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Episode 1 - The Unwanted Coupling: It all started with Usagi!
The sun shines spectacularly, beaming down unforgivingly against his neck as if someone is trying to light him on fire with a magnifying glass. Jimin stands in line, people wrapped on either side of the front entrance of the AT Center like untied shoelaces dragging alongside clumsy feet. Sweat sticks to the back of his white blouse, and yet there’s just enough breeze to stir the fabric of his pleated skirt and give the underlying anatomy some ventilation.
In retrospect, he could have done a lot worse than a Sailor Senshi; he could have showed up in a red pleather bodysuit and orange wig and suffered heat stroke, could have showed up in an all black gakuran like Jungkook, who insisted on Watanuki instead of Gintoki (although the latter was a hit at the Busan con back in May).
Most people tended to stay updated with current trends—–forsaking the great predecessors of the modern era, the cult classics like Card Captor Sakura, One Piece, Neon Genesis Evangelion—–for the more modern webtoon trend, Noblesse, Girls of the Wild’s, Tower of God, etc. It’s not that he’s knocking it, or that he’s trying to be some hipster or something. It’s just that after a while these things are less about having fun dressing up like your favorite characters and more about staying trendy and latching on to pop culture’s teats.
But really, what it really boiled down to was that he enjoyed being the only Sailor Moon on Day 1 of Comic World and not even Jungkook surreptitiously wiping his sweat on the back of his sailor collar can take away from it.
And just as he thinks that…
It happens.
It happens like the opening of a traditional shōjo anime. The sun retreats behind a community of clouds and the wind whispers back and forth between the trees, nature taking in a shocked gasp on his behalf. Approaching from about five feet away is his soulmate. Not his actual soulmate, but his fictional soulmate, Sailor Moon’s soulmate. The sky moves for this guy, all straight lines and handsome face, cape billowing out behind him artfully. He has a rose tucked behind his ear, swirling his hat around gloved hands and looking unnecessarily attractive. No matter how handsome someone was, they usually looked ridiculous dressed as Tuxedo Mask. Some things just look better in manga form, proportions purposefully unrealistically ideal and cheesy suaveness charming instead of extremely off putting.
But he has to admit, this guy is gorgeous.
“My princess,” Tuxedo Mask says, voice a volcanic baritone, quite like dripping sex and a saxophone solo. The only thing missing is the gravity defying flower frame around his torso and the sparkling sound effects. Jimin stops himself from salivating over possibly the most attractive man he has ever seen in his entire life when his words register with Jimin’s lust addled brain.
“My Princess?” he asks, folding his arms and cocking his hip out defensively. Jungkook clears his throat from beside him, elbow jabbing into his ribs, pointing at the top of his moon stick peeking out of the duffle bag at his feet. Right. He’s Sailor Moon. “Um.”
“The image of love that shimmers in the heat waves. Listen to the beat of my heart.” Tuxedo Mask smiles, corners of his mouth pulling at odd angles, too rectangular, too much teeth. “Jimin, right?” he asks, “I’m Taehyung. I’ve seen you at a couple of events before. Looking amazing as always.”
Jimin laughs in disbelief. “Are you, I don’t know, flirting with me right now? I mean, like, why—”
“I was put on this earth to protect you, Sailor Moon. Look into your heart, accept me, your destiny—”
“Oh. This is like, method acting, right? Okay, uh...” He pauses, going over dialogue in his head. “Throw me a rose and, uh, okay no, nevermind. I’m bad at acting.” Jimin scratches at the wet hairs at his nape, just under the blonde wig that is heavy and troublesome, synthetic hairs sticking to every available patch of damp skin.
The line picks up speed as additional staff leave the undoubtedly air conditioned building to move the sign-in process along more swiftly. He recognizes one of the staff members, Kim Namjoon, whose name tag says ‘rap bakemono,’ and raises a hand in a shy wave. A singular butterfly flaps ineffectively along the lining of his stomach at Namjoon’s welcoming grin. Long ago, (see: last summer) the sole reason for getting up at ass-crack in the morning on a weekend to slide into an intricate costume (portraying a female character from a shojo usually) was because he had his heart stolen by Kim Namjoon and his sophisticated way of discussing decidedly nerdy things. Well, that and Jeon Jungkook was insufferable when he was denied the things he wanted, which included Jimin accompanying him to anime conventions.
But his infatuation for Kim Namjoon died one cold autumn night when he stumbled upon the bedimpled event coordinator locking lips with a formidable competitor in the art of crossdressing cosplay. There could only be one, Jimin had said to Jungkook as he applied colored circle lenses for his Hinata look. (If he cried later in the bathroom, it was because the lenses were irritating his cornea—not because Kim Namjoon was not his).
“Hey,” Namjoon greets, beckoning them forward. “Oh? You’re competing for Best Couple Cosplay with Taehyung?”
Jimin blinks, points a thumb to himself. “Me? No, I just met him less than five minutes ago.”
