mattress. His tongue darts out to lick Yoongi’s bottom lip, then his teeth, then his tongue. He presses his lips against Yoongi’s over and over again before finally lifting off with a wet pop.
“Jimin,” Yoongi laughs. He wipes the spit from his lips. “As much as I love you and as much as I love this I can’t right now. I’m so fucking tired. I need to be up in,” he awkwardly cranes his neck to the side to check the time on his phone, “four hours,” he sighs. “Fuck.”
But Jimin remains stationary, stubborn and unmoving. He positions Yoongi’s hands on his hips, initiating a deeper touch. “Come on, it’s not that late,” he declares, sinking atop Yoongi’s groin, rolling his hips a bit – until every heavy kilogram is anchoring Yoongi to the mattress.
“Jimin,” he growls. He grips Jimin’s pudgy middle with both hands and tries - without success - to push him off. “Come on,” he says with a slap to his boyfriend’s sturdy thigh. “Off.”
But Jimin stays planted. He grinds down harder against Yoongi’s front, smiling wickedly when he feels him start to grow hard. “How much did you drink tonight?” He asks zoning in on Yoongi’s lidded eyes. “You look like you’ve had a lot.”
“Too much,” Yoongi agrees. He’s already regretting that third glass of whiskey and the multiple cups of Merlot. “Off,” he commands again, trying to get Jimin to budge. “Come on, Jimin, you’re making my legs numb.”
“What will you do if I don’t?” he counters, always up for a fight.
“I’ll tickle you if I have to,” he says, already removing his hands from Jimin’s waist. “Don’t think I won’t.” And to prove his point he lifts his hands to Jimin’s armpits, hovering them there like a threat. Being tickled is the one thing Jimin hates most, even more than seafood. “You have three seconds,” he threatens, eyes narrowed.
It’s enough to get Jimin to roll off. He sinks down to the mattress, flopping his limbs out like a starfish before curling around Yoongi like a koala, his soft tummy flush against Yoongi’s narrow side.
“If you puke, I’m not cleaning it up,” Jimin announces.
“Brat,” Yoongi mumbles, but it’s swallowed by a yawn.
Not even a minute later, they’re both asleep.
-
“So, remind me again, what are we looking for?”
They’re in some run-of-the-mill art supply store with items that are way too expensive. Yoongi takes in the entirety of where they’re standing. Every shelf is filled from top to bottom with hundreds of products he knows absolutely nothing about.
“What’s this?” he asks, grabbing a tool from a nearby shelf. He examines it closely with both hands, trying to decipher its contents beneath the wrapping.
“A guillotine paper cutter,” Jimin answers easily. He takes the stray pencil tucked behind his ear and scribbles something on his notepad.
“A what?” Yoongi asks again, but Jimin takes it from him and places it back on the shelf.
“Stop touching everything,” he chastises. “Come on.” And he pulls Yoongi to the next aisle. “I have a bunch of things to buy and I need your help. We’re looking for a large canvas – 24 by 36 – a box of charcoal, black ink, and a Princeton Select Series 3750 Natural Bristle brush.”
Yoongi looks at him like he just spoke a different language. “A what?” he repeats, eyes already drifting towards the stack of musical instruments in the back. “What do you need all this for?”
“My final project, remember? Do you even listen to anything I say?”
Yoongi bites his tongue to keep from saying something snarky. Because, honestly? Jimin talks enough for the both of them and sometimes it’s hard to keep up. But, he lets Jimin drag him to the next aisle, where it looks like a packet a sequins exploded on the floor.
It’s been a few months since Jimin quit dance, since he changed his major to studio art. And just as he had with the piano, he’s picked up painting like a natural. In the two semesters he’s been pursuing art, he’s already excelled beyond the entry-level classes. It makes Yoongi both proud and annoyed. Because how can one kid be good at so many things? Apart from the piano, the only artistic thing Yoongi can do is draw stick people.
“When is your exhibit again?” Yoongi asks, heading towards the sound equipment in the back.
Jimin throws a paintbrush into the basket and checks another item off his list. “Two weeks from this Saturday. The day before your concert.”
Yoongi stops dead in his tracks. “Fuck,” he curses. “I completely forgot.”
“About my show or yours?” he asks offhandedly, writing something down.
“Both,” Yoongi states. “But the fuck was more about mine. I told the concert venue I’d be playing a new piece before my students perform, but I haven’t even picked out a song yet. I haven’t even practiced. Fuck,” he curses again.
Jimin looks up and offers Yoongi a sympathetic frown. “You’ll figure it out,” he encourages. “You’ll be okay.”
Yoongi chews at his nail, thinking. “Maybe I’ll pull out of the concert. Tell them something came up and….”
“No way,” Jimin cuts him off. “You told me I couldn’t pull out of my exhibit, so you can’t pull out of the concert. If I have to do mine, you have to do yours. It’s only fair.”
“Fine,” Yoongi grumbles. He crosses his arms over his chest. “But don’t expect anything good.”
-
A week later Yoongi comes home to find their bedroom in complete disarray. A plastic tarp covers majority of the carpet and above that stands two easels. One canvas is meticulously painted in beautiful hues of blue and gray. The other is snapped in half, lying on the floor in ripped pieces – another victim of Jimin’s hot temper.
Yoongi is about to announce that he’s home, when Jimin steps out from the bathroom – steam billowing behind him as he drips a wet path on the floor. He swaps his towel for a fresh pair of boxers.
“We’re still going tonight, right?” Jimin asks. He towel drys the end of his hair..
“Yeah,” Yoongi answers, fumbling with the phone in his pocket. “We have reservations at eight.”
His cell phone chimes again, indicating an incoming text. There's a handful of messages blowing up his phone. Yoongi scrolls through the group chat, trying to see what’s going on.
“Kookie can’t make it tonight,” he relays the message to Jimin, reading the text. “He has a showcase, I think. End of the year dance performance or something.”
Jungkook’s message is met with a million crying face emoji’s from Hoseok and a ‘WHAT KOOKIE NOOOOOOO’ from Taehyung.
Yoongi looks up when he gets no response. “Jimin-ah? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah.” Jimin scrubs the towel through his hair one last time before dropping it to the floor, atop his discarded clothing. His face looks oddly somber.
Yoongi eyes him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he shrugs. Though something is. Jimin huffs a sigh as he pulls a fresh t-shirt over his head, yanking it down until it covers the curve of his belly. He fixes his silver hoops so that they’re not twisted behind his earlobe. “It’s just,” he stalls. “That’s where I’d be right now if I didn’t fuck up.”
