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Chapter Text

Yoon Jaehan shifted the strap of his bag further up his shoulder as the final bell rang. The man passed through the hall unnoticed. He was usually ignored by the majority of the student body. Not that he minded. He had always been more of a loner, keeping his mind focused on his goal: the National Gymnastics team. He had been training for it for over half of his life and was set to join upon graduation.

He wove his way through the sea of Gucci, Prada, and other brands that he couldn’t even pronounce the names of. His family was well enough off, but being the bastard of a politician and his secretary came with a certain stigma. A lot of the students carried grudges against anyone outside of their tax bracket, but homewrecking bastards were the scum of the earth in their eyes.

Jaehan kept his eyes lowered, avoiding shoulders and elbows as he walked to his locker to grab the books he would need that night. Joining the Korean Olympic team didn’t excuse him from doing his best in his studies. The man searched in his pocket for the key while juggling his faux pas, off-the-rack book bag, and outdated cell phone. But finally, after some well-executed dexterity, he managed to open his locker.

Red.

Bright red.

There it was. The infamous red card hung at the top of Jaehan’s locker. A gold-leafed bone-crossed pirate skull was elegantly printed on an expensive red velvet tag. It told of the one who carelessly doled out the tyrannical justice and how monumental his wealth was. Even his threats had to be immaculately made.

“Oh!” a girl gasped, standing behind him just off-center. “Jaehan drew the red card. Look!”

Clean-cut, gray jackets and thin, black ties started to gather like flies to carrion. But Jaehan didn’t notice them. He saw only one thing. Behind the amassing crowd of whispering and pointing students stood Jeon Jungkook, son of one of the most powerful chaebol families in Korea. The young heir simply smiled at him, eyes swimming in wicked amusement.

Jaehan felt a mix of deep confusion and white-hot rage. He crumpled the red tag in his fist, setting his jaw. Hands grabbed him by the biceps and dragged him toward the men’s restroom, overpowering him, even as he attempted to escape their grip. He could hear the chanting of the students, cheering for his humiliation.

“Let me go, asshole!” Jaehan yelled, pulling his arm away from the guy on his right. He took a swing at the man, but missed, his fist being caught and twisted behind him.

“Not a chance, pretty boy,” one of the guys sneered. “I’ll bet you’d look just like your whore mom on your knees.”

Jaehan spat in the guy’s face. He smirked as the man wiped the offense out of his eye. But the satisfaction only lasted a moment. Then came the pain.

The first hit hurt. A lot. The second made him dizzy. He didn’t even feel the barrage of blows that came after as his face had gone numb. He fell to his knees in the bathroom stall before taking a swift kick in the stomach. He couldn’t breathe. He was nauseous. Tiles swirled around his fading vision. A knee to the face knocked him out cold. He was almost thankful for the respite.

The next day, he found himself on the receiving end of prank after prank. He found his locker and desk creatively covered in craft supplies and the words ‘BASTARD’ and ‘SON OF A WHORE’ scrawled in permanent marker and paint. His books had been shredded. Someone had taken scissors to his gym clothes and put tacks in his running shoes.

By the end of classes, he was ready to go home and lay in bed eating forbidden amounts of chocolate cereal. However, he had gymnastics practice. Thankfully, he always brought his personal equipment from home. His gloves and work out clothes were all still intact. The gym was empty as the sports teams had outside practice at that time.

Jaehan was glad to finally be alone. No one gossiping behind his back about what his mother may or may not have done to finagle his acceptance into the school. No threatening gazes from the boys in gym class. No glares from the girls, saying how he must have had plastic surgery to look so feminine. Just peace and quiet.

He began his usual warm-up, stretching before jogging to the balance beam. After several minutes of working on that he grabbed the bag of chalk dust, coating his hands to dry any sweat that had accumulated there. He looked over to the parallel bars.

Positioning himself on the small trampoline, he jumped up, grabbing onto the bars. He swung his body up and into a flip before thrusting himself up into a handstand. There was a faint creaking sound. He let his lower half drop into another flip, using the momentum to twist his body around on one hand upside down. The floor spun as he put his other hand on the bar.

CRACK! The bar gave way and broke in half under his full weight, sending him careening down toward the mat, head first. In the seconds between the crack and the ground, the gymnast barely managed to twist to avoid landing directly on his head, curling into himself.

He hit the ground hard, on something that was not the expected cushion of a standard floor mat. It cut into his lower back, unyielding and jagged.

Rocks?

Then, there was the sound of a second crack. As much as Jaehan wished it was the apparatus, the intense pain in his body told him it was not. He felt like the lower half of his body had been dipped in lava. Then, abruptly, the feeling cut off. All that was left was fear. A fear so titanic that Jaehan had mistaken it for cardiac arrest. He struggled to swallow past the rapid beating of his adrenaline overdosed heart. What the fuck had just happened?

I can’t feel my legs.

His mind barely registered a set of footsteps echoing in the gym. The sound grew louder and louder, coinciding with the pounding in his head. Jaehan’s view of the ceiling was suddenly obscured by a painfully handsome face. Jungkook was looking down on him, hands in his pockets, the picture of ease.

“God, I was really hoping to work out,” Jungkook sighed, “but here you are stinking up the place.”

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” Jaehan hissed through the pain, tears blurring the callous way the other man regarded him.

“You were born,” Jungkook yawned.

“.... Yoon Jaehan has gone public with the details concerning his injuries. He outright claims that the official Sechs Kies statement was fabricated in order to cover up the bullying going on within the premises. Doctors say that …”

The Grand Jete, officially, was a jump. The arms were stationed above the head and the leap would be followed by a full split in the air. It was a standard jump for every young dancer. But for Park Jimin, bystanders couldn’t rightly categorize it as a jump. It was more than that. It was flight. It was a fledgling swan taking off into a perfect blue sky. It was magnificent.

Jimin landed on the mat softly, as though he were filled with helium and the ground was simply an option rather than a certainty. Jimin remained still for a second before wiping the sweat-laden fringe from out of his eyes. He exhaled, mostly satisfied with himself. Then, he walked over to his bag and pulled his canteen from the abyss. He leaned back, taking a long swig of the purified water inside. He was glistening, half-man and half something utterly unattainable.

“Stop,” a voice sounded from behind him.

Jimin turned on his heel gracefully. The owner of the voice was Kim Seokjin, Jimin’s best friend.  

“Stop what?” Jimin cocked his head in confusion.

“Stop making people feel inadequate,” Jin joked, gently hitting Jimin on the shoulder.

“Should I just stop existing then?” Jimin said, returning Jin’s punch good-naturedly.

“No!” Jin said, clearly offended at the idea, “I just wish you weren’t so damn good. Would it kill you to make a mistake?”

“I’m not that good,” Jimin shook his head as he tossed a towel over his shoulder. “I make plenty of mistakes.” Too many...

“You are that good,” Jin said quickly, before whispering under his breath. “Good enough to compete for the Sechs Kies scholarship.”

Jimin heard Jin’s self-dialogue despite how ‘low-key’ it was.

“I care about dancing,” Jimin stated, “not about who has the latest Fendi purse.”

“Good thing that it’s a talent competition then,” Jin replied, “and not a fashion runway, not that you’d lose either way.”

“I’ll go if it’ll shut you up,” Jimin said, finally worn down to the bone. The boy couldn’t take a compliment to save his own life.

Jin smiled and zipped his lips with his fingers.

Jimin closed his eyes and turned around with a ‘humpf’. He dabbed at his forehead with his towel before tossing it aside. His regimented five-minute break was over. The boy took a moment to stretch just like a swan preening itself before a long journey.

Jimin leapt into the air and the whole world held its breath.

“Doctors say that Yoon Jaehan will never walk again.” 

The seats of The Sechs Kies Performing Arts Center were full of the ridiculously wealthy, wearing the latest in couture evening wear straight from the runways in Milan. Jimin had never seen so many feathers, ruffles, and plunging backs in one place. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t a night at the opera. He kept looking over his shoulder, half expecting a masked phantom to appear from the curtained wings.

“I can’t believe I let Jin-hyung talk me into this…” Jimin mumbled to himself.

Jimin was the last audition scheduled, and he could feel his nerves tingling. The competition was fierce. He had seen the others practicing, and he was impressed by the variety of art represented. There were a few dancers, styles ranging from ballet to street dancing. Then there were the musicians. He had heard a few of them, and even their tuning sounded beautiful. The artists had set up an exhibition in the lobby, their works displayed for the scrutiny of the rich.

The lights dimmed as the spotlight lit a lone figure standing in the middle of the stage. The headmaster of the school, Eun Jiwon, welcomed the audience and competitors, explaining the criteria the judges would be considering when choosing a recipient for the scholarship. Jimin hung on every word.

“The performing arts portion of our competition will begin shortly. But first, one of our most promising music majors is here to showcase his enormous talent,” the headmaster stated. “Without further ado, Min Yoongi.”

