Chapter Text
The air in the Architecture building’s fabrication lab always smelled like burnt chipboard, hot glue, and the lingering desperation of students who hadn’t slept in seventy-two hours.
Park Jimin, a junior whose charcoal-smudged fingers were currently trying to salvage a laser-cut model that had just warped out of alignment, stared blankly across the studio floor. Ten yards away, sitting at a drafting table surrounded by a flock of adoring sophomore admirers, was Lee Junsu.
Junsu. The golden boy of the senior class. The recipient of the department’s highest design honors, captain of the intramural soccer team, and, as of three days ago, Jimin’s ex-boyfriend of two years.
Jimin’s jaw clenched so tight a dull ache radiated up his molars. He could still vividly remember the sickening drop in his stomach when he opened the door to the material archive room and found Junsu wrapped around Hannah from the interior design department. Junsu hadn’t even looked particularly guilty, just annoyed, as if Jimin was an inconvenience for interrupting him.
“Come on, Jimin, it’s not like we’re getting married,” Junsu had laughed later that evening, trying to minimize it over text. “Hannah was fun, you’ve been too busy with studio lately. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.”
Nothing. Two years of late-night coffee runs, of Jimin helping him render his structural engineering diagrams, of playing the supportive, quiet boyfriend while Junsu soaked up the campus spotlight… reduced to nothing.
Jimin’s anger hadn’t made him cry. Instead, it had hardened into something cold, bright, and venomous. He refused to be the pitiful, heartbroken ex walking the halls with red-rimmed eyes. He refused to let Junsu tell his fraternity brothers that Jimin was a wreck without him.
He needed a statement. A statement so loud, so disruptive, and so utterly ridiculous that Junsu wouldn’t know what hit him.
And that was when his eyes drifted past Junsu’s table, out toward the back corner of the sub-basement studio, where a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette was slumped over a drafting board, wearing a black oversized hoodie, headphones pulled tightly over dark hair, completely ignoring the rest of the world.
Min Yoongi.
If Junsu was the sun, blinding, loud, and constantly demanding everyone look at him; Yoongi was a permanent thunderstorm warning.
A senior like Junsu, Yoongi was the exact opposite in every measurable universe. While Junsu was a social butterfly who lived for campus politics and frat parties, Yoongi was a legendary recluse. He didn't join clubs; he barely spoke during critique sessions, though when he did open his mouth, even the professors held their breath because his structural critiques were brutally, brilliantly accurate. His grades were a mystery, rumor had it he failed every elective just because he couldn't be bothered to show up, but his design portfolios won national competitions anonymously.
He looked intimidating, possessed a dry, biting wit when provoked, and walked around campus like everyone was slightly annoying him.
Jimin stared at Yoongi’s back. Perfect, a wicked little voice whispered in his head. There is literally no one on this campus that would shock Junsu more.
The execution of the plan began the next afternoon, though Jimin hadn't quite figured out how to approach the walking monument of apathy that was Min Yoongi.
Jimin found his opportunity near the massive industrial plotters in the basement copy room. Yoongi was standing there, waiting for a thirty-page thesis binding to print, looking like he would rather be undergoing root canal surgery.
Jimin took a deep breath, smoothed down his denim jacket, and marched over.
"Min Yoongi-sunbaenim," Jimin said, adopting his sweetest, most melodic junior-year tone.
Yoongi didn't turn around immediately. He slowly slid one side of his headphones off his ear, turned his head halfway, and gave Jimin a look that could freeze liquid nitrogen. "What."
"I need a favor," Jimin said, leaning against the counter beside him, putting on a brilliant, slightly desperate smile.
"No."
"You haven't even heard what it is yet."
"Whatever it is, the answer is no. I don't do group projects, I don't lend my sketchbooks, and I don't care about whatever department drama you're wrapped up in." Yoongi pulled his headphones back down.
Jimin’s eye twitched. Charming. Absolutely charming.
Instead of backing down, Jimin reached out and tapped the rim of Yoongi's headphone band. Yoongi stiffened, whipping his head back around, his dark eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
"Listen to me for thirty seconds," Jimin hissed, dropping the sweet act. "I need you to pretend to date me for two weeks."
Yoongi stared at him. For a full five seconds, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic hum of the large-format printer. Then, Yoongi let out a dry, incredulous scoff.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"I'll pay for your coffee for a month. I'll print your physical thesis boards. I'll cover your model-making laser-cutting fees for the rest of the semester," Jimin rattled off, desperate.
"I don't need your money, and I certainly don't need a fake boyfriend," Yoongi said flatly, turning back to his printing stack. "Go bother someone else. Lee Junsu looks like he has plenty of free time."
That name was the trigger. Jimin’s chest flared with a fresh wave of humiliation and spite. Without thinking, Jimin stepped directly into Yoongi’s personal space, grabbing the lapel of the senior's black hoodie.
Yoongi’s breath hitched slightly, his dark gaze dropping down to Jimin’s hands, then rising back to meet his fiery eyes.
