Chapter Text
“HOME INVASION!” Jimin called out as he slammed the door to the apartment open. Yoongi’s hand slipped on the chisel, and he cursed, loudly and colorfully, assessing the damage he’d done. He’d been disturbed at a critical moment, and now his sculpture was sporting an overbite. Fan-fucking-tastic. Scowling, he tossed a drapery sheet over his work before Jimin could see it.
“I changed the locks,” he ground out as Jimin swanned over, snatching his tools away and handing him a to-go cup of coffee as a peace offering.
“I blew your landlord and got your new keys,” he said brightly.
“I hate you, and no, you didn’t.” Though he couldn’t be sure of that. Jimin had ways. And many of those ways involved his mouth.
“Yeah, I picked the lock,” Jimin chirped, as though he hadn’t just admitted to committing a crime. “Your landlord likes me, though, I’m pretty sure I could get him to let me in even if I didn’t blow him, because I’m so cute.” The worst part was that Jimin was right. Jimin’s aegyo was a weapon of mass destruction. No one could say no to it.
He perched on his work table and shot him his sweetest smile. “Do you know why I’m here, hyung?”
He winced, knocking back the coffee in one gulp. “Look, Jiminnie, I’m almost done. Don’t worry.”
Jimin folded his arms across his chest. “Do you remember what happened the last time you tried that line on me?”
“I ran off one time before the deadline—“
“You disappeared for a month! You didn’t bring your phone, you didn’t tell anyone where you were going, and when we finally found you hiding out in some seedy motel, you had ecosystems growing in your beard! Meanwhile, I had to explain to the gallery why we didn’t have a show, and fend off all rumors of genius sculptor Suga’s possible kidnapping-slash-mental breakdown-slash-elopement.”
“It’s my artistic temperament,” he deadpanned. “Calm down. I’m just putting on the finishing touches.”
“You do remember that you promised them at least six pieces, right? You’ve only got five ready to go, and the last time I saw this one, it was half a torso.”
“Half a torso is a metaphor for the society’s continued denial of meaningful LGBTQ representation in mainstream media while they simultaneously queerbait us and profit off the gay community.” Yoongi answered automatically, well-versed in the intricacies of bullshitting the art press. It wasn’t hard; he just had to give them resting bitch face and feed them a few cynical-sounding soundbites in between long, dramatic stretches of silence.
“Jimin, it’s a lot more than half a torso now. The fact that I didn’t throw a cloth over it when you got here should be plenty of evidence that it’s almost done. You know I don’t let you see my unfinished work for a reason—“
“I broke in here…three months ago?” Jimin said unrepentantly. “Pssh, stop trying to look tough and angry, you look like a pouty baby.” Which was so blatantly untrue and hypocritical that Yoongi just glared at him. Jimin was the pouty baby to end all pouty babies, no matter what slander he uttered about Yoongi being secretly the softest person to walk the earth. “This is the one, right? The one you told the press is a reply to the Dondam Daily’s art critic, right? What was his name, B-Free?”
Yoongi grimaced. “We don’t speak that name under my roof.” Mostly because: who the hell willingly went around calling themselves B-Free? Did he come up with his pseudonym when he was twelve? Had he lost a bet?
(Jimin had just looked at him once while he’d been ranting about it and had said, slowly, “Your art name is Suga.”
“And you wanted to call yourself Baby J. Stones and glass houses, Jimin-ah, you don’t want to have this conversation with me.”)
“For God’s sake, hyung, he isn’t Voldemort. Look… I’m your agent, your favorite dongsaeng, your agent, your keeper, your agent—“
“—my living hell on earth—“
“—did I mention I was your agent? Your agent who’s had to convince prospective buyers that you’re not actually a serial killer way too many times?”
“That’s not what you told that Dispatch photographer.”
“Yeah, but that’s because she got so excited about you maybe being a murderer that I didn’t have the heart to disappoint her,” Jimin explained unrepentantly. “She thought it was edgy and sexy. It was kind of creepy how into it she was, but I don’t pretend to understand women, okay?”
“That’s sexist. Apologize to all women right now, Jimin.”