Yoongi's brows knit in confusion. “Fuck what up?"
"The showcase."
Yoongi stands there, trying to make sense of his boyfriend's mood. ”....But I thought you were glad you quit dance," he asks, completely lost.
“I am. I just miss it sometimes.” He picks a piece of hardened paint out of his hair and flicks it to the floor. “I miss performing. Getting feedback from the audience, being part of something special. It was…. is,” he corrects, “who I am. And I don’t get to do it anymore. It just sucks.”
They’d talked about it before, about Jimin quitting dance and the implications that came with it. But every time Yoongi questioned if he was okay, Jimin would say he was fine. That he was happier, even, now that he didn’t have to deal with restrictive dieting and rude side-glances from unsupportive teammates. But that clearly wasn’t the whole truth. Yoongi feels horrible for not noticing.
“You should have told me,” he urges. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because it doesn’t matter,” Jimin hisses, throwing his towel in the hamper in a much more aggressive manner than is actually necessary. “It’s not like I’m ever getting back on the team. Not when I look like this.”
Yoongi stays quiet. He watches Jimin huff around the room as he tries to think of the best way to rectify this, to formulate his words in the gentlest way possible. “Maybe you can join a different dance team,” he offers. “Not the university team but maybe a different one? One that’s, um…. more accepting of… people’s sizes?”
But Jimin doesn’t answer. Instead, he trudges over to the closet and grabs out the same pair of jeans he squeezed into the night at Namjoon’s. He stomps over to the bed and sits down, steadying himself as he starts the tedious task of shimmying the material up his legs.
“Babe,” Yoongi sighs. He scratches the back of his neck, not sure how to help. “I’m sure there’s a public team or studio you can join.”
“There’s not,” Jimin mumbles. He aggressively yanks the jeans up his thighs. “I told you, I keep putting on weight. There’s no way I’d be invited to any team at this point.”
Yoongi’s heart breaks for him, for the way Jimin so clearly hates himself sometimes. For the way he doesn’t seem to measure up to his own over-the-top expectations.
“Have you weighed yourself in a while?” He asks. “Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”
Jimin looks at Yoongi, his face set in an unamused frown. He motions the width of his body. "It's obviously as bad as I think.” And before Yoongi has a chance to rebuttal, Jimin's powering on with, "And I did weight myself. It's bad, Yoongi. Like really, really bad."
“How bad?”
He knows Jimin was serious about not wanting to get past 180. That his ideal weight was getting back down to 165.
Jimin looks at him and swallows. “190,” he admits, his face already flushed with embarrassment. “Well, 193 if you want to be exact.”
Yoongi tries to coax his face into what he hopes is a neutral expression. Though he’s honestly a bit shocked. Because at a slight 140 pounds himself, Jimin is substantially bigger than him. Like, substantially so. And gaining thirty pounds in 6 months…. Well, wasn’t that kind of a lot?
He’s about to come up with some sort of a reply when Jimin looks over at him, his eyes round and fearful, somewhat on the verge of panic.
“I’m really sorry,” Jimin quickly stutters, misreading Yoongi’s silence for disgust. “I know I’m a lot bigger than when we first met and I haven’t stuck to my diet like I said I would, but I’ll do better,” he rushes. “I’ll work harder. I’ll start exercising more and I’ll…”
“Hey,” Yoongi cuts off, stopping Jimin's tumble of words. He places his hands on Jimin’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” he assures him. “Really, Jimin, it doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business, anyway.”
Jimin wipes the moisture from his eyes by dragging his arm across his face. He looks at Yoongi with downturned lips. “Doesn’t it bother you that I’m, like, twice your size?”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
Jimin gives him a look, clearly not in the mood for his sarcasm.
“And no, it doesn’t,” Yoongi answers, his voice patient. “It’s… whatever.” He shrugs. And he means it. He couldn't care less.
“Dieting is the worst," Jimin complains. "I'm not good at it. Every time I try, I end up even bigger than before.”
Jimin sits on the edge of the bed. He curls forward until he’s completely slumped on his knees, chubby face cupped in his palms. “Maybe I won't eat tonight,” he decides.
Yoongi’s forehead instantly furrows. “You better eat tonight. I’m not having a repeat of that one night we went shopping.”
“What night?”
“That night,” Yoongi accentuates, not being any clearer. “Downtown at the mall, when you almost fainted because you stupidly starved yourself for two days….”
Jimin scrunches his nose at the memory. “Oh,” he sighs. “That night.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi echoes. “I’m serious, Jimin. You’re not going to starve yourself just because you’re pissed about some stupid number on the scale. If you want to lose weight, fine, but you’re doing it healthily or not at all.”
“But I can’t even fit in my jeans,” he whines, staring at the open flaps, which are a few inches away from closing. The too-tight material is squeezed around his plush hips, the band of his pants cutting rough indentations into his skin.
Yoongi wanders over to the closet. He digs through their mess of clothes until he finds a different pair – a somewhat secret pair, one he picked up a few weeks ago that are two sizes bigger with more give in the fit. He tosses them to Jimin. “Wear these.”
“But I like my pair,” Jimin whines, his tone wistful.
Yoongi stares at him, unamused. “Do you really want to argue right now?”
“But these ones make my legs look nice.”
“They also cut off your circulation, so there’s that.”
But Jimin ignores him and goes about yanking the flaps in an attempt to get them buttoned. His tongue pokes out as he lays flat against the bed, fingertips turning white with the strain of trying to shove his too-big body into a too-small hole. “Ooh,” he says in surprise when the button slips slightly through the opening. He sucks in another deep breath and tugs sharply at the zipper, trying in vain to pull it up; though, once it gets partway to the top it quickly zips back down.
“Got them buttoned,” he says to Yoongi, ignoring the gaping hole. As he teeters to a sitting position, his chunky belly straining the band. He scrunches his nose, trying to adjust the button so it’s not digging into his belly button. “If I don’t move too much, I’ll be fine.”
“If you even breathe the wrong way, they’re going to pop open. Take them off.”
“Why?” Jimin complains, though he winces as he talks. “They fit.”
“They do not fit. They. Are. Too. Tight,” he argues, accentuating each word. “And we’ve had this conversation before. Whenever you wear tight clothes it puts you in a bad mood.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does. And watching you squirm all night in too-tight pants is the ultimate form of distraction. I don’t want to be eye-fucking you from across the table when I’m meeting your brother for the first time.”
That shuts him up.
“Seriously Jimin,” Yoongi continues, “take them off.”
But Jimin’s looking at Yoongi with equal parts confusion and lust. He tilts his head to the side, curious. “Why would me struggling to fit in my pants turn you on,” he questions. “Unless you have some weird fetish you’ve never told me about.”