The whole auditorium was thrust into darkness and a hush fell upon the crowd. Jimin shivered in anticipation, curious to see what kind of person garnered such raving reviews from the administration. He was not disappointed.

All at once, flames illuminated the stage, the source being several strategically placed torches positioned around an organ, its pipes stretching upwards. A man in a white half-mask stood in front of the organ, taking a bow as the spectators applauded politely. He turned, seating himself on the bench, hovering his fingers above the keys before unleashing hellfire in the form of a haunting medley of songs from The Phantom of the Opera. His fingers danced across the keys as he drew the rich tones from his instrument of destruction.

Jimin felt the music wash over him. He trembled, soft tremors running throughout his body, from the soles of his feet to the tips of his fingers. And yet he was perfectly still, eyes fixated on the sorcerer on the stage. He felt as though the night had enveloped him, only to be cut by the flickering of the flame. He was safe and warm and all the same in prodigious danger. But still, he couldn’t look away. There were fireflies dancing in the belly of a wolf.

And when it became all too much and not enough, the song ended. The masked man stood up and turned to the audience that Jimin had forgotten was there. The pit came to life with enthusiastic applause.

The headmaster walked back onto the stage to present the phantom with a bouquet of red roses. Jimin leaned forward in his seat completely fascinated. The man wrapped his long, beautiful fingers around the flowers, pulling them toward his chest as a delicate smile tugged at his pink lips. They were the only visible part of his face; his unmasked eye was hidden behind a fringe of sunset-tinted hair.

Jimin felt the desire to become those roses blaze up inside of him. Very briefly, he wondered if it were possible to fall in love with someone, despite not knowing what they looked like.

But then, as Min Yoongi took a final bow, the white mask slipped off his face and fell to the floor. The man straightened up, startled that his veil had been torn and that he no longer had the luxury of anonymity.

Jimin gasped before pressing a hand to his lips. The man was perfect. He was so perfect that Jimin physically ached inside. Pale skin glowed in the torchlight, giving Yoongi an ethereal appearance. His peach strands framed narrow, cat-like eyes, barely brushing high, pink-tinged cheekbones. He looked like a prince from a fairy tale.

The hand of a pocket watch ticked one second forward.

Yoongi looked around, eyes wide and utterly terrified. He dropped the bouquet to the floor, the red flowers landing softly on his feet. Then he covered his face with his hands. With the screech of rubber soles dashing on polished wood, the beautiful man ran off the stage.

Jimin was breathing shakily for several minutes. Belatedly, he realized that an attendant was calling his name. The dancer turned his head and noticed that the row of participants he’d been seated with had already vacated and moved backstage.

“Jimin-ssi?” the attendant whisper-yelled over the hum of the astonished chatter surrounding them. “Are you alright?”

The brown-haired dancer gave his head a quick shake to clear it. But the intoxication in his limbs remained, a mix of pre-show jitters and the long forgotten memory of a dream all to the cadence of gentle piano music. On autopilot, he stood and followed the attendant through the doorway where performers were already warming up.

Jimin needed to stretch before his turn came. Cold muscles made for stiff joints, which were ripe for injury. He moved himself over to a spot on the barre that was empty and began systematically preparing himself. Slowly he could feel eyes turn to him. Jimin never understood why people stared. He thought himself unremarkable and the attention he drew was due to some unseen deformity.

But it wasn’t the case.

The lines of his body were simply breathtaking, and every envious dancer around him noticed. Jimin, with one leg on the barre and his arms reaching out for the sky, was artistically made, sculpted to the ruin of all others. The only one who didn’t know how gorgeous he was was himself.

After warming up, Jimin decided to watch the other performers from the sidelines of the stage. The more he watched the more nervous he felt. Each performance brought him closer to his turn on the stage. He tried to ignore the growing tightness in his throat, focusing instead on immersing himself in the artistry being displayed a mere 10 feet away.

Finally, it was Jimin’s time. He was glad that the wait was over and yet he was nail-bitingly anxious in the same breath. The stage was dark and he slowly moved into place. The audience was buzzing, still excited about the last performance that it had decided couldn’t be topped.

But they were wrong.

The music started on a stage lit only by imagination but still as black as the time before creation. Jimin felt his body relax at once as the beginnings of the song coursed through his blood, lulling him into a trance. He rolled his head once and looked up to the heavens. In return, the heavens looked down on him.

Then, at last, the spotlight opened on him.

Yoongi was hovering over the toilet bowl, having just emptied the remains of his lunch into the water. His face was tear-streaked as he white-knuckled the side of the stall. Outside, he heard the door open and close, and the familiar voice of his best friend yell at some poor fellow bathroom goer.

“Get the fuck out,” Jungkook demanded.

He heard the sink abruptly cut off.

“I’m sorry sunbaen-” a man began to say.

“Leave,” Jungkook hissed coldly.

Yoongi stood up as he heard someone scuffle away.

“Are you in here?” Jungkook called.

“Go away,” Yoongi shouted before he heard footsteps stop behind the door.

Yoongi was one of the few people that could get away with yelling at the great Jeon Jungkook. Perhaps the reason was that Yoongi didn’t fawn over Jungkook or bend over backward to please him like the rest of the populace. Unknown to Jungkook, he himself had no desire to be this great heir to a great chaebol family. He simply wanted to be what Yoongi already saw in him. But the name of what that was remained as mysterious as the dawn.

“I haven’t stepped inside a public restroom in two years,” Jungkook complained. “If I catch a disease, I’m sending you the hospital bill. Now let’s go!”

Despite all that happened, Yoongi smiled. He flushed the toilet, turned around and opened the door. Jungkook looked at him for several seconds before heading for the exit. They’d know each other for a long time, so Yoongi was not expecting a hug or even a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll be outside,” Jungkook said, looking back with a frown before leaving. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Yoongi washed his face at the sink and brushed his teeth with the travel size toothbrush in his pocket. He sighed and gently tapped the sides of his face with his hands. With tremendous effort, he convinced himself that the world was not over.

Jungkook was waiting outside, rubbing sanitizer between his hands. He was muttering about something. Yoongi only caught the words ‘flesh-eating’ and ‘toilet’.

“The show’s started,” Yoongi said. “You wanna stick around and scout out competition?”

Jungkook scoffed. “Competition? As if those rejects have anything on me.”

“You know you wanna watch,” Yoongi cocked his head, some of the life returning to his eyes, “If only to point out the mistakes.”

Smiles caught fire. Jungkook turned back and walked toward the throng where exclusive seats were waiting for them. The two settled in, somehow with glasses of fine champagne in hand. How it got there was of no concern for them. The people that made their lives decadent simply faded away to the background. Even among the rich, they were considered rich. They sat elevated above the rest, the highest above the high.

A full two hours passed. The performances melded into one another, and Jungkook picked them all apart until he was full.

“That jump was sloppy,” Jungkook whispered. “That turn was late.”

Yoongi wasn’t much of a dancer. To his eye, all of the performances were basically the same. He liked some of the song choices and his ear followed the various classical pieces that were presented. He loved music but mp3s blaring through speakers was not enough to keep him interested.

Overall, he’d found the showcases tedious, especially after his ordeal. But despite it all, he was not going to leave. He could tell Jungkook was excited to be there. His best friend was a phenomenal dancer and singer, but his calling was that of a critic.

“Awful,” Jungkook said finally. “He might as well be made of metal.”

Yoongi cocked his head. It was the second-to-last performance, and the crowd’s response was exceptionally enthusiastic.

“I thought it was pretty good,” Yoongi shrugged.

“You also liked Cats,” Jungkook hissed. “Your opinions are no longer valid.”

“I feel a special connection with cats,” Yoongi blinked, his feline eyes almost glowing in the dark.

“I can’t imagine why,” Jungkook joked.

Before the two could continue their conversation, the stage went dark for the final time. They had missed the name of the performer due to their chatter. But it didn’t matter to them. It never mattered.

Except when it did.

The music was original, Yoongi had never heard such a piece before. The pale man could only describe it as what Eve must have heard in the Garden before she decided to break the rules. It was the calamitous suggestions of a snake.

The eye opened upon a boy, who rolled his shoulders once to the song.

“Tell me,” the boy sang, “with your sweet smile. Tell me like a whisper, say it in my ear.”

He’s good, really good.

The boy moved with perfect precision. He was graceful, dangerously so. Even to Yoongi’s untrained eye, he was far better than any of the previous dancers. The musician felt a wave of deja vu as though he’d seen this stage before, and heard this song before. But he knew that that was impossible.

Yoongi followed the boy’s movements and in his mind, he could see the ghost of a second person swirling beside him.This boy reminded him of someone. He didn’t know who it was, but it seemed to be clearing more every second. The boy danced like one possessed, like a lily unfurling for the first time, like a swan on water. When the boy made one final leap into the air, the image became as clear as glass. It was like a mirror, beside the boy stood someone else in the reflection.