“Huh? But you’re signed up for it. Must be an administrative mistake. You two are the only Sailor Moon characters here.” He chews on his bottom lip, eyes scanning the clipboard in his hands. “Yep. Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung representing Sailor Moon. Says it right here in black and white.”
“I’ve never signed up for the couple events before. Not even with Jungkookie.”
Namjoon smiles. No response from Jimin’s insides. Time does heal all wounds, even the superficial ones that were technically self-inflicted. Worse has happened with less.
“The prizes are nice,” Taehyung says. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. The probability of the judges picking you are low this time around.”
“He’s right, hyung,” says Jungkook, smile cryptic. “You might not even win.”
Everyone in the convention hall gathers around the makeshift stage, listening to the master of ceremonies ramble on and on about the upgraded prizes. Taehyung is armed with more fresh roses he procured from god-knows-where, and Jimin’s makeup has been restored to its pre-sun sauna glory, wig detangled and aligned properly on his head. Jungkook disappears midway through the first couple of contenders but returns just in time for the judges to call forth Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask to the stage.
“Please reenact a famous scene from the series,” the judges ask, gazes passing between the two of them standing an arm's length away at the center of the stage. Jimin fidgets. The only event he ever participates in at these conventions is karaoke, and that’s less win or lose than a cosplay contest.
“This can be character dialogue, a pose, or anything that is a distinguishing factor of the Sailor Moon franchise.”
Jimin resists the urge to run a hand through his hair and instead rotates his wrist, moon stick making tinkling noises in his left hand. He looks over at Taehyung, standing like a mannequin from a department store, holding his cape out with his arm as rose petals fall mysteriously from the inside of his jacket.
“Hey,” Jimin whispers. “Let’s just do whatever, get this over with, yeah?”
Sailor Moon is in every anime fan’s repertoire, whether they like it or not. Jimin was five the first time he’d spun in a circle and mumbled about justice and the moon. Looking back, gaining the hobby of dressing up like magical girls and other girls at anime conventions in college isn’t all that surprising.
“I am Sailor Moon,” Jimin begins, playing off of his naturally lighter voice that gets higher in pitch the more he tries to project. “Champion of Justice, uh.” He clears his throat, swallowing down some of the embarrassment. “I-In the name of the moon, I will punish you!” He stands in a power pose, eyes downcast to avoid seeing crowd reactions, and just when he thinks it will be over and the judges will dismiss them and crown the Cheese in the Trap couple the winner, Jimin’s feet leave the ground and he’s faced with high glass ceilings and a ridiculous top hat.
He doesn’t squeal like a seven-year old girl. He just, shrieks a little at being lifted bridal style so suddenly. Okay, he shrieks a lot because his feet aren’t on the ground anymore and Taehyung only has a grip on one of his legs and not both, since he had been standing with his legs apart. Taehyung’s hand, Taehyung’s large hand, is squeezing at the inside of his left knee and his skirt has flipped over so everyone below now has a free view of his ass cheeks probably, since Jimin never liked to wear regular boxers underneath skirts when he cosplayed. Seemed odd to, less dedicated to the craft.
Okay, so he shrieks because Taehyung lifts him like he weighs as much as a sack of rice and in the meantime inadvertently flashes a nice pair of boyshorts to a crowd of mostly adolescent women. Jimin can distinctly hear Jungkook’s gross laughter among the collective gasps, and when he’s not trapped in Taehyung’s arms, he’s definitely going to throttle him.
“From the moment I laid eyes on you, Park Jimin,” Taehyung leans down to whisper, looking directly at Jimin, not the judges, not anyone else. “I wanted you.”
What.
Jimin’s pulse staccatos. “What?”
“Princess of the Moon,” Taehyung says, voice loud enough this time so that Jimin isn’t the only one to hear. One of the judges, a fair-skinned sleepy eyed blonde with his hands steepled in front of him chuckles, then, after scribbling down something on the evaluation sheet, he catches Taehyung’s gaze and winks. “Champion of justice, champion of my heart!”
Jimin nearly gags. Was Taehyung just naturally cheesy or just that dedicated an actor? “Tuxedo Mask,” begins Jimin. “My hero, my...love? Yeah, my love. Please!” he cries, voice laced with genuine emotion this time—apprehension, “don’t drop me.”
Taehyung grins, imaginary hooks pulling at the corners from every direction. “I’d never.”
Taehyung starts spinning Jimin in circles just to prove he can, and he doesn’t drop Jimin, just like he promised. The minute Jimin demands to be put down, however, Taehyung releases his iron grip and lets Jimin fall like a dead weight to his feet, nearly tripping himself and landing on his knees. Jimin controls his temper when he turns around and sees how badly Taehyung’s arms are shaking. God, not only is Taehyung a complete weirdo, but he excels in the art of bluffing.
“You could have put me down a lot sooner, you know. I’m a lot heavier than I look.”
“It’s fine. Just. I don’t have much upper body strength. S’cool though.” Taehyung clenches his fist, rotating his forearm from left to right, an attempt at flexing. “I’ve been wanting to gain muscle.”