Yoongi throws a balled-up sock at his head. “No, idiot. It’s because everything you do turns me on.”
Jimin smiles in disbelief. He shyly ducks his head, though not before uttering, “So, can I wear these tonight?”
Yoongi exhales a frustrated breath. “If you don’t take them off in the next five minutes, I’m going to rip them off of you myself.”
“Fine, jeez,” Jimin folds. “You’re so pushy sometimes.” He un-pops the button – much to his belly’s relief – and kicks the pants to the floor. “There. Happy?”
“We’re leaving in thirty minutes,” Yoongi reminds him, throwing the rest of their junk in the closet. “Go take Holly out while I get ready.”
Jimin dramatically flings himself back on the bed, laying across the comforter in just his t-shirt and underwear. “Can’t you do it?” he begs. “I’ve been working on my exhibit piece all day and I’m so tired.” He flashes Yoongi the best puppy dog eyes he can muster, lips jutted and eyes pleading. “Please?” he insists, biting down on his finger, ramping up the cuteness factor.
And Yoongi gives in like he always does, because he clearly has no spine. He’s incapable of resisting Jimin, especially when he’s draped across the mattress, looking sweet and chubby and delectable.
-
They turn into the ‘arrivals’ section of the airport, already running fifteen minutes behind. Yoongi swerves in and out of traffic, in search of a decent parking spot. They have a short span of time to pick up Jimin’s brother from the airport and get back to the restaurant in time for their reservation with the guys. Namjoon has already texted him thirteen times, reminding him about their very strict dining time. But Yoongi pockets his phone, not able to deal with this now. He’s two minutes away from throwing up, the anxiety of meeting Jimin’s brother is enough to push everything else from his mind.
The airport is busy, packed with weekend travelers. People are running in every direction, scurrying off to pick up family members and sprinting to catch flights.
Yoongi puts the car in park and turns off the ignition. He’s trying to remember everything Jimin told him about Seokjin – how he’s twenty-something, works as a chef (possibly) and is coming into town for one week? Or was it two….
“Give me the rundown again,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “How old is your brother?”
“Older than you,” Jimin says, undoing his own. “So remember to be polite.”
“When am I ever not polite? I’m a joy to be around.”
Jimin flashes him a wry smile. “If that’s what you tell yourself….”
Yoongi tries to smack him in the arm but Jimin quickly scurries out of the car, avoiding his grasp.
They walk inside, fighting the crowds, trying to navigate the interior of the airport.
Yoongi checks his watch. Once, twice, three times. His heart is stuck in his throat, thumping madly against his windpipe. He wants to make a good impression, to prove to Seokjin that he’s worthy of Jimin’s time.
It takes only a minute for Jimin to spot Seokjin from amongst the crowd. “That’s him,” he says, his smile growing wider as he looks at his brother.
“Which one?” Yoongi asks, craning his neck to see where Jimin is pointing.
“The tall one in the black snapback.”
Yoongi rolls up to his tip-toes to get a better look.
Seokjin, who is tall and lean with the most enticing shoulder-to-hip ration Yoongi has ever seen, looks like someone straight out of a K-drama. He’s stunning, to say the least. His full lips echo that of his brother’s, their gentle, brown eyes slanted in the same stunning manner. If there was any question in Yoongi’s mind where Jimin got his good looks from, there was no doubt now. Seokjin is further proof that the Park family is unfairly beautiful.
Seokjin smiles equally as wide the moment he spots his brother. He adjusts his snapback and drops his duffle to the floor, rushing to envelope Jimin in a bone-crushing hug.
“Jiminie,” he shouts, voice carrying down the corridor. They sway back in forth, Seokjin crushing Jimin in a hug.
He pushes Jimin back a few inches in order to get a better look. He takes in the thirty-plus gain, the way his little brother’s belly rounds out over the band of his jeans, happily plump and nestled beneath his sweater. Seokjin pokes him in the middle.
“I leave you for one year and you eat everything in sight?” he chuckles. “Jiminie,” he laughs, holding him out a bit further. “Look how pudgy you’ve gotten,” he teases. “You’ve clearly been eating well.” He tries to give Jimin’s belly a pinch, but Jimin swats him away with his hand.
“Stop it,” he giggles, dodging his brother’s grasp. “Jin-hyung, I want you to meet someone. This is Yoongi-hyung,” he announces, ushering Yoongi to his side. “My boyfriend.”
Yoongi’s ears turn red at the word, but he lets Jimin grip his hand anyway.
Yoongi dips into low bow, trying his best to remain calm. “It’s nice to meet you, Seokjin-ssi,” he says, hardly breathing. He’s expecting a bow in return or a cordial handshake, but what he gets is Seokjin pulling him into a tight hug, all forms of traditional respect forgotten.
“Seokjin-hyung,” he corrects with a smile against Yoongi’s hair. “You’re clearly taking good care of my brother," he says with a smack to Jimin's middle. "If you’re able to make him this happy, we’re practically family.”
“Are you going to tease me the entire time you’re here?” Jimin pipes in, feigning annoyance. He knocks into Seokjin’s duffle, purposely pushing him off-kilter.
Seokjin rouses Jimin’s hair in retaliation, making it stick up at odd angles. “You just make it so easy,” he teases.
Yoongi smiles. He could get used to this.
-
The highway is almost as crowded as the airport. Friday nights are always like this, especially in downtown Seoul where there’s too many people and not enough space. But tonight is even worse. Seasonal snow flurries have covered the expressway in a sheet of ice, causing every driver to move at a snail’s pace. Yoongi slows down as well, more concerned with getting them there alive than on time. He listens to Jimin prattle on from the passenger seat, talking Seokjin’s ear off about everything he misses about Busan and everything he’s been up to since moving to Seoul.
But, when they pull into the restaurant, Jimin goes uncharacteristically quiet. Yoongi watches as his boyfriend fusses with his hair and examines his already-concealed blemishes in the tiny, visor mirror.
“Are you okay,” Yoongi questions as they get out of the car.
“I’m nervous,” Jimin admits, anxiously running his fingers through his hair. “Do I look bad? Does my outfit look okay?”
Yoongi could have his eyes closed and still know the answer to both of those questions, but he gives Jimin the benefit of looking. Jimin is dressed in his new pair of black jeans – still fashionable but with a better fit, the bigger cut emphasizing his curves rather than concealing them. His white tee-shirt is overlaid by a soft, blue sweater, making him look ridiculously cuddly. His ears and fingers are adorned in his favorite silver jewelry.