"Junsu cheated on me," Jimin said, his voice shaking slightly with residual fury, though he forced it to stay steady. "He thinks I'm sitting at home crying over him. I want to walk past his table holding your hand, and I want the entire department to talk about it. I want him to choke on his own ego."
Yoongi went completely still. The hostility in his posture shifted into something unreadable. He looked at Jimin, at the bright defiance in his eyes, the slight tremble in his lower lip that Jimin was trying hard to conceal, and the sheer, reckless audacity of the scheme.
Before Yoongi could answer, the heavy steel door of the copy room creaked open.
Heavy footsteps echoed across the concrete floor, followed by a familiar, bright, condescending laugh.
"Oh, hey, Jimin," Junsu’s voice rang out, breezy and dripping with patronizing pity as he walked in with Hannah clinging to his arm. Junsu stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who Jimin was standing with.
And more importantly, how close they were standing.
Jimin’s heart hammered against his ribs. His hands were still clutching the fabric of Yoongi’s hoodie.
Junsu’s easy grin faltered, his eyes darting from Jimin’s white-knuckled grip on Yoongi’s hoodie up to Yoongi’s towering, unimpressed frame. Hannah, holding a stack of color swatches, blinked in confusion, her mouth forming a small O.
The heavy silence in the copy room stretched thin enough to snap. For a guy who prided himself on being the undisputed center of attention, Junsu suddenly looked entirely out of his depth. Min Yoongi wasn’t just a random classmate; he was the department ghost, a guy who actively avoided human contact, let alone standing within a millimeter of anyone else.
"Jimin," Junsu started, his voice losing its polished, patronizing edge as a flicker of genuine irritation crossed his face. "What are you... what is going on here?"
Jimin’s pulse roared in his ears. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away, to look down, to shrink back into the safe, invisible background he had occupied for the last two years. But then he remembered the material archive room. He remembered Junsu’s dismissive laugh.
Instead of letting go, Jimin took a slow, deliberate breath. He forced his fingers to relax slightly against Yoongi’s chest before sliding his hand upward, letting his palm rest flat against the warm cotton of Yoongi’s hoodie right over his heart.
Yoongi stiffened sharply. A sudden, tense intake of breath whispered through the older boy's lips, his dark eyes locking onto Jimin with a flash of raw, unexpected heat.
"Nothing is going on, Junsu," Jimin said, turning his head just enough to look at his ex-boyfriend, his voice dripping with cool, sweet indifference. "Just having a conversation. Unlike some people, we actually have things to talk about."
Junsu’s jaw tightened. "Right. With Yoongi." He laughed, a brittle, defensive sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Since when do you hang out with him? You don't even like guys who never leave the darkroom."
Before Jimin could think of a biting retort, the copy room door swung open wider, admitting a small group of sophomore design students loaded down with architectural scales and foam board.
The group froze immediately upon seeing the tableau: Junsu and Hannah blocking the entrance, Jimin practically plastered to Min Yoongi’s front, and Yoongi looking like a loaded weapon ready to go off.
One of the sophomores, a nervous-looking kid named Minho, dropped his mechanical pencil. It clattered loudly against the concrete floor.
"Wait," Minho whispered, loud enough in the quiet room for everyone to hear, his eyes wide as he stared at Jimin’s hand resting against Yoongi’s chest. "Is... is Jimin-sunbae dating Yoongi-sunbaenim now?"
The words hung in the air like a spark hitting gasoline.
Hannah gasped quietly, shooting an incredulous look at Junsu, whose face drained of its confident color. The idea of the department’s golden boy being publicly traded for its most notorious, antisocial genius was a narrative so chaotic it belonged in a soap opera.
Jimin didn't blink. He kept his hand right where it was, feeling the heavy, steady thud of Yoongi’s heart beneath his palm.
And then, unexpectedly, a low rumble vibrated against Jimin’s hand.
Yoongi shifted. Instead of pushing Jimin away or shouting at the gawking sophomores, Yoongi’s long arm moved. A heavy, warm hand settled securely onto the small of Jimin’s back, his long fingers splaying out against the denim of Jimin’s jacket and pulling him that fraction of an inch closer, effectively sealing them together.
Yoongi raised his dark, dangerous gaze, fixing a cold, unblinking stare straight at Junsu.
"Get out of the doorway," Yoongi said, his voice deep, quiet, and absolutely lethal. "You're blocking the air."
Junsu choked on whatever retort he had locked in his throat. Seething, humiliated, and utterly bewildered, he grabbed Hannah’s arm and practically dragged her backward out of the copy room, letting the heavy steel door slam shut behind them.
The sophomores scattered immediately, murmuring under their breath like they had just witnessed a crime.
When the door clicked shut, the room fell completely silent again.
Jimin’s breath caught. He slowly looked up, finding himself inches away from Yoongi’s sharp jawline and dark, intense eyes. Yoongi’s hand was still warm and heavy against his lower back.
"You," Yoongi murmured, his voice a low gravelly hum that sent a strange, electric shiver straight down Jimin's spine, "owe me a very long explanation."