“Woman are amazing and beautiful and intelligent and as capable as you or I, if not more so, but also completely impossible to understand.” He sighed. “The show’s in two weeks, hyung. I can’t keep stalling, I think gallery owner is on to me. She was being all nice and polite and she said she understood that great art takes time, but she also mentioned the ‘L’ word.”
“Love?”
“Lawsuit. So I need to know that you’re done.”
He scowled. “I’m just…not satisfied with it yet,” he wrenched out. And no matter what kind of deadline he was working with, Jimin knew that Yoongi would never display anything that he was less than completely happy with.
“Fine,” he surrendered. “You’re just lucky you have such a sweet, understanding, perfect dongsaeng.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I do? Where?”
“Don’t even start with me. My punishments are both inventive and humiliating.” He kissed him on the cheek. “I’m giving you up to tomorrow, hyung. After that, I’m taking it, and I don’t care if it’s missing a foot.” He paused by the doorway. “Yoongi-hyung… how are you doing, really?”
Yoongi gave him a flat look. “You know me. Sitting in the dark, gently weeping into my marble.”
“Ass,” Jimin said, rolling his eyes and slamming the door behind him.
He snorted, picking up the chisel again and trying to assess whether he could cover up his earlier mistake, swearing when he realized that he’d probably knock off the whole head if he tried. “Love you too, brat.”
***
It was hours later when he heard the banging at his door. He paused to wipe at the sweat on his forehead and went to answer it.
“Tae,” he groaned as his next-door neighbor sashayed in, wearing the tightest pants known to man and a dress shirt worn so thin it was practically transparent. They had a standing arrangement where he checked in on him every so often, since he tended to get lost in his work and everyone seemed convinced that he’d work himself to death and only get discovered weeks later when the smell of his decaying corpse got too bad to be ignored.
“We’re going clubbing, hyung! There’s someone I want you to meet.” Taehyung announced with a boxy grin. “Get dressed.” He ran his eyes over Yoongi’s wifebeater and dusty jeans. “Or not. I love how your work clothes make you look like a cheap rent boy.”
“Hey, who are you calling cheap? If I were a rent boy I’d be charging a lot more than your broke ass could afford.”
“Come on, I’ve had exams all week. I haven’t had a night out in too long. Do you know how long it’s been since I got fucked by a real dick?” Taehyung smirked at the look on his face. “You know I’m going to keep on whining until you agree, and it’s only going to get more graphic as the night goes on. I had to go on so many convenience store runs this week to get more batteries for my vibrator. That shit’s expensive when it all adds up. I’ve been fingering myself like five times a day but it’s just not the same. I’m so hard up that I’m almost desperate enough to jump you, hyung—”
“Give me five minutes,” Yoongi said hastily, heading over to the sink to wash off the marble dust. “You can stop the psychological torture.”
“Jiminnie and I have trained you well,” he cooed. He made his way over to his statue and let out a low whistle of admiration. “Wow. Who’s this little cutie? I wouldn’t mind displaying him in my sitting room.”
“Yah! If I catch you defiling him, Kim Taehyung, I swear to God—“
“Alas. His stony virginity remains intact,” Taehyung said dryly. “It looks done to me.”
Yoongi glared at him as he yanked his leather jacket on. “You and Jimin need to stop gossiping about me like a pair of neighborhood ahjummas.”
“Yeah, we have long lunches discussing how best to ruin your life,” Taehyung said sweetly. “But it actually has a head now! And arms. And legs. And a penis. Always important.”
“Stop perving on my statue,” he growled. He ran a hand over the arm protectively. “I don’t know, okay? There’s just something not right.” He’d actually finished the piece three days ago, well ahead of Jimin’s deadline, but something was stopping him from handing it over.
“What’s not right? He’s gorgeous. I’d hit that.”
“Shut up before I hit you.” He’d aimed for something more classic for once, a departure from his usual avant-garde work: a reclining, nude male, eyes half-fluttered shut, lips just slightly parted as though caught about to wake up. Yoongi had wondered at first if the problem was that he’d gone so far off his normal style, and he knew Jimin would complain about how it didn’t fit his image. But the statute was gorgeous, just as Taehyung had said. Even the earlier chisel slip hadn’t turned out too badly, and he’d even managed to make the slightly oversized teeth look intentional rather than a mistake. In a way, he found himself liking them better as they were, somehow endearing and unexpected, a contrast to the athletic body. An intoxicating blend of innocence and sensuality.