“Oh,” Yoongi gasped, realization dawning on him. “Of course.”

Jungkook turned and faced Yoongi. The heir’s cheeks were red and his eyes were wide.

“What?” Jungkook managed to breathe.

Yoongi shook his head and changed the subject. “So what was wrong with that one?”

Surprisingly, Jungkook was silent. He bit his lip as the blush on his face became more and more pronounced. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyeing the boy below as he took a well-deserved bow.

“His clothes were cheap,” Jungkook finally said after a long wait.

But his commentary was like a shot in the dark, a rare miss, a useless word. It made no difference if the boy had worn the finest clothing in Korea or burlap rags. That dance would still have been spectacular.

Yoongi tilted his head in amusement. He’d never seen Jungkook so mentally disheveled.

“I mean about the performance… not what he was wearing.” Yoongi clarified, smirking.

Jungkook looked like a petulant toddler, pouting for no reason. His face had turned as pink as an eraser. In his hands were the remains of the show bill which he’d torn to shreds.

“Nothing,” Jungkook admitted reluctantly. “It was flawless.”

Yoongi couldn’t hide his surprise as he openly gasped. “You okay?”

The short answer was no.

It was like a dream.

He felt like he was floating as he walked under the wrought iron archway that served as the entrance to the Sechs Kies School for the Arts. Jimin still couldn’t believe he had been chosen for the scholarship over so many talented individuals. Performers that, in his mind, were much more talented than he was. It wasn’t until his uniform came in that it really hit him. He was going to be attending the most elite arts school in Seoul, if not the country.

Jimin looked around, taking in the view of the campus. A green lawn and perfectly landscaped foliage stretched out before him, reaching like a grassy sea only to break at the foot of the ivory steps leading up to the immaculate main building. It was flanked on either side by equally impressive structures. From the well-maintained buildings to the students who congregated in clusters seemingly by brand, the whole place screamed money.

Jimin walked toward the steps, passing several groups eyeing his knock-off duds. He felt a blush creeping up his neck, the unwelcome attention causing his brain to supply a list of insecurities. You’re short, your face is chubby, you are wearing the wrong clothes, you cut yourself shaving this morning…

He lowered his head and tried to blend in as best he could, or more like make himself as invisible as possible. He knew there was no way he would blend in. Even so, he tried to ignore the lingering stares and whispers about the ‘poor, ragged transfer student’ as the morning passed and focus on the academic portion of his classes. Unfortunately, his nervousness caused his short-term memory to short circuit. Whatever the teacher was talking about, he had no clue, so he just nodded and pretended to know what was going on. Maybe he shouldn’t have skipped breakfast that morning.

By the time the bell rang for lunch, Jimin could feel his stomach trying to eat itself. After being jostled by the student body, he found himself in what could only be described as a five-star restaurant in the middle of Paris. He could not convince himself that he was still in Korea.

What kind of school cafeteria had several chandeliers on the ceiling and its own wait staff? Why the hell would the salad bar cost twenty-five thousand won a plate? Was caviar one of the toppings? Jimin inspected further to find that, yes, caviar was one of the toppings.

The dessert bar was even more decadent. Jimin had never seen cakes that beautiful in his life, not even at the handful of relative weddings he’d attended. His eyes fell on the most perfectly frosted slice of strawberry cake in the world. There seemed to be a halo around it, a delicate whip cream halo, personally put there by God. Jimin’s mouth watered.

“Move it, transfer student,” a boy yelled. “You’re holding up the line.”

Jimin turned tuna pink, pinker than the fresh-caught, sinfully expensive tuna that they were serving at the sushi bar.

“Sorry,” Jimin bowed before moving to an empty table.

The dancer felt self-conscious as he pulled out his rinky-dink, mom-made lunch. He looked around and realized that no one was looking at him. People were busy chatting with their friends. He watched students smile over gold trimmed plates, talking about the latest gossip. Jimin was relieved at first before the loneliness set in. At his old school, he had scores of friends. Here, they treated him like a leper.

He sighed and opened up the various plastic containers that comprised his afternoon meal. There was radish kimchi over white rice, fish soup with tofu blocks, and various other side dishes. The smell mingled with the clean air and became offensive to passersby.

“It stinks like dog food,” one girl commented loudly enough for Jimin to hear.

The boy lowered his head and ate quietly.

“Yah,” a student yelled, slapping Jimin in the back of the head. “I’m suffocating. Do you know what that rancid shit is doing to me?”

Jimin turned his head and saw three guys behind him.

“No one is asking you to stand over here,” Jimin spat.

The three of them blinked in surprise. They hadn’t expected the sweet looking Busan boy to have any bite.

“Do you know who we are?” the shortest of the three shouted.

Jimin gasped, putting a hand to his mouth. “I’ve heard about you. I can’t believe I’m really meeting you. You’re the fashion police, the lunch division.”

The short man didn’t understand sarcasm. He simply tilted his head in confusion.

“No,” he said seriously. “I’m Jackson Wang of Wang Industries.”

“And I’m Kim Yugyeom,” the taller blond beside him stepped him. “You may have heard of KM entertainment. My father is the CEO.”

“And I’m Bambam,” the last boy said patronizingly. “My mom owns the fashion industry in Thailand.”

Jimin distinctly got the feeling that he was watching a Saturday morning cartoon, where the pink, yellow, and orange rangers were somehow powering up into their final form of ice cream sherbert right in front of his eyes.

“Together we are the official F4 fan club board,” they said in perfect unison.

Jimin listened to their long-winded tirade. Jackson was the president, Bambam was the vice-president and Yugyeom was the secretary. Despite their brilliant introduction, the dancer stood there confused.

“What’s F4?” Jimin asked innocently.

They gasped. It was if Jimin had taken his kimchi stained chopstick and stabbed one of them in the hand.

“The disrespect!” Yugyeom managed to gasp.

The three of them went into a huddle for two whole minutes before coming out.

“We’ll forgive you this time, transfer student,” Jackson said finally. “You’re some poor urchin who doesn’t know anything so we’ll give you the info.”

“That’s F4 over there, the Flower Four,” Yugyeom pointed to the far side of the cafeteria.

Jimin followed the line with his eyes. In the distance, roped off by red velvet, were four gorgeous men. They were dressed to perfection, hair, clothes, and shoes.

“They’re the sons of the most powerful companies in the business,” Bambam explained. “They’re kings. Get it?”

There was a man with dark hair and a long face. He was handsome but in a boyish way, like a child entertainer or a sport’s mascot.

“First off, on the left, that’s Jung Hoseok. Have you heard of the Jung real estate? They own hotels, bars, and restaurants all over the world. You don’t want to mess with them, if you want to live that is.”

Then there was a tall man with bleach blond hair. He had full lips and something distinctly dangerous about him. He looked like the kind of man that could knock a person out with a single punch.

“That’s Kim Namjoon on the right,” Jackson said knowingly. “His family owns the biggest art museum in Korea. But he decided to make it on his own. He’s a genius potter. People would kill for one of his tea sets. He debuted at Biennale when he was just sixteen years old. And that’s not all. He’s the best rapper in the school, probably in the country.”

Then, Jimin looked over at the mysterious Phantom and his heart skipped a beat. Despite trying his hardest, Jimin still hadn’t forgotten about Yoongi and that night at the competition.

“The one with the beautiful eyes, that’s Min Yoongi,” Jackson hissed. “He’s the grandson of a former president, the one that advocated for the Arts. His family is super invested in the music industry. In fact, Yoongi started playing when he was just three. Now, he’s one of the best pianists in the world. Some say that he’s the reincarnation of Mozart.”

“Remember the competition, when he ran off the stage. It was all part of his act,” Bambam continued. “It was brilliant. He’s a true artist.”

The three of them folded their arms and looked at the final member of the F4 with glittering eyes.

“And lastly, there is a man who needs no introduction.” Yugyeom gushed.

Jimin had to admit that he already knew who the last one was. He was Jeon Jungkook, the successor of the Jeon Group, with curly black locks and a sneer on his mouth. Everyone who was older than four knew who the arrogant faced boy was. Jimin knew exactly the kind of boy Jungkook was. He was a bully who had destroyed a gymnast's Olympic dreams.

He wished the chaebol could be hideous like his personality. But, the boy was handsome to Jimin’s dismay. He had large eyes, a charming mouth, pristine skin and a strong build. But despite Jungkook’s appearance, Jimin was still utterly disgusted.

“That’s the F4 leader, Jeon Jungkook,” Bambam squealed. “If you don’t know who he is then you’re a lost cause.”

“If you want to survive, don’t bother them. Don’t even look at them” Yugyeom said coldly. “Stay out of their way.”

“And stay out of ours,” they said with finality.

With that, the three of them stalked off like angry runway models. Jimin was tempted to throw a rice ball in their direction, but then someone else appeared. Jimin regarded the new stranger warily.

“C-can I sit here?” the stranger asked.