Jimin can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles up to the surface, spilling past his lips in a truly unattractive splutter-snort, body doubled over in mirth, discordant notes ending on a hiccuping giggle, distantly aware that he is still standing on the stage dressed as Sailor Moon. His only savior is that he’s no longer standing in the center, in front of the mic stands. And most people have stopped paying them any attention now that the other couples are taking their turns. (Not that he and Taehyung are a couple. Just two people, that happen to complement each other aesthetically, competing in a Best Couple Cosplay contest).
A single tear escapes his eye and he dabs at the wetness with the pads of his fingers. “Look at your hand shake,” he says, “I bet you’ve never lifted a weight in your entire life.” Although his giggles have died down, he can’t quell the grin taking over his face.
Taehyung goes still, like someone’s pressed a button that holds the entire world at a standstill. “You’re really beautiful, you know?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed like Jimin’s a mystery unraveling before him, a puzzle of bigger picture he just can’t piece together. “I’m sorry.” He laughs, a little sharp self-deprecating sound. “I’ve said that before, haven’t I?”
The amusement slips from Jimin’s face in an instant, replaced by unmasked astonishment. “You—you’re kidding, right? I mean, you can’t seriously, possibly—” he pauses, words failing him as he’s struck by a sudden wave of conflicting thoughts. “Do you always do this? Woo some unsuspecting guy in the hopes that he’ll just fall all over himself for you, or I don’t know, you think I’m easy or something?”
Jimin’s used to his fair share of sleazeballs approaching him based on assumptions, on projections of their sexual fantasies and perversions. In some ways it might have been the reason he was so interested in Namjoon. No matter how hard Jimin tried, how many hits he dropped, how much flirting he did—Namjoon just didn’t seem to be interested.
Taehyung visibly panics, stammering out a refusal while Jimin tries not to feel hurt, disgusted with himself somehow, disappointed even.
“It’s fine. Let’s just wait for the announcement.”
He leaves Taehyung standing alone off to side of the stage, as he storms off. Well, it’s less of a storm off and more of a dreary walk away. The little cloud hovering above him isn’t letting out torrential downpour over his head. It’s a little gray and a little cold, but it’ll dissipate and clear skies will return.
Until then he’s going to find Jungkook and march over to the karaoke rooms and perform a rendition of One Piece’s opening from episodes 395-425.
(If he looks back to see Taehyung’s face crumple like a plastic bag against the wind, then the subsequent feeling in his chest is not guilt, it’s nothing, nothing at all).
“And the winner is—”
There’s a drumroll in the form of collective foot stomps and dugudugudugudugus from the crowd.
“Representing a classic and fan favorite—Sailor Moon Park Jimin and Tuxedo Mask Kim Taehyung, congratulations!”
He’s in the middle of an InuYasha OST when the music abruptly halts and some girl drags him backwards by his collar, screaming, “you won, you won!”
Jungkook reacts first, pulling Jimin away from the excitable, probably high school aged girl and repeating her words. “Hyung, you won! You and Taehyung won!”
Despite his annoyance with the progression of events and his earlier misgivings about Kim Taehyung’s character—winning a prize is a great accomplishment. Sure, in the grand scheme of things winning a cosplay contest at Comic World as a twenty-something isn’t much of anything, but it’s the feeling of victory that matters, the congratulatory back slaps and the envious glares from other competitors that’s really compelling.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah! They’ve been calling you,” the girl says. “Come on, Tuxedo Mask is out there waiting for you!”
The image of Taehyung standing alone looking for all the world like a man who’s just been told he’s got three weeks to live is seared into Jimin’s mind. Jungkook is watching him through the eyes of someone prepared to count casualties after a war, a kind of lost resignation lurking behind his eyes. Well, that nothingness carving its way up his thoracic cage is definitely guilt.
“In the name of the moon, right? Come on, I heard the prizes are good this year.”
The master of ceremonies, a handsome fellow with a shoulder breadth to rival antiquitous boys love manga, holds out an envelope and two obnoxious Pokemon themed balloons. “Dinner for two at one of our sponsoring restaurants and a free coffee voucher! Congratulations to the both of you, and remember, you will always be our OTP!”
One of the judges, eyes shrouded by a seriously overgrown fringe permed to dilapidation, unleashes confetti cannons and makes the entire thing feel like they’re being crowned prom King and Queen from a typical American teen drama.
Jimin, despite protesting this ridiculous situation from the beginning, enjoys the recognition. Yeah, his wig is crooked and everyone knows he owns, if not occasionally wears, women’s underwear, and Taehyung isn’t his boyfriend, or even his friend, or anything really, even given all of that, Jimin is genuinely enjoying this.
The problems are as follows:
- Couple prizes can only be redeemed, appropriately so, by a couple, but also by the intended couple.
- Couple prizes are only valid during the two days the convention is held.
