Chapter Text
Jimin’s transfer to the all-boys school starts as uneventful to say the least. His teacher announces that a certain “Park Jimin” will be joining the class, and his unisex name raises false hopes of a female transferring into the epitome of raging testosterone. Later, when he walks in, he’s left confused as to why everyone is blatantly disappointed, but he smiles and takes a seat at the back anyway. His lessons pass monotonously and he’s at the verge of snoozing when the final bell rings.
Students file out of the classroom instantly, and his feet carry him to the track he saw on his way inside this morning. It’s completely empty, the bleachers deserted and gentle wind ruffling the leaves of the trees that outline the perimeter. With some difficulty, Jimin locates the changing rooms, and returns in the gym outfit he’d packed last minute.
Jimin sets his gym bag on a bleacher and fishes out the tangled chords of his earphones. He hooks them over his ears, adjusts the waistband of his shorts, scuffs his shoes on the track underneath, and stretches his back. The sun is glaring down mercilessly as he begins walking around the circumference of the track, pace gradually increasing to that of a jog. He keeps his gaze ahead, arms bent and swinging by his sides, as his legs beat down in rhythm. He lets the music absorb him as his eyes slip close after one round, his feet having memorized the route.
Unfortunately, his loud music tunes out the sound of the footsteps that join right next to him, so when Jimin feels an ominous presence next to him, he calmly looks to his side. A boy with bleached blonde hair is staring right back at him, his boxy grin rivaling the brightness of the afternoon sun.
Jimin shrieks and unceremoniously gets his feet caught up, sending himself flying onto the track underneath. The weight of his ass landing on the chord of the earphones sends them flying out of his ears painfully, a faint buzz emitting from them where they land next to him. The stranger stops a few steps in front of him, clutching his stomach as he doubles over in laughter. Jimin is left nursing a scraped knee as glares at the boy from under his sweaty fringe.
“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” The boy offers him a hand that Jimin hesitantly accepts. “I’m Kim Taehyung, I was in your class this morning! I didn’t know you ran!” Taehyung is still holding onto his hand, shaking it vigorously.
“U-uh I’m Park Jimin, and I didn’t think anybody else would be here today?” Taehyung nods sagely as he finally drops his hand to cross his arms in front of his chest.
“First season sports all take place in the gyms, so the track remains unused during this time. Luckily, I happened to be passing by here on the way to practice. You see, Jimin, I have an offer to make,” Taehyung uncrosses his arms to wiggle his long fingers in front of him, and Jimin wonders how rude it would be to bolt out of here. Taehyung is holding a bated breath, eyebrows raised, fingers continuously moving, as if waiting for a response.
“… And that would be?” Jimin finally offers, and he knows it’s the right response because Taehyung brightens up even more than Jimin would have thought possible.
“We need a student manager for our volleyball team, but considering the size of this school, all of the athletic students are already enrolled in clubs—all, except you!” Taehyung finishes off with a proud grin, but fails to notice the way Jimin’s expression has converted into one of absolute horror.
“There must be a mistake, I am completely incompetent at any ball game, and my hand-eye coordination is pretty much nonexistent, no-wait, stop, this isn’t a joke!” Taehyung waves aside his worries as he twirls around on sneakers, smile never faltering.
“I’ll see you at practice, tomorrow at this time in Gym A!” Taehyung announces loudly as he saunters off the track, finger guns pointed at Jimin and mouth forming a vague “pew pew” as he vanishes around the corner. Jimin is left stumped, hand suspended awkwardly in front of him, and mouth hung open.
A loud groan resonates around the barren area, Jimin’s figure slumping forwards as he berates his inability to say no.
***
During class the next day, Jimin has resolutely avoided making eye contact with Taehyung, who he now knows sits three rows in front of him. He hopes covering his figure with his oversized grey sweater will somehow let him blend in with the walls of the same color. Needless to say, when the final bell rings, Jimin is ready to bolt. He gathers his supplies in record speed, sacrificing a lone pencil to the abyss underneath as he haphazardly swings his bags over his shoulders, spinning around—and crashing into a solid figure. Jimin squeaks in the most unmanly way as his nose collides with Taehyung’s chest, the boy muffling another set of chuckles caused by Jimin’s antics.
“Let’s go to practice together,” Taehyung announces and Jimin can only mourn over his loss as he follows the boy out the classroom and through the winding hallways, all escape routes blocked off by Taehyung’s persistent presence next to him. As the boys leave the main campus and move closer to the gyms, Jimin can hear the distinct sounds of the various sports. The thump of heavy shoes occurring at intervals with the bounce of a ball: basketball, the light swoosh of a birdie after collision with the wires of a racquet: badminton, and finally, the gym in front of which they stop, the squeak of numerous footsteps and the crash of a ball on the hard floor: volleyball.