Jimin’s heart started beating in his chest. The boy looked like a doll. He was like one of those expensive porcelain dolls that were auctioned off to private collectors for a million won each. But more importantly, he was the only person who was willing to sit next to a poor commoner.

“Sure,” Jimin said, feeling suddenly out of breath.

“Don’t listen to those guys,” he said. “They’re just jealous. They probably haven’t had a homemade lunch since they were five. I bet everyone in this room wants to trade lunches with you, me included.”

Jimin was surprised at how touched he felt. He hadn’t expected to make any friends here. He didn’t think there was one kind soul in this school.

“I’m Lee Jihoon,” the boy bowed respectfully, “But most people call me Woozi. It’s nice to meet you.”

Jimin stood and bowed. “I’m Park Jimin and of course you can sit here.”

Woozi smiled and took a seat. The two traded lunches. Jimin had never eaten such expensive tuna in his life. It was delicious. But Woozi seemed equally happy to scarf down his mother’s heartfelt food. The two talked about classes and after-school clubs. For the first time that day, Jimin felt at ease.

But it was premature.

Jimin snuck a glance at the F4 table. He wanted to see Min Yoongi one more time before he had to go to class. Yoongi was drinking from a fancy teacup, listening to one of the others’ chatter. The sunset haired beauty was smiling, which set Jimin’s heart pounding.

It was then that Jeon Jungkook looked directly at Jimin, narrowing his eyes. Jimin wanted to look away but he couldn’t. His body was suffering from a sudden case of stress-induced paralysis. Jungkook’s gaze shifted from Jimin to Woozi, as a frown started forming on his lips. Then just as quickly the chaebol son looked away.

Jimin swallowed. He tried to convince himself that it meant nothing. Why would Jeon Jungkook bother with them?

The school bell rang and the students proceeded to exit in a systematic order. The system was to move out of the way and let the F4 pass through first. Jimin, despite his pride as a man, moved with the crowd until the sea was parted. Jeon Jungkook, Kim Namjoon, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi walked in slow motion. They were like the angels that destroyed whole cities with a swing of their swords.

Jimin closed his eyes and hoped that they would pass over quickly. When he opened them, Jeon Jungkook was standing right in front of him. The boy with midnight hair glared at him. He had gigantic eyes, and what Jimin could swear was a light blush dusting his cheeks. The chaebol’s eyes shifted over to Woozi, who was standing next to Jimin.

“You,” Jungkook said in a low voice.

Woozi looked around confused before speaking meekly. “Me?”

“Don’t come into the lunchroom again,” Jungkook hissed. “Your face gave me indigestion.”

The students around started laughing. Jimin blinked several times. Did he really mean Woozi? But that made no sense.The young boy was absolutely breathtaking. And why him? Woozi didn’t seem like the kind of person that started trouble

Jungkook looked at Jimin again. The young master folded his arms and tilted his head.

“What are you staring at, transfer student?” Jungkook spat. “Do you have something to say to me?”

Jimin wanted to rip Jungkook a new asshole. But he simply couldn’t. He couldn’t stand out. It was a death sentence.

“No,” Jimin said finally, lowering his eyes.

Jungkook smirked and walked out the door, leaving Jimin standing there with his fists clenched.

Jin was stocking the latest CDs on the shelves. He’d put aside one copy of Lee Taemin’s latest album for Jimin. He knew that Jimin would appreciate it since they’d be sold out by the time he’d arrived for his shift.

The two of them worked at the Big Hits music and electronics store. They had partially overlapping schedules, Jimin’s being a few hours later.

“Are there any left?” Jimin huffed, running through the door. “I have my money right here.”

“They sold out,” Jin said.

Jimin looked utterly dejected. “This has been the worst day of my life. I’m opening the emergency chocolate drawer.”

Jin had the key to the emergency chocolate drawer as a fail safe.

“What happened to you?” Jin asked as he continued to stock the shelf.

“I made a friend today,” Jimin began as he shrugged off his school uniform and put on his work t-shirt.

“Okay?” Jin coaxed. “That doesn’t-”

“Then I met Jeon Jungkook,” Jimin continued.

Jin actually squealed. “Oh my god. What does he smell-”

“The kid is a monster,” Jimin cut him off. “He made my new friend cry.”

“So did you punch him in the face?” Jin asked as if that was the most obvious conclusion.

“No!” Jimin gasped. “I need to keep my head down. I can’t get in trouble.”

“Keep your head down?” Jin repeated incredulously. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Give me the chocolate key,” Jimin sighed, stretching out his hand.

Jin pulled the key from his pocket and gave it to the shorter man.

“I in no way condone your junk food binge,” Jin said sternly

Jimin stared at Jin for ten whole seconds silently. The boy was so done for the day. He stalked over to the drawer behind the cashier’s counter and opened the thing. Laying on top of the various sweets was the last copy of Taemin’s album in an entire ten-mile radius. Jimin’s face gradually became more lively.

“I. Love. You.” Jimin said slowly as he picked up the CD.

“I bought it for you this morning,” Jin explained. “Because I’m the best friend you’ve ever had.”

Jimin nodded enthusiastically.

“I’m so glad that I punched your bully in the face,” Jimin exclaimed. “It was the best decision I ever made.”

“You got suspended for two weeks,” Jin recalled. “God, you could really throw a punch even as an eight-year-old.”

“He had to get braces afterward,” Jimin ruminated further, “but he never bothered you again.”

“And after that, I got to wear pink every day without fear,” Jin’s eyes glittered.

“I should have done it,” Jimin said seriously. “I should have taught Jungkook a lesson.”

“Aww, there’s my Jimin,” Jin exclaimed, playfully messing up the boy’s hair.

It was no secret Yoongi liked to sleep. In fact, he had been sighted snoozing in several locations around campus. As long as the place was quiet and out of the way, it would do. But his favorite place to sleep was, by far, the most out of the way best-kept secret. And for a long time, only the pianist knew about it. There was a door hidden behind a gray wall down an old hallway that led to a small balcony. It was most likely part of a fire escape before the building was renovated. Yoongi would go there often to shut his eyes and avoid the hordes of fangirls at his heels.

He was enjoying a much-needed catnap, curled up on the lower landing with his head cushioned by his backpack. He had a magazine splayed upside down on his face, blocking out the sun. Unfortunately, it was not enough to block out the slamming of the door leading to the corridor from the landing above. Yoongi groaned to himself, the magazine slipping from his face as he rolled over to his other side, his hands back to back between his knees. Whoever was up there hadn’t seen him, judging from the lack of fangirling, so maybe he could still get his nap in.

If only he were so lucky.

“... who the fuck he thinks he is… he messed with the wrong guy this time…” a disembodied voice drifted down to Yoongi’s resting place.

The stairs and banisters that kept him hidden from whoever was above also blocked Yoongi’s view of the noisy intruder. He didn’t quite want to give away his position by peeking at the source of what sounded a lot like someone trying to psych themselves up for a fight. It was odd because he wasn’t aware of any fights having been picked. As part of the top of the social ladder, he was typically privy to such information as Hoseok kept them well informed.

“Just because you are rich don’t mean you have to be an asshole…” the voice continued, the ranting getting more intense.

Well, that narrows down the list of noisemakers… Yoongi thought, his interest piqued. Had he been an actual cat, his ears would have swiveled toward the upper landing.

The majority of the student body was filthy rich. So that left only a single, solitary student. Yoongi sat up, crouching down behind the cement handrail. The boy above had gotten so agitated that the sherbert-haired pianist didn’t even need to strain to hear the angry railing the boy was dishing out.

“You may have gotten away with bullying everyone before, but you hurt my friend and that’s not something I can let go,” the dance god from the competition all but growled, facing away from the wall that Yoongi was peeking over. “John Jungcook! You will not get away with it!”

The guy had balls, Yoongi could credit him that much. It would be interesting to see if the brown-haired dancer actually followed through with any of it. He decided that he had spied enough and that he should gracefully make his exit. He silently climbed the steps until he was directly behind Jimin.

“So noisy… Some people are trying to catch up on some precious sleep,” Yoongi sighed, giving the younger an apathetic look.

The wide-eyed look on Jimin’s face as he slowly turned toward Yoongi was enough to extract an amused smirk from the older.

“S-sunbae!” Jimin stuttered a bit, whether from shock or nervousness, he couldn’t be sure.

“It’s Jeon Jungkook,” Yoongi informed him. “If you are going to declare war on someone, you should probably know their actual name.”

And with a secret smile to himself, Yoongi left a gaping Park Jimin staring after him as the door closed with a loud thud.

Jimin and Woozi ate lunch in the garden. Woozi was too afraid to go back. It had been three days already but Jimin had failed to convince him to rejoin the general population.

“He probably doesn’t even remember you,” Jimin said soothingly.

“I can’t go back,” Woozi sighed. “You heard what he said. My face made him nauseous.”

“I bet he’s just jealous because you’re so good-looking,” Jimin said shrewdly.