- The great and oh-so-coveted couple prize worthy of all the brouhaha happens to be a romantic dinner for two at one of those must-visit hipster restaurants in the arts-and-youth-culture area around Hongdae.
Jimin supposes there are ways around this. First solution would be to give both tickets to Taehyung and have him take some other person with the name Park Jimin. It’s Seoul, there’s at least a half a dozen within a five mile radius (gender unspecified; unisex counts for something after all). It sounds reasonable enough. It isn’t like Jimin had his heart set on winning, or even entering, this contest in the first place.
Second solution, well, after an outright refusal to go and a waste of a free dinner, he’s hasn’t the slightest idea of any other way around it.
Things start shutting down by five o’clock. Jimin’s phone reads 4:50 and the sound of folding tables, zipping bags, and shuffling of feet echo in the large hall. Taehyung still looks like he’s just been given the worst news of his life. Jimin doesn’t know how to make it right without issuing an apology and putting them back at square one, which is nothing but white noise and gray area.
“Okay,” Jimin says to cut the silence. “Did you want to get dinner?”
There should be a word specifically referring to the look a dog gets when its owner returns from a business trip and is free of the negligent neighbor’s bare minimum efforts to keep its life sustained. Taehyung’s eyes widen, pupils shaking and mouth left open from a surprised hitch in breathing.
“Really? You’d still want to go?” asks Taehyung, licking his lips and stepping closer. “You’d go to dinner with me, after earlier?”
Jimin sighs. “Maybe I overreacted a little bit. Maybe you were being creepy. Either way, these are tickets to a free meal and it’d be a waste not to use them.”
Taehyung bites his lips to stifle a grin, but it doesn’t really work, and because smiling is apparently contagious or something, Jimin hides his with the back of his hand. (His eyes give it away though, they always do).
The train ride there is interesting, to say the least.
They both changed into their regular fashion: Jimin in a pair of ripped jeans, black creepers, and a plain white t-shirt beneath a gray hoodie—Taehyung in a long sleeved red shirt and wide leg black pants, soft locks hidden beneath a thick black beanie, and feet in a pair of sandals that no one under the age of fifty should ever be caught wearing outside the privacy of their countryside home.
They have about twenty minutes of commute time to kill, and while Jimin is content with taking an inordinate amount of pictures and playing the occasional game of piano tiles, Taehyung can’t keep himself quiet.
“You’re a dance major?”
Jimin’s thumbs slow on the squares, rendering Offenbach’s Galop Infernal into something completely unrecognizable. “Huh? What—dance? Yeah, modern dance department. Wait—” He’s about to ask how Taehyung knew that, or knew to ask since usually people start off by asking you what school then what major, but he gets distracted by the flow of the game and the way Taehyung shifts closer to watch the screen.
“I think that’s really cool. Dancing,” Taehyung says, voice just above a whisper. With how low his tone is, Jimin feels like he’s hearing it from the inside of his head, words penetrating his skull, vibrating against his dura mater. “It’s art and expression but with your body,” he continues. “which is kind of like theater except it’s physically taxing and you have to be flexible.”
“Flexible?” Jimin laughs, remembering the incident in his morning ballet class when he fell asleep with his head against his knee in a deep stretch on the bar. “Should I put my leg behind my head?” he asks, jokingly.
For a second, Jimin only hears the hum of the train along the tracks and the melody he taps out on the piano tiles. “Here?” Taehyung asks, with a hint of incredulity.
“I was kidding.” Jimin barely manages to get to the next level. “Are you a theater major? You said something about theater.”
“No, I’m studying early childhood education. I want to open my own preschool eventually.”
A discordant note sounds as Jimin smashes his thumb down on a white tile. Game Over. He clears his throat, closes the piano tiles app and turns to face Taehyung. “You like kids?”
“I love them. They come into the world a blank slate. Innocent, uncorrupted.” It’s then Jimin realizes that Taehyung’s eyes are the most expressive, truly the windows of his soul just as his hands gesticulate to follow the path his mind takes.
“Childhood is the most formative time in your life, you know?” He stares at Jimin, a little wildly, gaze steady and unwavering. “And until time travel becomes scientifically plausible, you never get to go back, no matter how much you want to.”
Jimin licks his lips, averting Taehyung’s gaze. He’s used to being looked at, he’s a dancer, people stare. But Taehyung, when he looks at Jimin, it’s like he’s seeing something past plain brown irises and empty pupils, he’s seeing something Jimin can’t see when he looks at his reflection.
“Yeah, I—yeah.” The train comes to a halt and Jimin stands before he can be possessed by any strange thoughts. “This is our stop.”
Episode 2 - The Hostess with the Mostess: Now Open-The Touch My Body Shop!
The second time it happens, Jimin is Haruhi Fujioka and Taehyung is Tamaki Suoh. (It’s funny since Jimin is a guy cosplaying a girl that masquerades as a guy and joins a host club. Inception).