Taehyung uses both his arms to swing open the double doors with more force than necessary, making a grand entrance in a way that Jimin is quickly learning is signature of the boy. The overhead lights are blinding as Jimin follows Taehyung inside, the sounds around him coming to a gradual stop when the players take notice of the late-arrivers.
“I brought a guest with me!” Jimin feels a hand on his shoulder, and he’s shoved ahead of Taehyung in the next moment, a line of players meeting his vision. “This is our new student manager!” Taehyung pats both his shoulders repeatedly as Jimin cowers. Now, Jimin has never been one to have a height complex, but here, standing in front of boys that could easily pass off as replicas of the Statue of Liberty, Jimin has never felt more insecure. Looking at the significant height difference between him and Taehyung, and that he would be working with a volleyball team, Jimin really should have guessed.
The incessant patting on his back does not cease, and Jimin belatedly realizes that he has yet to introduce himself.
“I’m Park Jimin, second year, I look forward to working with you,” Jimin bows quickly, and after a second of silence, the others bow and greet him in unison, their gruff voices resonating around the gym.
Jimin’s presence is soon forgotten in favor of practice, as boys pair up and toss volleyballs across the net. Taehyung leads him to the coach on the side after a short introduction, and rushes to the locker room with his gym bag in hand.
The coach is a middle-aged man that complains he’s got better things to be doing than sitting here in a steel chair. He mumbles something about “being the only staff present in the room on an unfortunate day” and Jimin can already relate with the man. He’s given a clipboard later, names of all the players listed alphabetically, and rows of attendance boxes waiting to be checked. Did Jimin already clarify he just transferred into the school? For the next ten minutes, he plays a game of “match that name with a face” and claims, “You look like a Minseok to me, so present,” as he steadily makes his way down the list. Apologies to any boys offended in the process.
When he’s finally done, he hands the list back to the coach who nods without even glancing at the paper.
Jimin finally takes the chance to closely observe the boys on the court, with nothing better to do or pass time for the next hour and a half. Regrettably, everybody is clearly at least a head taller than Jimin, except for one mint-haired boy that looks like he’d much rather be anywhere in the world except here as he sluggishly moves at the back of the court, his distinct uniform color indicating he’s a libero. Yeah, Jimin at least knows that much. The boy in front of him towers over him completely as he jumps to set the ball. He’s got uniquely bubblegum pink hair, and Jimin begins to question if qualifying for the team required carnival color hair.
The next to receive makes a clean pass, his form impeccable—and his hair red, Jimin notes. The ball flies up, ready to be spiked by the boy with brown hair waiting by the net, and Jimin eagerly waits for the clean finish.
Except, the boy’s arm comes down too late, his palm colliding with the top of the net, and the ball pathetically bounces off his head before landing on his own side. He’s got to be the dunce of the team.
“Jeon Jungkoooooook” The red haired wails as he comes crashing into his side, clinging onto his long legs as Jungkook doubles over in laughter, no trace of regret or apology on his features. The mint-haired looks like a pissed off puppy as he plants his ass on the floor, declaring the boys sort their shit out before they try again. The rest of the team members simply shake their heads before retrieving the ball and starting another rally. Mint-haired eventually has to get up when the ball risks slamming into his lazing form on the floor.
Taehyung eventually emerges from the room, knee pads in place and track pants rolled above them. He joins the carnival, his own blond hair mixing in seamlessly.
Jimin takes turns watching the other three teams scattered across the gym, but his reverie is broken when a ball comes rolling to his feet. He gets up—his ass numb from being planted on the steel chair the entire time—and looks up to see who he has to return the ball to. Taehyung’s team is waiting expectantly as mint-hair stands closest to him, arms out and waiting to receive. Jimin eyes the ball in his hands warily, before hesitantly deciding he’ll make an overarm throw, testing his abilities.
To his mortification, the ball loops in the wrong direction, away from mint-hair and straight into the back of Jungkook’s head.
“Oomph,” Jungkook smacks his face into the net with the force of the hit, hand immediately flying up to rub the spot as he turns around with scrunched eyebrows. “What the hell, Yoongi hyung!” Yoongi simply shrugs before pointing at Jimin, whose arms are still suspiciously extended in front of him, jaw slack—seem familiar?
Jungkook’s eyes shift to him, and he’s sure he’s going to be told off on his very first day, but the latter simply smirks before turning back to face the front. That look remains etched at the back of Jimin’s eyes for the entire practice.