Woozi’s cheeks dusted over in cosmic pink.

“You’re just saying that because I shared my tuna with you,” Woozi shook his head.

“Guys like him are worms,” Jimin continued. “Worse than worms.”

Jimin couldn’t be sure, but Woozi looked angry for a moment.

“Don’t talk about him like that!” the boy shouted before lowering his voice. “S-Someone could be listening.”

Jimin wondered why he got so worked up but decided to let it go.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink from the vending machine,” Jimin said, standing up and brushing off the grass on his pants.

“But the vending machine is right next to the cafeteria,” Woozi protested.

“He said not to go in. He didn’t say that you couldn’t stand by it.” Jimin said matter-of-factly.

Woozi smiled. “You’re right.”

Jimin took Woozi’s hand and the two of them walked up the steps to the entrance of the lunchroom. Jimin stole a peek inside the glass. The F4 table was empty.

“They’re not even there,” Jimin announced. “Let’s go in.”

Jimin pulled Woozi along, lacing his fingers through the younger’s.

“No,” Woozi hissed, “I don’t want to get in trouble.”

It was then that Jeon Jungkook rounded the corner with the rest of F4 behind him. He saw Jimin standing there, holding hands with Woozi, about to enter the cafeteria. Jimin, again, could swear that Jungkook had started blushing. The man frowned at the two of them.

“I thought I told you not to come into the messy hall anymore,” Jungkook hissed at Woozi.

He meant mess hall, but no one corrected him.

“We’re not in there,” Jimin said, stepping forward. “So what? We can’t even stand here.”

Yoongi snorted, his face lighting up with a smile. The pale man looked at Jimin in amusement.

Jungkook turned an even deeper shade of red. He was completely flustered, having never been talked back to before, at least not by a mere commoner.

“Why are you holding hands?” Jungkook said mockingly. “Don’t tell me that you’re boyfriends?”

“So what if we are?” Jimin spat back quickly.

The frown on Jungkook’s face deepened as he narrowed his eyes. Jimin noticed how red Jungkook’s ears had turned by this point.

“You’re going to regret this, Park Jimin,” Jungkook said before turning towards the doors and walking inside.

Jimin felt something prickle in his brain. Something seemed off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it right away. Then, he realized what was up. Jungkook had called him by his name. Jungkook knew who he was.

From that point, the whispers about Jimin had increased tenfold.

“What if he gets a red card?” was the most prevalent whisper.

Jimin knew what the red card was because Yoon Jaehan had gone public with it. The red card was how Jungkook had turned the students against the poor gymnast. Jimin really hoped that he wouldn’t find himself with one, not in the very first week.

The boy held his breath as he opened his locker. He closed his eyes for a long while before looking timidly through his left eyelid.

It was clear.

Jimin felt immense relief. Maybe if he kept his head down, the rest of the semester would go smoothly. Maybe Jungkook would forget about him.

But again, his relief was premature.

The transfer student heard a gasp from down the hall and saw a crowd forming on the spot. Jimin ran over in a panic, breathing heavily.

It was Woozi who had drawn a red card. The boy shakily held the scarlet-skulled tag in his hands. He looked up at Jimin with terrified eyes.

Jimin frowned, saying perhaps a sentence that had never before been strung together. “Jeon Jungkook, you’re dead meat.”

Chapter Text

“Jeon Jungkook, you’re dead meat,” Jimin huffed angrily.

Woozi was looking at Jimin with wide, terrified eyes. Jimin snatched the card from the younger’s hands. The dancer was the physical embodiment of fury. Every pore in his skin was sweating fury. The hollow in the strands of his hair was filled up with fury. The crowd backed away, surprised at how intimidating an angry Park Jimin was.

The only one who decided to stand his ground was the arrogant perpetrator himself. Jeon Jungkook was at the end of the parted sea, eyes alight with curiosity. Jimin could see the boy tapping his foot on the other side of the hallway, arms folded. Even from a distance, his arrogant smirk was as visible as the first letter of a sight chart.

Just how many people had been on the receiving end of this boy’s tantrums? Just how many Yoon Jaehan’s were there?

Jimin decided then that Jungkook was evil, pure evil. Jungkook was the kind of person that stole candy from babies and left chairs not pushed in at the table. Jungkook was a menace and Jimin realized that he was the only one who could serve the people’s justice.

“It looks like your little boyfriend is in trouble,” Jungkook said smugly. “If you don’t move out of the way, you’ll end up as collateral.”

Jimin didn’t answer right away. Instead, he snorted. It was the kind of snorting that a man does right before…

Jimin spat on the red card in his hand.

The rest happened in slow motion. Jungkook’s eyes started bulging out of his head as he leaned backward away from Jimin. Jimin lifted the tag up in a swift, fluid motion and pressed the thing firmly against Jungkook’s forehead like it was a letter needing a stamp.

The whole hall was as silent as a graveyard. Then, Jungkook let out a horrified scream, swatting the tag away, but failing because he couldn’t physiologically touch it with his hands. So it remained on his head,

“Jeon Jungkook,” Jimin hissed, “this is my declaration of war. You’ll be sorry that you picked on my friend. I’ve dealt with bullies like you all my life. But look at me. I’m the one who’s still standing.”

Jungkook’s hands were shaking as he, again, tried to lift the red tag off. But it proved to be too much. The rich heir made a noise that was half-retching and half-sobbing. It took him several moments to gather a semblance of sanity. He looked over at Woozi.

“Whoever the fuck you are, I don’t fucking care anymore. Get out of my face,” Jungkook hissed, before turning back to Jimin. “Park Jimin, I won’t stop until you’re on your knees, begging me for forgiveness.”

Jimin didn’t expect himself to laugh. But there it was, first a murmur, then a bubble, then a fountain. Tears streamed out of his eyes as he leaned forward onto his knees. He was a madman with nothing to lose. It was terrifying.

Finally, Jimin straightened up, “You’re pathetic, Jeon.”

It was then that Woozi gasped, covered his face and ran for the exit. Jimin eyed Jungkook for a final moment before running after his friend.

The other F4 members were already coming to Jungkook’s aid: Hoseok with an antibacterial wipe and Namjoon with what looked like smelling salts. Yoongi was the one who finally detached Jimin’s calling card with a curious grin.

The boy had decided to go through with it. The outburst he’d had against the railing hadn’t been as empty as it had seemed.

At that moment, Jungkook and Yoongi had the same exact thought.

Park Jimin, just who are you?

Jimin walked into school to whispers. It was a bit unnerving the way the atmosphere had gone from full volume to hushed buzzing. He caught bits and pieces of conversations.

“-believe he did that to Jeon Jungkook…”

“He must have a death wish…”

“I heard he got kicked out of his old school…”

“-definitely insane to laugh at F4.”

Of course, he hadn’t expected any different. He had outright challenged the head honcho. You don’t just walk away from that unscathed. He had kicked himself repeatedly when he got home, frustrated at himself for stooping to that douchebag’s level. He had just been so angry, it was almost like he was watching from outside of himself. Sure, the asshole had deserved it, and much more, but Jimin had barely reined himself in before knocking the guy’s perfect bunny-teeth out of alignment.

The rumors became more ridiculous the closer he got to his locker. By the time he opened his lock, he had a criminal record, two tattoos, and three kids, one of which was with a teacher. The whispering stopped. He shook his head as he pulled the door open, revealing exactly what he had expected: a pristine red card.

“Park Jimin got the red card!” a boy yelled out. The excitement in the air was tangible.

The students had all known it was coming. Jeon Jungkook would not take an insult like he had received lying down. War had been declared... and they were there for it. In fact, it seemed that some of them had planned ahead in anticipation.

Jimin crumpled up the tag and tossed it into the garbage can in the corner. He wasn’t going to let some rich brat make him cower in fear. He wouldn’t give Jungkook the satisfaction. He had grabbed his books and turned to head to class when, seemingly out of nowhere, a wave of cold, white liquid swept over his face. His jaw dropped as he gasped at the sudden shower.

“He needs some milk!” someone yelled out from somewhere in the crowd.

The calcium-rich drink ran down his neck and soaked through his shirt and tie. He moved toward the bathroom, but the other students had made an aisle for him, lines of milk-armed hands waiting on either side. He looked ahead and made a run for it. Milk came flying at him from all directions like bird seed at a wedding.

As Jimin ran past, his books tucked into the insides of his blazer in an attempt to keep them dry, he saw Woozi at the end of the line. The boy was holding a full, opened strawberry milk. He looked to be having an internal debate. To throw it and fit in, or not to throw it and risk being ostracized again.

His debate was ended when another student, in his eagerness to join in on the baptism, bumped Woozi’s arm roughly. The pink, sugary mixture catapulted, carton and all, straight toward Jimin, hitting him square in the chest. It looked like someone had snuck a red sock into his white laundry.

“Oooooooooo,” the students stopped, the only sound heard was the a/c kicking on.