Jimin makes sure his name isn't on any sort of list for the cosplay contest, checks twice with Namjoon when he spies the judges from last time loitering around Jungkook's fanart table. (Jimin was a little peeved to find out that the art Jungkook was selling was really digital paintings of him and Taehyung in couple cosplay from the Sailor Moon fiasco last month).
The first few hours, everything's great. Taehyung is nowhere to be seen, probably somewhere in one of the conference rooms where they read manga aloud for the people who prefer to consume media through auditory means.
Jungkook makes a killing selling his art. Jimin should actually demand half of his profits. He's literally selling a drawing of Taehyung lifting him up and accidentally exposing his panties. He even managed to capture the squeak. Really, just looking at it you can tell exactly what kind of embarrassing sound came out of his mouth.
Three o'clock rolls around and things are starting to stagnate for the people who've been here since eleven.
"I have an update on this year's Cosplay Contest! Instead of the strictly volunteer basis like the previous ones, we've decided to try out nominations!"
Trepidation lines Jimin's spine like the yolk of a cold egg sliding down the back of his collar.
"To further include your input, the winner will be decided by a combination of audience votes and judges' deliberation."
"Nominations? How can you nominate someone that didn't sign up for the event in the first place?!"
"Hyung," says Jungkook. "Are you worried people are gonna nominate you and Taehyung?"
"They wouldn't. They wouldn't do that. Yeah. What are the chances, out of all these people, that they would nominate us?"
“The chances of you and Taehyung being nominated is somewhere around sixteen percent on a regular contest day, but given the prior exposure and the popularity of Jungkook’s booth, I’d say you’re three times more likely to be nominated. This is just a rough estimate. There are multiple covariates in place that affect how likely majority vote will either be for or against you.”
Once upon a time, Jimin would have sported a semi from all of Namjoon’s brainspeak, but now he just wants to punch him right in the center of his face, throw him off balance, see if he still has it in him to talk statistics.
“Well, even if we’re nominated, it’s not like we’ll win again.”
It’s befitting.
It is very befitting that the second time Jimin is an unwilling participant of the couple cosplay contest, he and Taehyung win a free 1-hour deep body massage at a wellness clinic in Gangnam.
“It could be worse,” Taehyung says, facing Jimin with his cheek pressed down onto the massage table, torso bare and covered in scented body oil. Jimin’s only chance at preserving his composure is the fact that underneath the towel draped over Taehyung’s lower body is underwear and not bare ass. There has been a lack of bare ass in Jimin’s life, and he’d much prefer not to be thinking about Taehyung’s bare ass being the bare ass to break his dry spell, or at least, moisten it some.
Moisten it like the oil glistening over Taehyung’s shoulders, moisten it like the spit shining over the lower lip he sucks into his mouth when hands knead at the muscles of his lower back. Taehyung’s saying something, Jimin can see his mouth move, he can see Taehyung’s lips forming words but he can’t focus on what he’s saying.
“Hm?” Jimin is similarly disrobed and laid across the adjacent massage table, within arm’s length of Taehyung and trying not to melt too much, trying to stay placid. Placid...rhymes with flaccid, which is what the traitorous mechanism between his legs won’t be if he doesn’t stop thinking about Taehyung’s mouth.
“It could be worse,” Taehyung repeats, voice low and crackling like rocks in a landslide. “We could have been asked to massage each other instead.”
The masseuse working tension away from Jimin’s shoulders, a petite woman with a face that naturally looks like she’s close to tears, chuckles. “Sir, the last portion of this session is a true couple massage. I will be teaching you a few basics to try on each other on your own personal time.”
“Um—” Jimin tries to snap back into his skeleton, get his bearings, undo the bonelessness.
“Thirty minutes of deep massage from a trained masseuse and thirty minutes of mutual massage to promote intimacy,” she continues, thumb pressing into the knob of Jimin’s spine and resetting him back to liquid mass. “Studies have shown that massaging your partner—”
“Wait. What?”
“You...didn’t know? I’m pretty sure that was included in the fine print.”
Jimin stares at Taehyung, stares at the hands of the male masseuse working on his calves like he’s milking the muscles dry, stares back at Taehyung whose eyes have gone dark and distant, breathing loud and deep, although he’s not asleep. In just a moment, he’d be doing that to Taehyung. Making his voice sound like it’s coming from the depths of hell, making him exhale sharply through his nose as fingers dig into his sides—
“If you’re worried about an audience, don’t,” the second masseuse says. “Sujeong and I will not be in the room. We’d advise against doing anything, um, of a sexual nature. These oils are for therapeutic use only. Trust me, if you put it anywhere...personal, it’s going to burn.”
Jimin feels the heat spread from his chest and out, nearly giving him a head rush. (It could be the scents in the room, maybe they’re aromatic aphrodisiacs). It isn’t even that he wants to touch Taehyung that much (he does), or wants Taehyung to touch him (he does), but the room is warm and he knows it feels nice and the longer he tries to pretend that deep down Taehyung isn’t the worst, the more he realizes Taehyung just might be quite the contrary.
Taehyung groans, no, it’s closer to a growl, sound pushed up from the diaphragm. “Just, stay like this.”