***
Jimin returns to practice dutifully every time, eventually not needing Taehyung to rope him into it anymore. The number of players begins gradually decreasing as weeks pass by, eventually the select few who will be playing in the local league emerging as the final players. Surprisingly, Carnival Team remains entirely intact, and Jimin has to reassess his initial impression of Jungkook being the dunce.
Jungkook is anything but the dunce.
His miss at the very first practice must have been an accumulation of nerves or lack of practice, because the boy delivering sharp spike after spike in front of him right now is most definitely not the same. Jimin is enamored by his figure that extends gracefully at a breath’s gap from the net, long arm swiping downwards cleanly, sending the ball flying by the tips of the opponent’s fingers, untouched and in the box. Hoseok, or red-haired as Jimin has finally learned, pats him on the back from his position next to him.
The coach has also gained a bit of spirit with time, now even pacing around the gym as he shouts instructions and insults at the boys. Jimin muffles a laugh as he swats Namjoon at the back of his head with a wad of newspaper for stepping into Jin’s zone when the older had called for the ball. Jimin is also pleasantly surprised that Yoongi’s count of “mandatory breaks” has decreased significantly from six to only one. His hyung is more energetic than ever as he throws his body onto the floor without hesitance, scooping the ball just in time.
Jimin learns that if Jungkook is the ace, Taehyung comes a close second. His height is advantageous on the court, his arms in combination with Jungkook’s creating a solid wall of defense as they jump to block. Jimin wonders what it feels like to stand on the other side, but shivers in fear as an afterthought.
However, as much progress as nearly every team member has made, Jimin remains the same, uncoordinated student manager. Which is what leads to the accident today.
The boys are having a practice session just for spiking, and Jimin is running around wildly, gathering all stray balls as they roll away from the court. His arms are full as he waddles back, tossing one after the other to raised hands and calls. Jimin doesn’t realize when he oversteps the boundary of the court, and before he knows it, a ball is charging straight for him.
A loud ‘thwack’ bounces off the walls of the gym as the ball plants him square in the face. The balls in his arms fall onto the floor simultaneously.
“Shit!” Jimin can barely make out Jungkook’s figure approaching him as he covers his throbbing nose, and unshed tears blur his vision. “I’m so sorry! Shit!” Jungkook carefully raises his fingers to cover Jimin’s, his long digits dwarfing Jimin’s tiny ones, and Jimin is glad his face is red from the impact and camouflaging his blush. Eventually the rest of the guys crowd around him, and the coach uses the same wadded newspaper to smack Jungkook across the head as well, and Jimin can’t help giggling.
Taehyung ushers Jimin into the chair and in the meantime Jungkook rushes out to fetch ice from the clinic.
“How bad is it?” Jimin questions as he fruitlessly tries to see his reflection on the polished floor.
“You would put Rudolph to shame with that nose,” Taehyung is quite pleased with his joke, but he’s met with the dirtiest glare ever and has to profusely apologize to Jimin to have him face him again. Jungkook arrives back in record time and slides to a halt on his knees in front of Jimin. He grimaces as he sees the damage that has been done, and tenderly wraps the ice in a piece of cloth before raising it to Jimin’s nose. Jimin muffles a gasp as Jungkook cradles the back of his head in order to apply just the right amount of pressure with the ice in hand. Jimin fixes his wide eyes on Taehyung in efforts to not have to return Jungkook’s undivided attention on his face, but Taehyung being the complete asshole he is, wiggles his thick eyebrows before sauntering back onto the court.
Practice resumes but Jungkook remains kneeled in front of him.
“Jungkook-ah, it’s okay, I can do this,” Jimin’s voice is nasally and he cringes at the way it sounds, fingers reaching to take the bag from Jungkook, but he resists the efforts and shakes his head.
“It’s my fault, so I’ll be the one to fix it,” Jungkook leaves no room for argument as his onyx eyes fix onto Jimin’s, Jimin’s audible gulp being the only response.
Jungkook relieves the pressure slightly to press a new side of the bag onto a different portion of his nose, the renewed chill causing for Jimin to want to shift away from the source. Alas, he’s reminded of the hand still at the back of his head that holds him in place with a firm grip. If Jimin has to sit like this for another ten minutes, he’s sure he’ll randomly combust.
At this close of a distance, Jimin can count the long eyelashes that frame Jungkook’s large eyes, and the crooked bunny teeth that appear at intervals as Jungkook pants, and the faint scar on his right cheek that mars his otherwise unblemished, fair skin. Jimin has to physically shake his head against the hold over it to rid himself of these thoughts, appalled by his own abilities to think like some sort of a fangirl.
