Chapter Text
The morning light in the penthouse always hit different. It poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows like it had been paid to show up, turning the marble floors into something almost liquid and making the whole place feel like it existed in its own private slice of Seoul. Jimin stood in the walk-in closet that was bigger than most studio apartments, fingers trailing over the rack of clothes set aside for today’s fitting. His reflection stared back from the full-length mirror—sharp collarbones, narrow waist, the faint outline of ribs when he shifted just right under the thin white tank top. Ethereal. Delicate. That’s what they kept calling him in the emails.
He exhaled slowly, sucking in his stomach on instinct even though no one was watching yet. The campaign was for a luxury brand that wanted their new face to look like he could disappear if the wind blew too hard. “Fragile beauty,” the creative director had said last week, pinching Jimin’s wrist like he was checking the ripeness of fruit. Jimin had smiled the way he always did—small, grateful, perfect.
“Hyung, you still in here?” Taehyung’s voice drifted in from the hallway, lazy and warm, the way it got when he’d just rolled out of bed. He appeared in the doorway a second later, hair messy, wearing one of Jungkook’s oversized black hoodies that hung off his frame like it was trying to swallow him. His eyes scanned Jimin up and down, softening at the corners. “Damn. You already look like the final shot.”
Jimin let out a soft laugh, the kind that came easy around Taehyung. “Flattery this early? What do you want?”
“Nothing. Just stating facts.” Taehyung crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Jimin from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. Their reflections overlapped in the mirror—Jimin’s smaller frame tucked against Taehyung’s broader one. “We’re shooting together next week, right? The winter editorial. I’m gonna look like a giant next to you if you keep getting any smaller.”
The words landed lightly, but they settled somewhere deep in Jimin’s chest. He leaned back into the embrace anyway, letting the warmth of Taehyung’s body chase away the morning chill that always seemed to cling to his skin these days. “That’s the point, isn’t it? Ethereal and delicate.”
Taehyung hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to the side of Jimin’s neck. “You’re perfect already. Don’t let them make you forget that.”
In the kitchen, Seokjin was already in full morning mode, moving between the massive island and the espresso machine like a conductor. The smell of fresh coffee and something savory—probably egg whites and avocado for him, because even as a chaebol heir who could buy half the city, he still treated his body like a temple—filled the open space. Namjoon sat at the dining table with his glasses on, reading glasses actually, marking up what looked like student papers with a red pen. He glanced up when Jimin and Taehyung wandered in.
“Morning, loves,” Namjoon said, voice low and steady, the same tone he used in his lectures. It always made Jimin feel grounded, like someone had actually thought through the chaos of the world and decided it was still worth it. “Jimin-ah, you have that big fitting today?”
“Yeah,” Jimin answered, sliding onto one of the stools. He accepted the black coffee Seokjin passed him without asking. No sugar. No cream. Just bitter and hot. “Early call time tomorrow, so I’ll probably crash at the studio apartment after the fitting. Don’t wait up.”
Seokjin raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. He was dressed for the office already—crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, the kind of quiet luxury that screamed money without trying. “You sure? I was going to make that black bean noodles you like tonight.”
Jimin smiled, the one that crinkled his eyes just enough to sell it. “Next time, hyung. Promise.”
Yoongi shuffled in then, still in scrubs from his night shift, hair flattened on one side. He looked exhausted in that particular way only night-shift nurses did—like the weight of other people’s pain had settled permanently into his shoulders. But his face softened when he saw Jimin. He came over, cupped the back of Jimin’s neck gently, and pressed their foreheads together for a moment.
“You good?” Yoongi murmured, too quiet for the others to catch.
“Always,” Jimin whispered back. He let himself lean into the touch, breathing in the faint hospital smell that still clung to Yoongi’s clothes. It was familiar. Safe.
Hoseok burst through the door a few minutes later, gym bag slung over his shoulder, cheeks still flushed from his morning run. As a doctor, he was religious about his own health, always dragging at least one of them to the building’s private gym when he could. “Morning, family!” he called out, voice bright enough to cut through the low hum of conversation. He dropped a kiss on top of Jimin’s head as he passed, then stole a piece of fruit from Seokjin’s plate. “Jiminnie, you coming to the gym with me this week? I’ll spot you.”
“Maybe after the campaign wraps,” Jimin said lightly, sipping his coffee. His stomach twisted at the thought of adding anything else to his schedule, but he kept his face relaxed.
Jungkook was the last to appear, camera bag already over his shoulder, looking focused and a little wired. He had a shoot prep later today too—some editorial for a menswear brand that wanted raw, intimate shots. He caught Jimin’s eye across the kitchen and smiled, that shy, bunny-toothed grin that still made Jimin’s chest feel too full even after all this time.
The rest of the morning passed in the usual rhythm. Soft touches in passing. Namjoon reading a passage from a poem he was teaching aloud while Seokjin pretended to be annoyed but secretly listened. Taehyung stealing bites from everyone’s plates. Yoongi falling asleep on the couch with his head in Hoseok’s lap. Jungkook showing Jimin a few test shots on his camera, fingers brushing Jimin’s as he pointed out lighting.
By evening, the penthouse had emptied out some. Taehyung had left for a late meeting with his agency. Namjoon was buried in office hours. Seokjin had a dinner with investors. Yoongi and Hoseok were both on shift rotations. Only Jungkook lingered in the living room, reviewing photos on his laptop, the blue light casting shadows across his focused face.
Jimin stood in the kitchen, staring into the fridge. The containers of leftovers from last night’s dinner Seokjin had made—perfectly portioned, beautifully arranged—stared back at him. His stomach growled, loud in the quiet space, but he closed the door without taking anything.
“Early call time,” he said when he felt Jungkook’s eyes on him. “I should just sleep it off. Don’t want to be bloated tomorrow.”
Jungkook watched him for a beat longer than usual, fingers paused on the trackpad. “You barely ate at lunch either.”
Jimin turned, leaning against the counter with a small shrug. The motion made his oversized sweater slip off one shoulder. “Fitting was brutal. They had me in those sheer pieces. Everything shows.” He offered a tired smile. “I’ll eat after the campaign shoot tomorrow, okay? Big breakfast. Promise.”
Jungkook hesitated, then nodded, turning back to his screen. “Alright. Just… text me when you’re done tomorrow? I miss your face when you’re gone too long.”
The words were soft, laced with that quiet affection that always made Jimin feel both loved and impossibly heavy. He crossed the room, climbed into Jungkook’s lap on the couch, and kissed him slow and deep, like he could pour all the unspoken things into it. Jungkook’s hands settled on his waist, thumbs brushing the sharp dip where bone met skin.
They stayed like that for a while, tangled up in the quiet luxury of the penthouse, the city lights glittering far below like distant stars. Jimin rested his head on Jungkook’s shoulder eventually, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
Later, when Jungkook had gone to bed, Jimin slipped into the bathroom alone. He stood in front of the mirror again, lifting his shirt, turning side to side. The angles were good. Sharp. Delicate. The campaign would love it.
He ignored the way his hands trembled slightly as he brushed his teeth, the hollow feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with hunger anymore.
Tomorrow would be perfect. It had to be.