“Sir, we can’t. The couples package is meant to serve as an avenue for communication and reciprocal care. You’re free to leave at any time before the hour is over, but, we’re required to leave you two alone once the first half of the hour is up.”
Jimin can barely breathe in this room, and it might be because there are four people involved in the oxygen exchange, and if two of them leave, then he can breathe, he’ll be fine. “Okay, we’ll figure that out.”
Episode 3 - Mr. Strange Guy or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Accept the Date!
He tries thinking outside of the box.
At every Comic World event there’s at least a few guys that come dressed as a character from a Studio Ghibli film. It’s usually Totoro, No-Face, or Howl.
Originally, he started to put together a Princess Mononoke look, but thought better of it when he remembered Namjoon’s boyfriend (if they’re even still together; Jimin hasn’t spied them dry humping each other in secluded corners in a while) had arrived at the post-Christmas con as San, with Namjoon dressed in a faux-fur coat and fuzzy white slippers, a true bastardized wolf. (Jimin had still found Namjoon devastatingly attractive, even as he continued to be a disaster of a man on most occasions. Thankfully, Jimin’s past that phase).
But at the last minute, after helping out a few girls from his dance class return the costumes they borrowed from the theater department, he decided on Kiki’s Delivery Service. The theater department wouldn’t miss one headband with a huge red bow on it from their collection of really huge and obnoxious headpieces.
The dress he replaces with an oversized shirt; the red flats interchangeable with a pair of red sneakers. The broom he borrows from an old-fashioned udon shop near the university under the condition that when he returns it, he has to use it how it was intended to be used, until the owner deems the floors immaculate. Black cat plushie (the dollar store saves lives), check. Brown messenger bag (Jungkook doesn’t use it anyway), check.
It’s simple, it’s cost-efficient and not at all how precise and intricate he usually goes for, but, it will have to do.
There’s no way Taehyung will show up as Tombo.
There’s just no way.
But, of course, there’s someone pedaling down the street on a dark green bike with a disassembled ceiling fan stuck to the handlebars. It’s a bespectacled Taehyung—red and white striped shirt tucked neatly into a pair of blue jeans rolled up at the hem. His hair is pulled back away from his face and this is the first time Jimin has seen his full forehead and it’s a nice forehead really—wide and flat with a set of thick eyebrows jumping up and down the surface as he spots Jimin scowling with his broom pressed between his legs.
“How? How? HOW?” he cries when Taehyung clears the crowd and begins circling him on his ridiculous, and canonically accurate bike.
“I took apart a ceiling fan.”
“Not the bike!” Jimin sighs. “I don’t get it. How do you keep doing this?”
“You’re assuming you were first.”
“What?”
“You’re assuming you were first.” Taehyung stops circling Jimin, hopping off of the bike and letting it collapse to the ground. The makeshift propellor bangs against the concrete and falls off. Taehyung doesn’t seem to care. “What if I’ve been planning this since last week and you’re the one that’s trying to be my other half.”
This is a valid assumption given the facts. If he were an outside observer, he’d question this too. But Jimin is nothing if not stubborn (an immovable, impenetrable force when he wants to be) and right now, he just can’t help it. Since day one, since this whole thing began, Kim Taehyung has been a too good thing, a too good, too much, too everything to be true. And Jimin wouldn’t be Jimin if he didn’t have up walls.
“If it upsets you so much, why don’t you bring another outfit to change into so that we don’t match.”
And there it is. The perfect solution, the logical solution.
Jimin has no answer for that. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he says. “They’d find someway to get us on the signup sheet.”
“Do you hate it that much?” Taehyung removes his glasses, wiping the lenses with the fabric of his shirt to give him something to do with his hands, give him a place to focus his attention on that’s not Jimin’s face. “The matching and the dates? Do you honestly hate it?”
Jimin can lie. He can say he hates it, he can say that he despises being around Taehyung, loathes noticing how well they seem to fit together, even when it seems like they wouldn’t. He can lie and Taehyung can either call him out on it or he can take his lie as the truth and walk away from whatever game this is.
He can lie, and end everything.
Episode 4 - The Gay of Demonic Charm. The Korean Representative Homo!
Jimin decides wearing the ring on his finger is too much.
The simple solid silver band would have been just his style, except for the obnoxious and totally unnecessary heart-that-can-only-be-complete-with-the-other-ring detail. Taehyung doesn’t seem to have any reservations about wearing a couple ring with Jimin, notwithstanding Taehyung’s obvious interest in him, wearing a couple ring with someone usually meant you were involved, whether platonically or romantically, there was some established relationship involved.
Jimin can’t place what they are. Friends? That’s not entirely accurate, is it? Their entire relationship is based on their penchant for winning contests they don’t sign up for and Taehyung’s steady rising affection for him. Jimin feels like a character in Whack-a-Mole—every time he retreats from his underground safe haven of Taehyung-Free living, there’s a mallet of Feelings™ hovering over him, waiting to strike.