“You’re beautiful,” Yoongi blurts out without thinking, fighting the urge to grab him right there. He thumbs Jimin’s silver hoops instead. “They love you, remember?”
The moment the three of them step inside, the delicious smell of ribeye hits Yoongi’s nose, making his stomach rumble and he’s sure Jimin’s stomach is doing the same. The heat wafting off the tableside grills is a comfortable change from the plunging temperatures outside. And though the entryway is jammed-pack with too many people, Yoongi still spots Hoseok amongst the crowd – dressed in loud clothing and calling to him from a standing position at the table.
“Yoongi-hyung,” he shouts, waving his arms madly above his head. “Over here!”
Namjoon roughly pulls Hoseok back down to a sitting position, thoroughly embarrassed now that multiple people are staring.
Yoongi steps to lead Jimin and Seokjin to the table, when Taehyung suddenly tackles him from behind, practically mauling both of them to the floor.
“Hyung!” he shouts.
“Holy shit, Tae,” Yoongi curses, trying to disentangle himself from Taehyung’s grasp. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Jiminie!” Taehyung suddenly shouts, turning his attention to the wide-eyed boy beside him. He grabs Jimin around the waist – as if they’ve been friends all of their life – and pulls him into a tight, tight embrace, the low timber of his laugh sounding against Jimin’s ear. “I’m so happy I finally get to meet you.”
“Not so rough, Tae,” Yoongi says, trying to ease him off, but Taehyung is in his own world, pinching Jimin’s face like he’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.
“You’re so cute,” Taehyung coos, doing an uncanny impression of Hoseok’s voice. He pinches Jimin’s round cheeks, getting a substantial amount of pudge between his fingers. “You’re so chubby,” he giggles, squeezing him affectionately.
“Tae,” Yoongi groans. He scrubs a hand down his face. “Seriously?”
“But he’s so squishy,” Taehyung squeals, playing with Jimin like a puppy.
“Yeah, Tae, I’m aware. Will you stop pinching him? You’re making his skin red.”
“I don’t mind,” Jimin says, giggling at Taehyung’s antics, for once not totally embarrassed about being called out for his bigger size. He’s lapping up the attention, happy to be adored.
“See? He doesn’t mind,” Taehyung echoes. He intertwines Jimin’s small hand in his own. “Sit next to me,” he says, ignoring Yoongi’s protest, and tugs Jimin towards the table, not even waiting for a reply.
Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose once they’re gone. “Sorry,” he apologizes to Seokjin. “Taehyung is a lot to take in sometimes.”
“He seems sweet.”
“He means well, but he’s basically an overgrown child. I’d say everyone else is a lot calmer, but you haven’t met Hoseok yet.” Yoongi goes to step forward, to make his way towards the table, when Seokjin stops him in his tracks.
“Yoongi, wait,” he says, placing a hand on Yoongi’s arm. “Before we go in, I want you to know that I meant what I said before, back at the airport. It really is good to finally meet you.”
Yoongi’s not the best when it comes to expressing himself, so he just stays quiet, waiting for the rest to come.
“I’m glad Jimin has you,” Seokjin continues, willing to speak for the both of them. “It makes me feel better knowing he’s being taken care of, even when he’s so far from home. Just, promise me you’ll treat him well, okay? He’s more fragile than he looks.”
“I’ll watch out for him,” Yoongi swears, knowing it’s the one promise he can keep. Jimin means everything to him. He’d risk his own life just to make him happy.
Seokjin claps him on the back, his smile radiant, and it settles like a warm spark in Yoongi’s soul, the comfort of Seokjin’s approval.
They take their place at the table, Seokjin next to his brother. He looks to Yoongi for direction on how to navigate introductions.
“Guys,” Yoongi says, clearing his throat. “This is Seokjin-hyung,” he says, motioning to Seokjin’s ridiculously handsome face. “Jimin’s older brother,” he clarifies. “Seokjin-hyung, this is everyone: Tae, Hoseok, and Namjoon,” he finishes, sliding in beside them.
Namjoon’s cheeks tinge pink the minute Seokjin and him make eye contact, which is interesting, to say the least, but not totally surprising. For as well-spoken as Namjoon is, he’s utterly useless when it comes to pretty boys. It’s something he and Yoongi bonded over early on in their friendship – their similar taste in boys and their infallible ability to totally screw it up.
“How old is he,” Namjoon whispers against Yoongi’s ear, totally infatuated with the boy across from him.
“Older than you,” Yoongi says, biting down on his smile. “Single though.”
“And gay?” Namjoon asks, sneaking a glance across the table.
Yoongi nods his head as he sips his water.
“He’s hot,” Namjoon observes, hiding the comment behind his hand.
Yoongi snorts. “Welcome to the Park family.”
Hoseok orders a couple bottles of soju for the table, along with an obscene amount of ribeye and different variations of pork belly. He passes around the side dishes once they arrive, dispersing kimchi and pickled radishes around the table until they’re within everyone’s reach.
Yoongi mans the grill because he’s the only one who knows what he’s doing – apart from Seokjin, of course. He keeps an eye on Jimin as he tends the meat, making sure he’s having a good time, while also keeping an eye on Namjoon, ensuring that he doesn’t come near the grill. The last time they went out for dinner, Namjoon almost lit his sleeve of fire. And that’s the very last thing any of them needs right now is the restaurant burning down.
He says so with a slap to his dongsaeng’s hand, ushering him away when he tries to flip the meat with his chopsticks. “Ya,” he shouts at him, shooing him away. “Keep your hands off the grill. Touch the meat again and I’ll stab you with the tongs.”
“But I’m helping,” Namjoon says, looking to Hoseok for support.
“He has a point, Joonie.” Hoseok laughs at the look on Namjoon’s face. “The safest thing for all of us is if you keep away from the grill.”
It makes Seokjin laugh. “How come you’re not allowed to cook,” he asks, looking at Namjoon with a raised eyebrow.
“Because he burns everything,” Hoseok chimes in. “Even water.”
“No,” Seokjin mumbles, dumbfounded.
“It’s true,” Hoseok continues. “Our Namjoon-ah had to call the fire department because he melted the metal handle of the pot he was boiling.”
Seokjin laughs, the sound going squeaky. “I could teach you how to cook if you want,” he offers to Namjoon whilst putting a bite of kimchi in his mouth. “I’m in town all week. We could get together….” He trails off, still eyeing Namjoon as he shoves in another bite. “I work as a sous chef back in Busan, I can teach you.”