Thankfully, their coach physically drags Jungkook away with a hold on his right ear, careful to avoid his piercings, and Jimin can breathe in peace. He slumps back into the chair, the tension finally rushing out of his form as he watches Jungkook complain against the hold, and his coach tune out all his whining.
Jimin should be concerned that the back of his head where Jungkook had held him burns more than his injured nose.
***
In the build up to the beginning of the local league, practice sessions grow in intensity, and Jimin learns to make notes about plays and moves. He’s been staying up late at nights, watching countless Youtube tutorials and national matches, notepad resting on his knee as he scribbles down notes. He has personalized pages for each member in the notepad, and he’s horrified when he notices he had involuntarily drawn hearts across Jungkook’s name in his sleep-induced stupor. He rigorously erased the shapes, embarrassed by his own actions as some lines remained.
He arrives to practice the next day with a beanie pulled over his unkempt hair. Jungkook shoots him a look of concern from the other side of the court, but Taehyung is first to shuffle over and ask if he’s okay. Jimin nods and proudly presents his completed notepad full of notes, and Taehyung whistles lowly as flips the pages. He pats Jimin’s head, earning a frown, and returns to the court with new pointers in mind.
Over the course of the session, the boys take turns approaching Jimin, and looking at the notes he had written specifically for them. Jimin explains what he understands to the best of his abilities and always ends with a “or so I think” to refrain from giving the false impression of being an expert. Namjoon chuckles and claims he should be a little more confident.
Jungkook is the last one to approach him, and Jimin dreads the encounter as he avoids watching the boy stroll closer. He keeps his eyes fixed on the notepad in front of him to prevent eye contact, before having to look up as sneakers appear in his vision. Jimin dislikes how he has to angle his head upwards to look Jungkook in the eye, their height difference accentuated by Jungkook’s volleyball shoes.
“Can I see my analysis too?” Jimin nods as he flips to the page reserved for Jungkook, the very last one in his book. Not to his surprise, the page is the most sparse of them all, only a few pointers scribbled in. Jungkook takes the book from him, their fingers brushing for a nanosecond, and raises his eyebrows at the page. “That’s it?” Jimin frowns because he recognizes this twinkle in Jungkook’s eyes. Asshole knew he wouldn’t get many.
Jungkook exudes confidence as he hands the notepad back to Jimin, patting his head as Taehyung had—and what is with every tall person thinking it’s mandatory to emphasize their superior height—before strolling back to his team, a smirk never leaving his face.
The coach takes over from there, introducing a workout session in lieu of their regular group practice. The boys groan in unison, those like Yoongi looking absolutely stunned as they’re forced into it as well. The coach points a meter stick— Jimin wonders where that emerged from—at a whiteboard that has the bold title “suicide workout” across the top.
Jimin is given the role of managing the timer as all the players begrudgingly line up. The coach blows a whistle, Jimin presses start, and all hell breaks loose.
It’s safe to say that after nearly half an hour, Jimin has never seen these boys more exhausted. Hoseok’s hair resembles the head of the wet mop Jimin is using to clean the sweat-smeared floor, and Yoongi seems determined to become one with the floor as he lays lifelessly on it. Jin has adopted starfish formation, with Namjoon sprawled across one of his legs, as he gasps for breath. Taehyung is dramatically clawing his way to the row of water bottles, his long limbs dragging behind.
And Jungkook?
Of fucking course he looks as immaculate as ever.
Jimin is convinced the boy is high as he sits on the floor, grinning from ear to ear, pure adrenaline pumping in his veins.
“Jimin hyung!” Jungkook calls and Jimin raises an eyebrow in question. “Can you pass me a bottle of water, please?” Jimin frowns because if anybody, Jungkook is the most fit to drag his own ass to the row of bottles, letting Jimin finish his own duties, but the boy fixes him with the most earnest look, his eyes glassy like a famished kitten’s—Jimin should really look into joining the school publication with words like these. Jimin sighs as he rests the mop against the wall and jogs to the bottles, returning with one that’s cool to the touch. Jungkook smiles in gratitude as he accepts the bottle.
“Oh, I also need my bag,” Jungkook stares directly up at him, and Jimin can only spend a few seconds relishing in the reversal of roles before he has to march back to the same area and sort through the bags to find Jungkook’s. His black bag has an Iron Man sticker across its front, and Jimin snorts when he notices it among the pile. He drags it by the handle back to Jungkook, dropping it loudly in front of him, a fake smile plastered across his face.
Jungkook sends him on numerous other small errands with the excuse of being fatigued, and Jimin curses the soft spot he’s developed for this boy.