They’ve been on two dates as a result of winning best couple, won couple rings at the third, and Jimin has heard from a little birdie he cornered in the men’s bathroom and threatened with future sabotage that the prize for today is tickets to Lotte World.
Today, Jimin is dressed up as the pâtissier Yusuke Ono from Antique Bakery and Jungkook is dressed as his first love Keisuke Tachibana. Kim Taehyung is Jean-Baptiste, the French guy. Now, true to the media, Jean-Baptiste was in a relationship with Ono, but in the doujinshi by the author, Ono and Chikage are in a relationship, though ultimately Ono is still in love with Tachibana. The series is sort of more a comedic, slice-of-life piece than an actual romance, or even a true yaoi, so really winning the contest this time should be nearly impossible.
“Hyung.” Jungkook recounts the number of 10,000 won bills collected during the day, sweeping them under his nose, inhaling deeply as if they don’t smell like paper and hand sweat. “You and Taehyung are making me a lot of money. I wish you’d tell me how great your dates were.”
“What do you mean how great?” Jimin asks. “What if they sucked?” He should be more concerned that Jungkook is making a career of drawing fanart of them and he has yet to get his share.
Jungkook blinks. “Well obviously they didn’t if you still haven’t seriously put an end to this. You grumble and complain, you bitch and moan, but really, Jimin, you like him.”
“Jimin hyung,” he corrects, instinctively, then mulls the rest of Jungkook’s words over in his head for a few silent seconds. He likes Taehyung? He likes Taehyung? He, Jimin, likes Taehyung. Kim Taehyung, the man that likes small things, small animals and small children (small like Jimin, he mentioned once). Kim Taehyung, master of cutting holes in perfectly good clothes, making an elephant’s face by pinching the skin between the moles on his arm (and he thinks it’s so funny), saying exactly what he thinks or how he feels without a care one minute, then being oddly careful with his words the next. Kim Taehyung, a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma hidden in one of those Chinese boxes on a bonus track of some really obscure album—
“So I might like him. It’s no big deal.”
“I don’t know, hyung, seems like a big deal.” Jungkook grins is too self-satisfied for Jimin’s liking. It softens not too long after, replaced with the Expression of Serious Matters. Jungkook only makes that face when he’s about to say something especially profound or emotionally inclined.
“Think of this as breaking your terrible habit of falling in love with people that won’t love you back the way you want them too.”
Jimin doesn’t flinch (much, but he does jerk back a bit and tries to neutralize some of the acid building up at hearing those words). Habits like falling in love with Jungkook and slowly chipping off pieces of that love like paint cracking off the walls of an old house. Habits like having sudden intense crushes on unattainable people that only hurt because he lets him, falls into that cycle. Habits like keeping Taehyung at an arm holding a pole holding a stop sign’s length away just because he’s not the one blinding chasing for once.
Jimin sniffs. “You’re giving me half of your profits and burning all of the art you don’t sell. Especially these. I am not that short.”
Finale - The Most Beautiful Moment In Life.
Jimin dreams about how this is going to go.
He’s going to show up, as Chi-Chi from Dragon Ball Z, and Taehyung is going to show up as Goku, and they’re going to win a trip to Osaka and stay at a five star hotel and eat takoyaki and watch Japanese variety and possibly kiss and mutually massage each other, romantically, but also sexually, and then live happily ever after with a gang of cats and an army of preschoolers.
Except, what really happens is:
Jungkook and a guy he distinctly remembers as being one of the judges for the best couple contest are standing together at the center of the stage, holding two obnoxious Hello Kitty balloons, a bouquet of plastic flowers, and the prize Jimin and Taehyung were supposed to win because they always win.
The master of ceremonies, (the same one that had smiled each time he read their names from the results sheet and recited cheesy closing comments), threw his arms around Jungkook and his mysterious other’s shoulders, whispering something in Jungkook’s ear that makes his cheeks tint pink.
“Explain,” demands Jimin the moment Jungkook stands off the stage, “how you won my prize.”
Jungkook laughs brightly, like the terrible person he is. “Your prize, hyung?”
The previous sleepy eyed judge and current prize stealer, dressed as the infamous Junjo Romantica’s Misaki, walks up to pat Jimin on the shoulder consolingly.
“Sorry, kid, but I wasn’t gonna let you and Taehyung win this one.”
“I had plans in place!” Jimin hisses. “We were going to eat Japanese street food and I was going to—wait, what? What do you mean let us win?”
“Which one of us should explain?” Jungkook asks, wide-doe eyes jumping between Jimin and his partner-in-crime, apparently.
“It was your idea and he’s your friend.”
“Yeah, but Taehyung is your friend, and the plan wouldn’t have worked without you.”
Jimin stands in the middle of this conversation, confused, partially angry, but mostly just lost, and that’s when Taehyung chooses to return, armful of candy and his eyes sparkling like the top of a lake.