Namjoon’s dimples hug the corners of his mouth. He takes a bite of seaweed for himself and chews thoroughly before speaking. “I thought you were an actor,” he says, looking at the older boy.
“Why’d you think that?”
“You look like you could be,” Namjoon states after he swallows. “You’re handsome enough.”
Yoongi bites down on his smile and locks eyes with Jimin from across the table. He raises an eyebrow, silently asking if what he thinks is happening is actually happening.
Jimin nods. He motions between Namjoon and his brother with a finger, indicating that yes, they’re most definitely hitting each other up.
So Yoongi leans more into Hoseok’s side as he sits down, trying to give Namjoon and Seokjin space to talk amongst themselves. It makes him happy, the idea of Namjoon finding someone, of Seokjin sticking around longer than just this week, of him and Jimin being part of both of their lives for the long haul.
When the meat is ready and multiple dishes are on the table, everyone digs in, filling their plates with a little of every selection and passing around bowls of jjigae, trying out each one.
Jimin fills his plate, but only slightly, careful to take a very small amount. Yoongi isn’t sure if he’s nervous about pigging out in front of the group, or if this is his attempt to diet. Either way, he gives him an unhappy look, because the amount on Jimin’s plate is only a fraction of what he would normally eat. It’s simply not enough.
Taehyung must notice this as well because he – without asking – scoops a few more heaping portions of rice onto Jimin’s plate along a double serving of pork belly and half the contents of the bowl of kimchi.
“No, Tae,” Jimin protests, but Taehyung continues to fill his plate.
“You need more,” he says, giving Jimin’s belly a little pat before sitting back down, flashing Yoongi a knowing smile.
“Would you stop flirting with him,” Hoseok laughs from down the table. “You do realize Yoongi-hyung is sitting right in front of you.”
“I’m not flirting,” Taehyung protests. “I’m just taking care of him. He’s so cute,” he squeals, once again going for Jimin’s cheeks.
“He’s older than you,” Namjoon points out. “You know that right? He’s your hyung.”
“He is?” Taehyung asks, looking to Yoongi for confirmation.
Yoongi nods his head, holding up three fingers. “Three months.”
“No way,” he says in disbelief, turning to Jimin. “But you’re too adorable to be older. I want you to be my dongsaeng,” he sulks with a pout.
“That’s what Kookie is for,” Yoongi acknowledges, sticking his chopsticks into his pile of rice. “Baby him.”
“But Jungkook doesn’t let me,” Taehyung whines. “Besides, he’s always with his girlfriend.”
“You can baby me,” Jimin tells him, not one to turn down being doted on.
“Yeah?” Taehyung’s face lights up. He grabs the nearest bottle of makgeolli and fills Jimin’s cup up to the top, along with another serving of mandu. “There,” he says, quite pleased with himself. “Eat well.”
He flashes Jimin a smile, who smiles back at him just as wide.
It comforts Yoongi, having Taehyung there, the way his energy seems to pacify Jimin, the way his gentle doting puts Jimin at rest. The two of them excitedly bond over Ghibli films while they eat, lost in their own mini universe while Yoongi turns his attention to Hoseok. He listens as his best friend details his most recent trip to Japan and all the cool things he picked up while in Osaka.
The time quickly flies by, as does the food, and an hour later, after too many plates of bulgogi and too many bottles of soju, Yoongi’s stomach is uncomfortably full. He clutches his side, content and sated.
“Ugh,” Hoseok moans. He looks about as full as Yoongi feels. “I feel like I’m going to burst.”
“Me too,” Namjoon sighs, exhaling a deep breath.
Seokjin is quiet for the first time all night. He’s leaning back in his chair, hands on his full stomach, watching Jimin scrape his spoon against the bottom of his bowl, tying to scoop up the last bites.
“Still hungry, Jiminie?” he asks.
Jimin’s cheeks turn red when he looks up and notices, for the first time, that everyone else has stopped eating. He plucks at his t-shirt, somewhat self-consciously, in an effort to get the material to stop clinging to his chubby rolls. “I’m okay,” he says, forcing his bowl back to the table. “I’m full.”
But Yoongi knows better. He’s seen that wistful look on his boyfriend’s face enough times to know he’s definitely not full. “We can order more dumplings,” he offers, not wanting Jimin to go hungry. He goes to dump the untouched food from his plate onto Jimin’s, but Jimin stops him with his hand.
You sure, Yoongi mouths, ready to dump his food onto Jimin’s plate. But Jimin shakes his head, not wanting to call further attention to himself.
So, they finish their drinks, throw a collective wad of bills on the table, and head out to the parking lot, braving the winter chill. It’s after they say their goodbyes (and Seokjin gives Namjoon his number) that the other three hop into their cars, ready to head home.
Yoongi turns his attention to Jimin. “Ice cream?” he asks, dipping his hands into his boyfriend’s pockets. “I saw an ice cream store not far from here. You want to go?”
“I shouldn’t,” Jimin says, his lips turn down in a pout. “I already ate a lot tonight.” He looks to Yoongi as if asking for permission.
Yoongi gives Jimin’s small hands a squeeze. “Your choice. I don’t mind.”
And Jimin shyly nods his head, curling in on him to stay warm.
At the shop, Seokjin and Jimin slide into an open booth while Yoongi orders.
He gets a child-sized scoop of vanilla for himself – one that he doesn’t intend on eating – and a 4-scoop red bean and mochi covered sundae for Jimin, his favorite. The whole thing is drenched in chocolate and stabbed throughout with an assortment of Pepero sticks.
“I won’t be able to finish this,” Jimin announces as Yoongi brings it over, but his eyes light up the moment it’s placed in front of him. He grabs a Pepero stick and shoves the frosted end into his mouth. “This is a lot of ice cream.”
Seokjin snorts. “Judging by how big your belly is, I’m sure you can manage.”
Yoongi chuckles at the betrayed look on Jimin’s face.
“I don’t eat this much all the time,” Jimin defends, shoving a heaping spoonful in his mouth.
“You’ve finished a gallon of ice cream by yourself,” Yoongi mumbles, licking the tiniest amount of vanilla off his spoon. “At least a gallon,” he emphasizes, “and on more than one occasion.”
“Yoongi,” Jimin hisses. He kicks him under the table. “Shush.”
“No, tell me more,” Seokjin laughs, covering Jimin’s protests with his hand. “I wanna hear what else he does.”
Jimin smacks him away. “Yoongi, don’t you dare. You’re supposed to be on my side,” he pouts, using his big eyes and pouty lips to his advantage.