Jimin stopped mid-run right in front of Woozi, the look of utter betrayal causing the other boy to shrink back and run away. The dairy-covered dancer took a deep breath and held his head high as he made the rest of the journey toward the restroom.

Once safely inside, his facade crumbled. He leaned his back against the bathroom door. He had expected the blowback from the other students, but Jimin had at least expected his one friend in the school to refrain from the attack. He wasn’t sure whether the tears stinging his eyes were from anger or the knife wound in his back. Et tu, Woozi?

Jimin shuffled over to the line of sinks, surveying his appearance in the mirror. The milk had already begun to dry, crusting on his skin and hair. His blazer was soaked, but it was his formerly white shirt that concerned him. While everyone else has launched plain milk, the final shot had been the most damaging. That strawberry milk would be a bitch to get out of the expensive fabric.

“What a waste of perfectly good milk,” Jimin mumbled to himself as he removed the wet blazer and tie. “How many bowls of cereal would that have made? I hope they all get brittle bones when they are old. That’ll teach them not to waste milk!”

He stripped off the fruit flavored shirt, the material making a gross squelching sound as he pulled the tacky, half dried button-up from his chest. He was attempting to scrub the sticky out with hand soap when the bathroom door opened. A strangled gulp that sounded a lot like “fuck” came from the direction of the hall. Jimin’s eyes shot to the door, his state of undress forgotten in his haste to determine if the intruder came in peace or bearing more projectiles.

Min Yoongi stood, wide eyed and red faced, in the closing door. Jimin braced himself for some sort of attack, but it never came. He heard the door slam closed. He opened his eyes, having screwed them shut in anticipation, and was met with an empty bathroom. The only sign that someone else had been there was a lump of cloth on the bench near the door.

Jimin crossed the distance to the pile to investigate. Lying rumpled on the bench was a partially folded gym uniform. He picked it up. It had the name MIN on the back.

It was just his size.

Yoongi liked four things with a certain alacrity. He enjoyed sleeping, first and foremost. Secondly, he also liked cranapple-juice, but that wasn’t particularly relevant. What went well with juice? The third thing, animal crackers. But again, off topic.

Fourth, there was this one thing that was bringing Yoongi life at that moment. It was messing with his best friend, Jungkook.

“He’ll be here any second,” Jungkook said, pacing back and forth. “All he has to do is admit defeat. Then, it’ll be over.”

Never had Jungkook offered a red card receiver any respite. Yoongi could tell that this was no ordinary game to Jungkook. Something about this was entirely off.

“They poured milk all over him,” Yoongi casually reported. “I found him in the bathroom. He was a mess.”

Yoongi watched carefully for Jungkook’s reaction. He would draw his conclusions based on it. Though he was already leaning one way.

“Why is he so proud?” Jungkook frowned, clearly disappointed with the news.

The Jeon heir ran a nervous hand through his dark locks and sank into a luxurious couch. Yoongi cocked his head. Jungkook’s standard response ranged from apathy to mild amusement. Never had he frowned when regarding a hazing. The reaction had set Yoongi’s brain to hyper-alert.

“He spat on me. He should at least apologize for that,” Jungkook muttered dejectedly.

Yoongi felt bees buzzing in his skull. Jungkook was defensive. Never had the younger ever thought to defend his actions. His default setting was always unquestionably justified. This was new.

“They also did that chalkboard-eraser-door trap on him,” Yoongi continued. “He looked like a powdered donut this morning.”

Jungkook’s ears turned pink.

“Who even uses chalk anymore?!” Jungkook sputtered.

“You seem upset,” Yoongi simply pointed out.

“Of course I’m upset!” Jungkook yelled. “Those pranks are so unoriginal.”

“I wonder how much more he can take before he leaves,” Yoongi yawned.

“Leaves?” Jungkook said softly, his eyes suddenly anxious. “But what about me?”

Yoongi looked at his friend curiously.

“I mean, what about my apology?” Jungkook clarified. “I’m not letting Park Jimin get away.”

Yoongi continued to look at his friend curiously.

“I mean, I’m not letting Park Jimin get away with it!” Jungkook yelled, cheeks pink.

Before Yoongi could respond, Namjoon and Hoseok returned from their Rap Battles of History class... or was it History of Rap Battles class? Yoongi never cared enough to remember.

“How was class?” Yoongi asked, looking away from Jungkook.

“Informative,” Namjoon said curtly before slumping beside Jungkook.

“Creative,” Hoseok continued with the one-word descriptions.

“I was just filling in Kookie over here about the newest red carder,” Yoongi smiled.

Namjoon and Hoseok exchanged quizzical glances. They knew every look that Yoongi had and were in an exclusive group that could tell each one apart. Right now Yoongi was planning something interesting to cut the days of monotony. They were immediately on the trail.

“Park Jimin?” Hoseok asked innocently. “Are we still on that?”

“Let’s bet on how long before he quits,” Namjoon chimed in. “I give it three more days.”

Yoongi noticed Jungkook’s frown deepen.

“That’s so childish!” Jungkook scolded the man to his surprise.

Usually, Jungkook was down for insult to injury. He never gave his enemies anything resembling mercy. Namjoon’s eyebrow shot up. The rapper was the second to catch on.

“He’ll stay,” Jungkook continued. “I know his type. That garbage boyfriend of his still needs protecting.”

Hoseok cocked his head, thrilled to supply the latest gossip. “Actually, that boy poured strawberry milk all over him. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“God, people these days,” Jungkook complained once more. “No loyalty at all.”

Hoseok frowned. He finally noticed how upset Jungkook was. Then his eyes brightened.

The three of them were on the same page as they looked at their supposed leader. Then, they turned toward each other, eyes conveying their sudden anticipation.

This is going to be fun.

Jimin wasn’t made to be alone. He thrived in social settings, the bigger the better. The dancer was seriously thinking about transferring back to his old school. The class sizes were probably unfashionably big. The instructors could have been forgivingly mediocre. He might have been a shark in a tiny fish bowl. But, at least he had friends.

Jimin could still smell something rancid in his hair, despite having shampooed and conditioned. Milk, eggs, flour, or whatever else you could use to make pancakes had been absorbed into the follicles. He could take a thousand showers and the odor would still persist.

“What’s got you down?” Jin asked as he stocked shelves beside the lonely boy.

“I think I want to come back,” Jimin sighed. “We could be classmates again.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jin said, anger marring his features.

Jimin shook his head. Anger couldn’t mar Jin’s features. Jin was far too beautiful for that.

“If only you could transfer over,” Jimin sighed. “I bet you’d win over the school in one day.”

“Why would I want to? Not after what they did to you,” Jin said matter-of-factly, “We could get bullied together, and eat lunch out on the lawn with the outcasts.”

“I’m the only outcast,” Jimin explained. “Woozi-”

“Joined the dark side?” Jin continued. “Fitting in is a double-edged sword, my friend.”

“I can’t even hate him for it. I’m just disappointed,” Jimin sighed.

“I’m sure he’s sorry,” Jin said.

“I don’t know about that,” Jimin said dejectedly.

“I’m sure because there is a cute kid holding an apology cake standing right behind you,” Jin pointed.

Jimin turned on his heels.

Woozi stood there, arms full of a beautiful cake. It was immaculate, the white frosting perfectly smooth and strawberries sliced to look like hearts decorating the edges. In the center of the top were the words “I’m Sorry” in perfect cursive.

“I’m a jerk,” Woozi said, his lips turned down into a frown. He shuffled his feet as he faced Jimin.

“Yeah, you kind of are…” Jimin replied sharply. He turned back to the row of CDs, making a show of lining up the already straight line.

Jin looked curiously at the boy with a raised eyebrow. “Where is your magician rose bouquet of apology flowers? This is a poor show on your par-”

Jimin shot Jin a subarctic look.

“I think my mom is calling me,” Jin said hurriedly as he walked away from the fallout zone.

Jimin turned back to the row. He continued to look busy, too busy for a certain sad-looking doll.

“I know it doesn’t excuse what I did, but I wasn’t going to throw it…” Woozi said, voice barely above a whisper. Jimin’s hands froze. “but my arm got bumped…”

“That’s all you have to say to me?” Jimin spun around, his eyes hard. He had been prepared to forgive the boy, but not if he wouldn’t even acknowledge his betrayal. “Do you know how much it hurt to have your only friend turn his back on you in front of everyone?”

“I shouldn’t have even considered throwing it… I am a horrible friend,” Woozi hung his head, looking like a kicked puppy. He held the cake out to the dancer. “Please accept my apology.”

Jimin thought about slamming the cake to the floor, but he knew that Jin would never forgive him for destroying that level of confectionary artistry. Also, Jimin was raised right. He took the cake and gently placed it on the table next to the cash register. The dancer couldn’t help but feel like he was being bought.

Woozi looked up at Jimin, his hand reaching into his bag. He produced a strawberry milk from the depths and held it out to the other boy. Jimin looked at him like he was nuts.