Yoongi looked at it in frustration. “I should stay and finish this.”
“Hyung, you haven’t talked to anyone who isn’t me, Jimin, or the takeout delivery guy in a week. And that last one’s only when you remember to order food, which—judging by the state of your trash—isn’t very often.” Taehyung pointed out. He ran a broad hand over the statue’s abs. “Besides, maybe if you just stepped back you’d realize this guy looks absolutely fine. Then you can stop complaining about how nothing in the world comes close to your idea of perfection, and you can sell him for an obscene amount of money to a snooty old lady who carries a poodle in her purse and will be secretly thirsty for his marble dick because her husband’s always off fucking his mistress.”
“The amount of disrespect,” Yoongi said, shaking his head. “I don’t even know where to start cursing you out, kid.”
“We should get you laid, hyung. That might put you in a better mood,” Taehyung commented. He ducked as Yoongi whipped a file in his direction. “Hey! Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I’ll stop giving perfectly valid advice about your ongoing dry spell, just stop attacking me with your work tools!”
“Fine, but only because they’re so expensive,” Yoongi conceded. “Hurry up. The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back. And try to go home with someone who isn’t a screamer this time. I actually want to get some sleep tonight.”
***
Yoongi should have seen it coming.
Taehyung got them past the line and straight into the club using nothing but sheer charm, and immediately steered him over to a beautiful man standing near the bar. “Yoongi-hyung, this is my cousin Kim Seokjin. He gives really good head and he’s like… a magic fairy prince or something. Jin-hyung, this is Min Yoongi. Yoongi-hyung is a fantastic sculptor who hasn’t gotten any in like, a century. Have fun, and remember: keep it clean, wrap your peen. Safe sex always.” Taehyung thrust a handful of condoms at Yoongi before running off with a whoop to throw himself onto the dance floor.
Yoongi snorted as a flock of people immediately surrounded him. “Figures,” he muttered. He estimated Taehyung would spend another hour or two there at least, scamming free drinks out of people and picking out the prettiest person to take home that night, before he was ready to go. He cursed his inability to just leave, too soft to go without making sure his dongsaeng made it home safely. He glanced over at Seokjin, who looked completely unperturbed by the turn of events. “Hi, I’m Min Yoongi, and your cousin is insane. What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing that the doctors could figure out,” Seokjin replied, sipping his cocktail. “You can call me Jin-hyung. Nice to meet you, Yoongi-ssi.”
“Just Yoongi is fine. So…”
“Before you ask how Tae knows I’m good at giving head, he dated an ex of mine once. I didn’t actually blow my cousin.”
Yoongi snorted. “I wasn’t going to ask, but good to know.”
Jin cocked his head to one side. “Are we actually going to do the one-night stand thing? Because I’m not opposed. You’re cute. But I get the sense you aren’t really interested.”
Yoongi blinked. Tae hadn’t been lying when he’d said that it had been too long since Yoongi had last had sex—God, it had been forever—and Jin was really, really pretty. But.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Yoongi said. “Not really feeling it. No offense, hyung.”
“None taken. You’re the one missing out,” Jin said, shrugging. “Shots?”
“I’ve got really good tolerance,” Yoongi warned him.
Jin’s teeth gleamed in a predatory grin. “Oh?”
***
Yoongi stared blearily up at Jin. “Y—you’re inhuman,” he groaned, as Jin helped him stagger up to his apartment, Tae trailing behind them with not one, but two pretty boys hanging on his every word.
“Yeah, I know,” Jin chirped. “Tae warned you about that, remember?”
“Hyung. How the hell are you still walking after drinking that much?”
“I’ve got ‘really good tolerance’,” Jin parroted his earlier comment as he opened Yoongi’s door. Yoongi blinked before scowling; he’d thought he’d locked it earlier, but apparently not. “Here we are.” Yoongi stumbled over to his studio couch and collapsed onto it, nearly tripping over his statue. Jin eyed it with interest. “That’s beautiful.”