“Na-ah, don’t fall for that,” Seokjin interjects, pointing at Jimin’s face. “This little brat got everything he wanted growing up because of that face. That’s why you were always such a chubby kid,” Seokjin says, pinching Jimin’s cheek. “No one could deny you when you begged for sweets.”
“I wasn’t a chubby kid!” Jimin shouts, thoroughly annoyed at his brother’s betrayal.
“Oh really?” Seokjin laughs. “Here, I think I have some photos on my phone. There’s definitely one of Jimin in the bath.” He reaches into his pocket, ready to pull out his cell, when Jimin lunges for him, almost knocking over his bowl of ice cream in the process.
“Seokjin,” he yells.
“Fine, I won’t show him,” Seokjin folds, putting his phone back in his pocket. “But believe me,” he says, turning to Yoongi. He puffs out his cheeks until they’re entirely inflated, indicating Jimin’s size.
Jimin plucks a piece of mochi from his bowl and flicks it at his brother’s face. “Yoongi doesn’t believe you, do you, hyung?” he looks to Yoongi, waiting for him to agree.
But Yoongi’s smile goes gummy. “I don’t know, Jimin-ah, it is pretty fitting.” He dodges the rice ball Jimin flicks at him, hiding behind Seokjin’s broad shoulders.
“Both of you are so mean,” Jimin grumps, shoving in another bite. “Just because you’re both older doesn’t mean you have to be jerks.”
“Yes, it does,” Seokjin jokes.
“Well, Yoongi loves me,” Jimin mumbles, speaking around a full mouth. He licks a stray dollop of chocolate from his thumb. “Right, hyung? You love me.”
“Unfortunately,” Yoongi replies.
It makes Seokjin laugh.
-
Seokjin leaves for Busan one week later – the morning of Jimin’s art show.
Yoongi says his goodbyes the night before, having to slip out in the early hours of the morning in order to work a double shift at the diner.
Before the sun rises, Yoongi is working, flipping hotteok and feeding compatriots who stagger in after working the graveyard shift. And although his second shift doesn’t end until five, he plans on closing the place early if he has too – anything to get to Jimin’s exhibit on time.
He knows how hard his boyfriend has been working, meticulously putting the final touches on his project in between studying for other exams. He wouldn’t even let Yoongi take a look at the final piece.
I want it to be a surprise, he had said, and Yoongi wasn’t going to argue.
When the outdated clock on the wall shows five minutes to five, Yoongi closes the front door and chucks his apron in the back of his car.
He parks near the entrance, wondering, suddenly, what the proper etiquette is when showing up to your boyfriend’s art show. Like, maybe he should have brought flowers? Something that states well done, here’s some love. But he didn’t think that far ahead, so he gets out of the car – empty handed – and walks to the door, along with a few last-minute stragglers who seem to be heading to the same place.
Yoongi wanders the hallways for a while, feeling severely underdressed. His ripped jeans aren’t exactly on par with everyone’s nicer business attire. It makes him wonder what Jimin is wearing – probably not dress pants, considering he doesn’t own any. Well, not any that are able to slip past his thighs, at least.
After Yoongi finds what he hopes is the right room, he strolls up and down the maze of exhibit pieces. There are so many people in attendance it’s almost dizzying. The way Jimin had talked about tonight, Yoongi imagined it to be a casual gathering – a few students and a handful of supporters. What he wasn’t expecting is for the gallery space to be flooded with people, his social anxiety already kicking in due to too many bodies in too tight a space. He can feel his chest start to constrict, not liking the crowd of people, and purposely speeds up, scouting the area for Jimin, for his boyfriend’s bubblegum hair and the secret paintings he’d been putting so much time into.
When Yoongi gets towards the back of the room he finally finds him. Jimin’s name is plastered above his station, along with his art pieces, which are being blocked from Yoongi’s sight thanks to a collection of people standing around the area. At first, Yoongi thinks the crowd of people are there, along with him, to admire Jimin’s art. Though, when he gets closer, he realizes something is wrong.
The first thing he hears is Jimin’s voice – nervous and stuttering. And then someone that sounds uncannily like Jungkook.
“Back off, Jaegeun.”
“Make me, Jeon.”
Yoongi shoulders his way into the crowd, unable to see a thing. He rolls up to his tip toes, trying in vain to see above the sea of people.
“Seriously, Jaegeun, let it go. Back off.”
“Jungkook, it’s okay.”
Yoongi’s ears perk up when he hears Jimin’s voice. The quiet fear in his tone has Yoongi roughly shoving people aside so he can get closer.
A boy about Jungkook’s age gives Yoongi a dirty look as he pushes past, but he pays him no attention. He’s too intent on elbowing people out of the way in an effort to get closer.
When he reaches the front of the crowd, he stops, confused.
Jimin and Jungkook are facing the group of onlookers, Jungkook standing in front of Jimin as if blocking him from the crowd. Jungkook has one hand on the muscular boy in front of him, trying to keep him at a distance.
“Go home, Jaegeun,” Jungkook tries again, but the other boy just sneers.
“What?” he laughs humorlessly. “I’m just enjoying the show. The team and I wanted to show our support.”
Jungkook keeps his fingers on the boy’s chest, eyeing him without trust.
“We wanted to see Park here,” the boy continues, jutting his chin in Jimin’s direction. “See what he’s been up to since quitting the team. Looks like he’s as big a disgrace as before. Well, bigger,” he quips, giving Jimin’s heavyset body an obvious once-over. “Much bigger.”
The group of onlookers laugh at Jaegeun’s joke, as if it’s the most hysterical thing they’ve ever heard. It makes the blood in Yoongi’s veins burn hot. Has him clenching his fists at his sides. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that these assholes – Jaegeun and the group of boys that surround him – are the dance assholes – ex-teammates that are still on a mission to fuck with Jimin’s life.
Yoongi is about to step forward when Jungkook does so first.
“Stop, alright? Why are you even here?”
“Why are you here?” The kid shoots back. He smacks Jungkook’s hand away from his chest as he steps forward.
Jimin wraps his pudgy hand over Jungkook’s bicep, trying to hold him back. “Jungkook, don’t.”
Jaegeun cranes his head past Jungkook, staring Jimin down, nothing but hate in his eyes. “From what I can tell, you’re just as shitty at art as you were at dance. Maybe you should stick to something your good at. Like, I don’t know, eating?” He laughs at his own taunting, watching with enjoyment as Jimin’s cheeks go red.
Jungkook shoves Jaegeun hard with both hands, watching the boy stumble back, a look of shock on his face.
“Jungkook, don’t. You're going to get in trouble.” Jimin pleads.
But the other boy is already rolling up his sleeve, ready to fight.