“What is this?” Jimin asked.

“Strawberry milk,” Woozi stated. He knew Jimin wasn’t asking about the contents of the bottle. “Take it and pour it on me. I deserve it.”

“What? No,” Jimin refused, giving him an incredulous look. “We are in a store. Do you know how much of a mess that would make?”

“Fine,” Woozi said, pulling the milk back and opening it. “If you won’t, I will.”

Woozy tipped the milk bottle over his head, but Jimin grabbed it from his hand and brought it to his own lips. He drank down the whole thing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he tossed the bottle into the recycling bin and gave Woozi a smile.

“Apology accepted,” Jimin snagged a strawberry from the top of the cake and popped it into his mouth. “Milk baths are overrated.”

“So,” Jin poked his head out from the back room, “are we gonna eat this thing or is it a stage prop?”

Days passed and Jimin had begun to wonder if rich people really had nothing better to do than make his life a living hell. The hazing continued, day in and day out. The first day had seen him covered in more than just milk. Chalk dust, various food items, dirt… if it could be dumped or tossed on him, it had been.

It had become a kind of contest for who was most imaginative or did the most damage. So far, first place was held by a girl who had drizzled honey in Jimin’s gym bag and stuck it in an ant pile before returning it to his locker. Jimin had reached in for his towel and drawn back a hand full of bites. That had warranted a trip to the nurse’s office for antihistamine cream. He was still finding ant carcasses in the various textbooks and clothing items that he owned. But luckily, he had an iron stomach for that kind of warfare.

Jimin made his way to the cafeteria, hunger nipping at his insides. He walked straight over to the microwave, intent on heating his homemade lunch of omurice, kimchi pancakes, and quartered tomatoes. He also had a canteen of grass jelly tea to wash it all down with. He just needed to slink in unnoticed. If he could just refuel, he knew he could make it to the end of the day.

He watched the plastic containers turn around and around in the microwave, the rotation hypnotic to his hunger-addled brain. The beep sounded, and Jimin’s mouth watered like one of Pavlov’s dogs. The aroma from his lunch made his stomach growl and his taste buds do a happy dance in anticipation. He turned to go toward his usual table where Woozi was waiting for him.

He was glad the other boy had started hanging out with him again. Lunchtime had been very lonely by himself. Besides, food just tasted better with company. Woozi waved at him from the table and Jimin lifted a hand to wave back, gripping the tray with his food on it with the other hand. Jimin was focused on his friend, so he didn’t see the foot that one of the taller boys had stuck out into his walkway.

His foot caught under the boy’s calf and Jimin took a deep gasp. The world slowed to a snail’s pace, as if someone were creating the scene using stop motion and he was a clay figure on a bendable frame. His eyes got comically wide as he saw the world tilt.

No, it was his food tray coming to meet him, breaking his fall.

Jimin face planted into his bowl of omurice. It was not the way he planned to eat his lunch. The boy unsteadily got his feet to survey the damage. It was a disaster area. It couldn’t be worse, not even if someone has spilled several plates of spaghetti on paper-white carpet. Kimchi pancakes decorated the floor, drinking up the grass jelly sludge. Where had the tomatoes gone? Jimin realized that their carcasses were smeared on the front of his button-up.

Jimin wanted to cry, not for himself, though he felt utterly humiliated. He wanted to cry for the lost food, the immaculate lunch that his mother had lovingly made for him. All around him he heard a slow clap begin, gradually getting faster with a few whoops thrown in for good measure. He looked over at the boy whose tree trunk of a leg had caused the fall.

“Oops,” the boy grinned, clearly unapologetic as the students around him patted him on the back. He had taken first place.

The rice-covered boy knelt down to try to scoop the mess back onto the tray. A set of white school shoes entered his vision. Jimin’s eyes followed the legs up to see the face of the owner of said school shoes. Woozi looked down at him with a frown before crouching down to assist with the clean-up.

“You ok?” Woozi asked, scraping soggy pancake into a napkin.

Jimin didn’t answer right away. He was still mourning the loss of his meal. As if on cue, his stomach growled loud enough to be heard by nearby students. His cheeks turned bright pink.

Woozi collected the containers from the floor and stood, grabbing Jimin’s arm to pull him to his feet.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” the doll-faced blond said.

Jimin got his feet, his eyes focused in the distance where Jungkook was looking at him. The boy wasn’t clapping with the rest of the populace, nor was he smiling triumphantly. He simply looked confused. Jimin scanned the F4 table for Yoongi, wondering how the he was reacting to his Carrie moment. But Yoongi was gone, despite having been sitting there just a minute ago.

“I have an extra change of clothes,” Woozi urged the shell-shocked boy forward.

“I have two,” Jimin muttered to himself, “How else would I make it through the day?”

The two boys retrieved Jimin’s gym clothes from his locker. Then, they went to the bathroom to get cleaned up. However, when they returned to stow the soiled clothing away, there was an odd smell coming from inside. Jimin opened the locker.

They looked at each other in confusion. That hadn’t been there a few minutes ago…

There were two plastic containers filled with food. Jimin opened the first box to find a salmon sushi roll cut neatly into six pieces. Sitting beside it was half of a grilled cheese sandwich, a pickle perched atop it, cut lengthwise. It was the most unconventional, and yet oddly appealing, lunch that Jimin had ever seen.

“Well, now I’m curious to see what’s in the other box,” Woozi commented.

The second box contained an array of sweets that lacked any common theme. There were eight sticks of strawberry pocky lining one side. There were fancy, assorted chocolates in one neat row along the other side. Shoved next to a mound of granny smith apple slices, in the corner, was a smushed red-velvet cupcake with a cherry on top.

“Who’s this from?” Jimin wondered.

It was Woozi who spotted the yellow post-it hanging from the bottom of the container. The boy pulled it off and read it aloud.

“ ‘Sometimes he really does act like a John Jungcock,’ ” Woozi quoted with a raised eyebrow. “ ‘White flag?’ ”

Jimin felt suddenly warm under the collar. He knew exactly who this food was from.

They headed back to the cafeteria, food in hand. They had to walk passed the F4 table on their way to the outside tables. Jimin glanced toward them.

Yoongi was eating one half of a grilled cheese sandwich, sans pickle. As Jimin caught his eye, he winked, a small smile gracing his face as he chewed.

Jimin’s face turned cherry red. Yoongi had given him his pickle.

Woozi, who had missed the whole exchange, retrieved his lunch and led Jimin outside.

Jungkook, who had not missed the exchange, stabbed at his lunch with his chopsticks, mumbling unintelligible, angry words.

It was nearing the end of regular classes and Yoongi found himself with a free period. His history teacher had called in sick or something. He wasn’t sure of the exact details, but he didn’t question it. It was like they said (whoever the hell they were): don’t look a gift nap in the mouth.

Yoongi walked to the end of the hallway to the all too familiar door. However, through the window to the right of the door, he saw brown hair and PARK written across the back of a track jacket. He got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t going to get that nap.

He was strangely okay with that.

Pushing the door open, Yoongi was nearly beside the boy before he was noticed. Jimin turned around abruptly, something yellow neatly folded clutched to his chest.

“Sunbae-nim,” Jimin greeted, clearly flustered. Yoongi thought pink was a great color on the boy.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Yoongi replied nonchalantly. He leaned back against the railing.

“Uh, good, um great, actually… Oh,” Jimin said, remembering the clothes he was holding. He thrust the yellow gym suit toward Yoongi. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Glad I could help, but you keep it as a spare,” Yoongi smiled so big that his gums showed, cocking his head to the side. “Did you enjoy my pickle?”

Jimin’s blush deepened, and Yoongi couldn’t help but think it was cute.

“Um, it was… yeah,” Jimin sputtered, “thanks so much.”

“Kookie was pretty mad about it,” Yoongi continued. “I usually give him the pickle.”

They laughed before a comfortable silence settled between them. Well, comfortable for Yoongi. Jimin seemed to be fidgeting with the hem of his track suit. The boy was biting the corner of his lip and Yoongi could tell that he wanted to say something.

“Go ahead,” Yoongi nudged the boy’s arm, “ask me.”

“Why are you friends with him?” Jimin asked quickly.

Yoongi understood Jimin’s confusion. It seemed like he and Jungkook were like night and day. He was calm, kind, and considerate while his best friend was impulsive, cruel, and arrogant.

“He’s an asshole. He was an asshole when he was five and he’s still an asshole,” Yoongi admitted, “But he’s there when I need him. He treats his friends well. He’s fiercely protective, and insanely loyal.”

Yoongi watched the boy process the information. But ultimately, Jimin looked unconvinced.

“I only see how he treats me,” Jimin rebutted, “Lemme tell you, I’m not seeing that stellar personality you’re talking about.”

Yoongi laughed to himself, a secret passing over his eyes and to his lips. If only Jimin understood how Jungkook operated.