“I got all these lollipops for free~” he singsongs around the candy lodged in his cheek. “And I’m willing to share if you ask nicely~” He seems to catch on to the atmosphere, and his smile falters. “Uh, what’s happening right now?”
“We lost,” Jimin says, “and it’s their fault! And we when won, it was their fault too. The fraud, the deception, the betrayal!”
Jungkook rolls his eyes, mouths dramatic while Taehyung squints at the two with his head tilted.
“Yoongi hyung?” Taehyung asks. “Tell me what I’m missing here.”
The scheming judge, Yoongi, sighs and looks entirely put upon. “Really if anything this is Jungkook’s fault, and now I’m paying for it. Look, Taehyung, you’ve been fawning over Jimin since the dawn of time, right?”
“It hasn’t been that long,” he mumbles.
“Whatever. Point is, all you talked about was Jimin this Jimin that, and he didn’t know you existed, and I was getting tired of hearing the same story about how fucking adorable and perfect and nice and all that other stuff—”
“Okay!” Taehyung exclaims, red blooming in his ears. “Just skip to the part where you are to be blamed.”
“Right.” He turns to Jimin, waving a casual hand like playing cupid in such a weird way was no big deal. “So, he was worried that he’d fuck up approaching you or whatever, and I asked Jungkook if you were dating anyone and this kid, he gets this wild look in his eyes and tells me he has a plan.”
“And Yoongi hyung told Taehyung which character to come as after I texted him which one you were dressed as.”
“The rest was just me making sure the results would always sway your way. It helped that a majority of the attendees are high school girls that ship you two together. Didn’t have to do much but accidentally lose about fifty votes from the other couples.”
Jimin looks at Taehyung, staring blankly ahead of him, bag of candy clutched tightly in one fist.
“So, you really weren’t doing it on purpose. We were being played.” Jimin can’t say he’s mad at all anymore, just annoyed that Jungkook went through all of this trouble when he could have just been normal about it.
“You will die by my hands, Jeon Jungkook.”
(The prize isn’t a trip to Osaka, it’s a trip to Jeju-do. Either way it isn’t fair).
“So,” Taehyung says, de-Super Saiyanized and back into his street clothes. “I guess we won’t be winning best couple anymore.”
They’re sitting at a nearby playground, quickly working through the bag of candy Taehyung acquired as their conciliatory third-place prize.
“I guess we won’t.” He doesn’t know why it feels so sad to say that even though it just means they won’t win a stupid cosplay contest anymore. “Those free dates weren’t so bad.”
“We could go on more. If you’d—if you’d have me, that is. I mean, like, it wouldn’t be our first date but it would be our first date on our own terms. And I really like you Jimin, I really genuinely like you so much and being your boyfriend—I mean, going on a date—would be great. If you want to.”
Jimin knows how this is going to go.
He’s going to say yes, yank Taehyung forward by the neck, kiss him. It’ll be awkward for a minute after that, in which Jimin will casually confess Feelings and they will walk to the subway station together, holding hands, linking pinkies, arm and arm, or something. Taehyung will shoot hearts out of his eyes and Jimin’s will beat right out of his elastic chest and the sun will set and they’ll go home and think gross things about each other and live happily ever after, married, with children.
Except, what really happens is:
Jimin and Taehyung find themselves at the same place in Hongdae, the bistro (cleverly named The Beastro) with the dim lighting and high grade beef where they had their first date.
Instead of ignoring the wine menu like last time, they order the cheapest bottle available and decide to split a steak and potato meal for dinner to save their wallets.
The wine replaces their blood in the circulation process and they get kicked out for being too loud and smearing mashed potatoes around each other’s mouths as they feed each other.
They get back on the train and Jimin falls asleep sometime between their duet of the Sailor Moon opening theme and declaring thumb-wars with their couple rings attached and getting in the way.
They leave Jungkook and Yoongi seven ominous voicemail messages when they get off at their stop, and part ways with pink cheeks and laughter bubbling up from their insides.
(If Jimin is disappointed that Taehyung doesn’t push him up against some vertical standing surface and completely consume his soul with a searing kiss, then he doesn’t show it.)
Jimin is startlingly more sober when he turns the corner, and he’s not stumbling so much up the stairs of his apartment building. He’s just about to get his key out and get inside the building when someone taps him on the shoulder, and he spins around wildly, prepared to scream and take a foot to some private areas.
“Hi.” Taehyung is standing there, on the steps of his apartment building, breathing heavily through his nose. “I forgot something.”
“What?”
Jimin didn’t have to be disappointed after all, because Taehyung yanks him forward with a hand at the back of his neck and leans in, leans in nearly all the way, mouth just right there in front of Jimin’s, close but there’s still some space left.
“Are you—um, are you going to kiss me?”
Taehyung grins, and Jimin can’t really see anything but his long, fluttering eyelashes but he can feel the the amused little breath of laughter escape.
“Only if you want to.”
Taehyung’s mouth tastes like wine and bubble gum and Jimin is really glad Jeon Jungkook is the worst best friend in the world.