“Don’t bother coming to practice next week, Jeon,” Jaegeun shouts. “You’re off the team.”
“But you’re not even the captain,” Jimin yells, finally finding his voice. “You can’t kick him off the team!”
“Fat-ass, does it look like I’m talking to you?”
Jimin immediately clamps his mouth shut.
“You’re going to end up just like him, Jungkook,” the kid continues, turning to Jimin with a look of disgust. “Just like Park. A fat, friendless pig, with no talent and --”
Yoongi’s fist collides with the boy’s jaw before he has a chance to think twice. Sheer rage has him throwing his arm with all his might, wanting without thought to hurt the kid in front of him. To hurt him the way he’s hurt Jimin.
The sound of Yoongi’s fist against Jaegeun’s jaw makes a resounding crack, the noise shattering the partial silence of the room.
Jaegeun stumbles back, clutching his face in disbelief, his jaw already starting to bloom purple.
“Hyung,” he hears Jungkook say.
But Yoongi’s eyes are fixed on Jaegeun. Hate and anxiety flutter his heart into a quick staccato and his knuckles are already starting to ache.
Jungkook continues to tug him from behind. “Hyung,” he urges. He grips Yoongi by the shoulder, forcing him to stumble back, and pulls him into the hallway, until they’re both out of the exhibit room and on their way to the exit.
“Come on,” Jungkook says, his tone wary. “We need to go. Jimin,” he calls behind him. “Do you have the keys?”
Jimin jogs to keep up. “No, Yoongi has the car.”
Yoongi can hear campus police being paged over the loud speakers, the commotion in the exhibit room getting louder the further they get away.
“Jimin-hyung, get the keys,” Jungkook instructs, looking behind them as they exit the building and head off towards the parking lot.
And Jimin listens, digging into Yoongi’s pocket in order to start the ignition.
-
“I’m never going to be welcomed on campus again,” Yoongi remarks, breaking the silence. “I’m pretty sure I’m banned for life.”
“I think we all are,” Jungkook chimes in.
Yoongi repositions the bag of ice on his hand. The cold seems to be helping the swelling, but not the pain. He tosses back a couple of aspirin, washing it down with coffee.
They’re in the kitchen, sitting at the table. The dim, early-evening light cloaking the room in darkness. It’s a sorry scene – the three of them sitting there, completely silent and at a loss for words. Jimin’s eyes are red from crying, his hair sweaty and matted from the commotion. He slumps forward and pillows his cheek in his palm.
“Jaegeun is an asshole,” Yoongi mutters, stating the obvious. “How the hell did someone like him even get into college?”
“Dance scholarship,” Jimin and Jungkook answer at the same time, both looking thoroughly somber.
“Well, he’s a dick,” Yoongi states. He winces when the ice shifts over his knuckles and gingerly repositions the bag so it’s not resting on his fingers.
“Can I take a look?” Jimin asks.
Yoongi lifts the ice pack, surrendering his hand.
Jimin gently peaks under the bandage, checking to see if the blood has finally started to clot. “You sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital? It’s really swollen.”
“It’s not bleeding anymore.”
“Yeah, but it could be broken.”
“I’m okay,” Yoongi says. He waits for Jimin’s eyes to meet his. “I’m fine,” he insists. “Really.”
“Jaeguen really is a jerk,” Jungkook says, echoing Yoongi’s earlier sentiment. “No one actually likes him; they’re just scared of him. And what he said isn’t even true. Everyone knows you can dance, Jimin-hyung. You’re a thousand times better than he’ll ever be.”
Jimin shrugs his shoulders, not really believing him. He stays silent, chin resting heavy upon his arms.
“It’s true," Jungkook pushes. “Everything Jaegeun said was bullshit. All that stuff about your weight? You’re not…. I mean, you're not...,” he trails off, trying to find the right words. He looks to Yoongi for help, who's staring back at him with a curious smirk. “I mean, you’re not even that much bigger than me.”
Yoongi snorts. Jungkook is muscular, sure, but he's still whippet thin. To say they're near the same size is like saying a rhino is on par with a kumquat.
“What?” Jungkook asks.
“You’re kind, Kookie, but you don’t need to bullshit him. Jimin knows he’s fat.”
“Hey,” Jimin protests, suddenly sitting up straighter. “Way to call me out, hyung."
“What? It’s true.” Yoongi softens his bluntness by grabbing Jimin’s hand.
“Either way it’s not right,” Jungkook interjects. “They shouldn’t be saying that stuff to you. Even though you’re not on the team anymore, you’re still their sunbae.”
Jimin flashes Jungkook a grateful smile. “Even when I was on the team, they made my life hell. Jaegeun is the main reason I quit.”
Jungkook shakes his head. “That’s not right. You’re so much better than him. Honestly, Jimin-hyung, I’ve watched you since the start of my freshman year and you were always my favorite sunbae.”
“Really?” Jimin asks, somewhat surprised.
“Yeah. You were the best contemporary dancer we had.”
“Even when I got heavy?”
“Of course,” Jungkook answers, as if there was never any doubt. “You’re a beautiful dancer.”
Jimin hitches a sudden breath, moisture, once again, gathering beneath his eyes. He rubs his hand across his lids before the tears have a chance to fall. “Sorry," he swipes at his face, forcing himself to smile. "I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“Long day,” Yoongi offers, carting his good hand through Jimin’s hair. He tucks the pink ends behind his ear. “Why don’t you go get some water,” he suggests. He smooths a hand over Jimin’s belly, tugging his wrinkled dress shirt down until it’s flat against his middle. “Maybe change into something comfortable and I’ll order take out.”
Jimin nods. "Can we have pizza?”
“Whatever you want.”
And Jimin smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He walks off towards bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him.
“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jungkook blurts out once Jimin is out of ear-shot. “I had no idea the guys were such assholes. I never would have gone to Jimin’s exhibit if I knew it was going to cause a scene.”
“It’s not your fault, Kookie. Don’t even think twice about it.”
Jungkook sighs. “But he’s so nice, hyung. Jimin-hyung is so sweet. He doesn’t deserve people being mean to him.”
“I know,” Yoongi sighs. Of all the people to bully, they had to choose Jimin. Jimin, who has the gentlest soul and the biggest heart. Yoongi anxiously scratches the back of his neck, eyes still set on their closed bedroom door. “I thought things were getting better. I had no idea it was this bad.”
“I think they’re jealous,” Jungkook considers. “Because with Jimin gone, the team isn’t as good. They’re just pissed that he left and the easiest thing to tease him about is his size.”