Yoongi pried his eyes open to scowl. “No,” he said. He sat up despite the nausea eating at him to glare at the sculpture, the marble seeming to glow in the moonlight. “It’s—it’s wrong, there’s something wrong with it.”
He’d told Taehyung that he wanted to stay home and finish it, but there was nothing to finish. He knew that any more would just be overworking the marble. But there was something in his head whispering to him that it wasn’t right.
He was tempted to grab a hammer and smash the whole thing to pieces. It was only the thought of Jimin’s wrath and B-Free’s smug laughter that stayed his hand. He scrubbed at his face in frustration. He found the alcohol loosening his tongue. “Not my style. Jimin nearly killed me when I told him I was doing classical, but there was this asshole… he said that I was a fake artist, that I was betraying sculpture’s roots, that I was just in it for the fame and the money.”
He snorted, thinking of how he had fallen in love with the art when he was young, and had worked steadily to get where he was. He’d literally starved, working multiple jobs just to afford his tools, more than once had to choose between bus fare and marble. And the moment he started getting any measure of success, some self-righteous dick came along and called him a sellout.
(Yoongi had ranted for hours when he saw B-Free’s review of his last exhibition and then vowed to prove that he could do both classic and avant-garde just to make B-Free look like an idiot. Or even more of an idiot than he already was, anyway. “You’re so petty,” Taehyung had said.
“Was that a complaint?”
“No, that was a compliment. Shut that fucker up, hyung.”)
“Maybe he was right,” Yoongi whispered. “What the fuck am I doing?”
“Maybe it isn’t your style, but it’s still a masterpiece,” Jin insisted. “I know beauty when I see it.”
“It’s… it’s dead.” Even as he said the words, he realized it was true. All his work had some spark to them, a vitality that seemed to thrum inside the stone. Now he looked at his sculpture and felt nothing.
Jin watched him with an unreadable expression before getting to his knees in front of Yoongi’s statue.
“What are you doing?” Yoongi asked.
Jin smiled. “You seem like a nice guy, Yoongi. And Tae really likes you. But I think you’re in need of a little help to realize how blind you are.” He brushed his fingers along the stone cheek. “You make such beautiful things.”
“It’s not beautiful,” he grumbled. “It’s awful and a piece of shit and I hate it.”
“If you think it’s dead, then give it life.”
Jin bent his head and slowly, chastely, brushed his lips against his sculpture’s mouth.
Yoongi choked, because first of all that was really hot, and secondly: “What the fuck?” he demanded. “Are you crazy, hyung?”
Jin barked out a laugh. “Go to sleep, Yoongi-yah. I’ll let myself out.”
“What is it with you Kims and molesting my statue?” Yoongi ground out, flopping back onto his couch, head still swimming from the unholy amount of alcohol he’d drunk. He cast one last look at his sculpture before sighing and letting his eyes drift shut.
He’d sort it out tomorrow.
***
Yoongi woke in slow increments, eyes fluttering as he nuzzled contentedly into the warmth wrapped in his arms. He heard a soft whimper in response and instinctively tightened his embrace, delighting in the lovely noises he got from grinding against the body pressed up against him.
Then he shot up, practically throwing off the naked man he’d apparently been spooning in the night. “Jin—“
He blinked. The man was curled up, clutching his head where he’d hit it on the floor after Yoongi had pushed him away. That was definitely not Jin. Wrong hair, wrong skin, wrong everything. He grabbed his chisel. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my apartment?”
The man turned to face him, eyes swimming with tears. “C… creator?” he whispered, sniffling. “It h-hurts. Why are you holding that? Am I… am I still not finished?”
Yoongi stared. The familiar nose, which had been a nightmare to get right. The smooth planes of his body, all lean muscle, pale as the marble he’d chosen. And those pink lips parted to show… cute bunny teeth, slightly too big for his mouth.
He closed his eyes.
And opened them to find his statue still staring back at him.
He closed his eyes again. “Why me?” he asked.
He slammed out of his apartment, stomping over to the studio room across his and banging on the door as loudly as he could. “KIM TAEHYUNG, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!”