Yoongi nods. He clenches and unclenches his fist, wincing at his swollen joints
“But I don’t think they’ll be bothering him anymore,” Jungkook continues, a smile starting to appear on his face.
“What do you mean?”
“You beat the shit out of Jaegeun,” he snickers. “I know I wouldn’t mess with Jimin after seeing that.”
Yoongi snorts. “Yeah, well, I’m not proud I punched him. But seeing that look on Jimin’s face…”
“You don’t need to explain.” Jungkook interjects.
They sit in silence for a few more minutes. Holly running around, yipping to be pet and the sound of the shower running in the nearby bathroom.
“I told Jimin’s brother I’d take care of him,” Yoongi suddenly admits, scratching the shell of his ear. “I told your brother the same thing too. It just sucks that the two of you make my life so difficult.”
Jungkook smiles. “What about Taehyung? Do you plan on watching out for him too?”
Yoongi moans. He scrubs a hand down his face. “Don’t even get me started on Tae. The three of you give me such a headache. Worst decision of my life – befriending you three.”
“Liar,” Jungkook laughs. “You love us.”
Yoongi looks down at his swollen hand, hiding his smile. “You do give me a headache, though.”
“Not me,” he protests. “I’m the good child.”
“Oh really?” Yoongi smiles gummily.
Jungkook looks behind him, to Jimin’s closed door. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”
Yoongi thinks about it for a minute, about Jimin’s ability to bounce back, about his natural good-hearted nature, his sweet disposition and the amount of people on his side.
“Yeah,” he decides, hoping he’s right. “I think so.”
-
It’s not until later that night that Yoongi realizes how totally screwed he is. With his dominant hand busted, the probability of him being able to play the piano is little to none. And with the concert less than 15 hours away, there’s no way his hand will miraculously heal in time. He doesn’t even think he punched Jaegeun that hard; more that Jaegeun’s jaw was just that dense. Dense enough to break his bones, if the continuous swelling and green and yellow bruises are anything to go by.
So, Yoongi does the impossible when he slips into bed that night.
He asks Jimin to perform on his behalf.
“No way,” is Jimin’s immediate response. “No, no, no, no, no.”
“Please,” Yoongi starts. He tries to contort his face into an adorable expression, the way Jimin does when he begs for something he wants.
But Jimin doesn’t take the bait. “I can’t, Yoongi,” he whines.
“Yes, you can. You’ve been playing for a while now. You’re good at performing and you play the piano like a natural. Please, Jimin?”
But Jimin groans so loudly Yoongi’s sure the neighbors can hear him next-door. “No,” he grumbles. “I don’t want to get up in front of a crowd again. I’ve just been traumatized, remember?”
“Please,” Yoongi begs again, this time pressing his lips against Jimin’s faded jawline. He hugs him close as he sucks a path against his skin. “Come on,” he mutters, nibbling against his jaw.
“No way,” Jimin utters, but he’s giggling beneath him.
Yoongi rolls on top of him, straddling the width of his boyfriend’s hips with his slim thighs. “I love you,” he says, going in for the big guns. He scratches his nails over Jimin’s chubby belly, watching him preen at the touch. “Please?” he begs, trying one last time. "I never ask you for anything."
It’s the I love you confession that has Jimin melting. “Fine,” he breathes, the words tumbling from his lips. “I’ll do it.”
“You will?”
Jimin nods. He tugs on Yoongi’s pajama strings until he starts to tip forward. “Just say it one more time.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance. “Jimin-ah, I love you.”
Jimin’s smile is blinding.
-
The six of them end up at the concert. Hoseok, Namjoon, Jungkook, and Taehyung crammed into the audience seats while Yoongi calms down his student’s backstage.
“I can’t do it Yoongi-ssan,” Yoongi’s youngest student complains. She’s dressed in a fluffy tutu, crocodile tears falling from her eyes. She stomps her food solidly against the floor, adamant that she doesn’t want to perform.
“I can’t,” she screams, her shrill cries setting off another wave of emotional students.
Yoongi squats down to the balls of his feet, exhaling a breath before speaking. “You’ll be fine, Mi-sun,” he urges, gracing her with a smile. “One song and then you’ll be done, okay? Your Eomma is right out there,” he says pointing beyond the curtain. “And I’ll be here the whole time.”
“You promise?” She asks, holding out her pinky finger. “You won’t leave?”
“I won’t leave.” He links his pinky finger with her own.
One of the other instructors comes by with a clipboard, interrupting them by going through the lineup. She reads off a list of names, trying to get the kids in order.
Yoongi takes the opportunity to step away for a moment, in order to focus on his most favorite pupil.
“Jimin-ah,” he says, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him around. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess,” he huffs, looking two minutes away from passing out.
“You’ve got this,” Yoongi assures him, placing a palm against Jimin’s plush cheek. “You’re going to do great.”
Jimin nods his head, not quite hearing him, his eyes are focused on the curtain and the audience that’s filing in behind it. He gently grabs Yoongi’s cast (his hand is, of course, broken), the plaster wrapped all the way up to his wrist. “I know you broke your hand for me, but you still owe me,” he tells him. “Big time.”
Yoongi thumbs the chubby padding under Jimin’s chin. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“You promise?” he asks, holding out his pinky finger, mimicking the five-year-old.
Yoongi rolls his eyes but grips Jimin’s finger, solidifying his request. “I promise.”
“Five minutes,” one of the other instructors tells Yoongi.
Yoongi nods. He gives Jimin’s cheek a pat. “Ready?”
Jimin nods his head. “Tell Taehyung not to shout out something embarrassing.”
“You know he will.” Yoongi smiles, already prepared for the onslaught of cat calls. “Go on,” he says, giving him a push towards the stage.
Jimin makes his way to the stage the minute the lights dim low. He looks nervous yet somehow composed, his flowy white shirt gleaming beneath the overhead lamps. The art pieces from Jimin’s exhibit hang over the piano. They’d gone back that morning to pick them up, so Yoongi could see them for the first time. The three canvases are painted in beautiful splashes of greys and blues; a mix of watercolors and acrylic paint. Each piece depicting a piano. An abstract look into the beauty of art, a dedication to the way the both of them identify with music, of where their story started.
Yoongi peaks around the corner, noting a full crowd. He can see their group of friends sitting near the center. Taehyung is on his phone, most likely in the midst of recording, while Hoseok whispers something into Namjoon’s ear, making him smile.
Jimin looks to Yoongi as he sits down, belly butted up against the keyboard, hands at the ready.
Yoongi nods his head, indicating he should start.
So Jimin does. He takes a deep breath before checking the sheet music, then starts the melodic crescendo of his intro.