“The thing is,” Yoongi mused, “I’m pretty sure he likes you.”

Jimin’s eyes faltered as several emotions passed over his face. Yoongi could only catch the tail end of it. The boy looked disappointed, angry, but mostly just doubtful.

“Actually,” Jimin said in a sterile tone, “I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

Yoongi laughed, mirth filling his eyes with warm light. The pale man could see the blush rising on Jimin’s face.

“He’s always been like this,” Yoongi admitted, “In fact, he gave me a red index card in kindergarten and declared war on me. I just pushed him off the seesaw and we’ve been best friends ever since.”

Yoongi wondered why he volunteered that information. He hadn’t talked to anyone about his childhood in a long time, not even when it became clinical. But, Jimin was just so easy to talk to.

“E-even if he likes me,” Jimin stuttered, “I-I like someone else already.”

Yoongi nodded knowingly. It was pretty obvious who Park Jimin liked. It was a certain doll-faced boy who he sat with at lunch every day.

Yoongi sighed. “Woozi? He’s a lucky guy.”

Jimin looked down, a slight frown on his lips. “Woozi is just a friend.”

The boy seemed put out, clearly uncomfortable. Yoongi decided not to push him further. Instead, he elected to change the subject.

“I like you, Park Jimin,” Yoongi announced.

“What?” Jimin nearly shouted, stumbling backward.

“I think we should be friends too,” Yoongi continued, “I’ll help you get out of this pickle.”

“Pickle?” Jimin said slowly, his eyes glossy. His face turned peachy again.

Yoongi smiled, his features appearing almost devilish. He briefly wondered if Jimin had some strange pickle kink. The man filed it away for future teasing before letting the boy know that he was masterminding something.

“I have a plan,” the pale man said secretively.

Jimin had finally resolved to stay at the school from hell. The bullying was terrible, but the dance classes they offered were the best in the country. The instructors on their payroll were the best in the business. The students that came from this school were the best in their field. In fact, Jimin’s idol, Lee Taemin was a Sechs Kies alumni.

Then, there were also Min Yoongi and Woozi, who were on his side. Whenever he was ‘accidently’ hit with food, he’d find a change of clothes miraculously with arm’s reach. When a day was particularly trying, Jimin would find himself on the secret balcony where Yoongi would be sleeping. The two talked about music, and Jimin had found out that Yoongi was also a Lee Taemin fan.

Jimin drew strength from wherever he could find. He noticed little by little that the student body was getting bored with his lack of response, his straight face, and his unwavering cadence. In fact, a few students had backed off, perhaps out of respect for his immense internal strength. Jimin could finally focus on why he’d come to this school in the first place: dance.

Jimin took off his shoes and traded them for his hip-hop sneakers. Before putting them on his feet, he clairvoyantly shook them upside down.

Tacks.

“How original,” Jimin muttered tiredly to himself.

Jimin reached for his bottle, but before he could take a sip, he poured the thing out into the water fountain drain. Instead of water, there was some brownish-mud water in the thing. Jimin proceeded to rinse the bottle out several times before refilling it. He knew every trick in the book. Nothing could get past his steely defenses.

“Whatever,” Jimin sighed as he took a clean drink.

Bambam, Jackson, and Yugyeom’s faces fell. They had been planning that particular prank for the last fifteen minutes. The fruit of their labor had rotted on the vine, so the three stalked off in search of some liquid refreshment. Jimin didn’t bother looking up as he laced up his familiar red high tops.

“Class, Mr. Kim is absent today so his class will be joining us.”

Jimin didn’t realize what that meant. He only had a fleeting thought about how small the class sizes were, and that ten students instead of five made no difference. In his previous school, they’d fit thirty kids in one tiny room and expected them to fly.

But his apathy soon dissipated. As Jimin looked up from his shoes, Jungkook entered through the door. The two looked at each other, surprised at first, but it quickly turned into bitterness.

“I wonder what stinks in here,” Jungkook said quickly, drawing first blood.

Jimin bit his tongue and turned away. The transfer thought that maybe if he just ignored the boy, that he’d go away. But there was no such luck. Jungkook frowned and stalked right up to the boy, shoving him out of the way.

“Move it, Park” Jungkook hissed, “You’re taking up all the space in the room.”

Jimin stumbled backward and landed on his butt. He looked up at Jungkook hatefully before moving to the far side of the room. But Jimin could have sworn that Jungkook looked disappointed that he had completely disregarded him.

Jimin shook it off and continued to stretch. He would not let Jungkook get to him. He wouldn’t let Jungkook take away his valuable instructional time. He would not get distracted.

Min Yoongi walked into the room next, holding a juice box in one hand and a handful of animal crackers in the other. The pale man looked singularly bored until his eyes landed on Jimin. Then his mouth turned imperceptibly upward. The only one who saw the change was Jimin. The dancer had studied Yoongi’s face from every angle, whenever it was possible. He’d become a Yoongi expert.

“How’s it going, Jimin?” Yoongi asked casually within everyone’s hearing range.

This elicited vicious, quiet buzzing in the room. What was happening? Wasn’t Jimin the sworn enemy of the F4? Why was Yoongi addressing him in such a friendly manner?

Jimin bowed respectfully.

“I’m good, Sunbaenim!” Jimin said, with reddened ears, “How are you?”

“I usually nap during dance class,” Yoongi shrugged, “but I think I’ll stay awake this time.”

Jimin felt all the blood in his body rush into his face. He prayed that the older didn’t notice. But Yoongi’s eyes were twinkling with magic and Jimin knew that his embarrassment had not gone unnoticed.

“Yoongi,” Jungkook called, “why are you talking to the trash bin? Get over here.”

Yoongi sighed and gave Jimin a salute before walking over to Jungkook. Jimin eyed them as they had a strange half-secret conversation.

“Is this because of the thing?” Jungkook whisper-screamed.

The most logical question would have been ‘what thing?’, but between the two, there was no such miscommunication.

“Nah, it’s not because of that,” Yoongi sat down and put his food down beside him.

Jungkook wanted to protest against Yoongi eating floor cookies, but he didn’t. He folded his arms and tapped his foot, but then relented and started stretching for class.

“Since we’ve combined classes, I thought today we could have some fun. I’m going to play some music, and you will choreograph your own routine. You have one hour. Winner earns extra credit on their final showcase.”

The teacher turned on the music.

A violin played gently, a strong solitary E note. The count was four over four but the opening seemed to hang on forever. It was Swan Lake. Jimin knew almost instantly, even before the first bar had ended.

Jimin’s heart twisted inside the cavity that was his chest as he looked at Min Yoongi. In his head, the image of a man who could only be a man in the light of a pale full moon appeared. When the moon fell to the glory of the sun, the man’s curse would return and he’d become a beast once more.

“Seonsaeng-nim… but this is ballet? This is a hip hop-” a girl immediately protested.

“Ms. Choi, you’re suffering from a lack of imagination,” the teacher said. “But don’t worry. It’s entirely curable.”

The music changed on a dime, the classical feel suddenly remixing into something urban. The violin turned electric, and a baseline filled in the empty lower clef. The song sped up, and so did the turns that Jimin imagined himself doing.

Jimin looked up from his sneakers and saw Jungkook doing a series of quick turns that put the Tasmanian devil to shame. Jimin pulled at the collar of his white t-shirt to alleviate his growing annoyance. He clicked his teeth. Annoyance wasn’t the right name for the feeling. It was something else, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Jimin stretched the back of his thighs out by touching his toes. He noticed his hands were shaking. Then, he realized that this playing field was level, even if the entire school wasn’t, even if the entire world wasn’t. The dance floor was fair game and each challenger had a single chip.

It dawned on Jimin that he wasn’t annoyed. The shaking, the nail biting, the jiggling leg, had been confused. It was excitement. He wanted to beat Jungkook at the only thing that mattered at all. Shoe tacks, sour milk, and kick me notes meant nothing at all to him. But well-timed spins made the earth revolve.

The hour had come and gone as quickly as gravity pulled grains of sand down the cross of a glass. It was a cosmic blink and Jimin felt both ill and yet over-prepared. The energy in his body had passed critical levels and he would melt down if he didn’t expend it soon.

“Who wants to go first?”

Jimin’s hand shot straight up, but so did half the students. The girl that complained ended up going up first.

The music filled the air anew just like it had the first time, losing none of its novelty. The girl was brilliant, wonderful, and precise. Jimin loved her performance.

“Whoa, that was great,” Jimin gasped as the girl came to a final stop.

The girl looked up angrily at him, reminding Jimin that he was still a pariah.

“Who cares what you think!” the girl replied with an arrogant huff.

“That was garbage,” Jungkook hissed at the girl a second later, “I wish I could have my memory erased.”

She wilted under his scrutiny. She turned on her heel and ran out of the room.

The rest of the performances went off smoothly, until finally, Jimin and Jungkook were left. Jimin had raised his hand every time, only to be passed over. Jungkook had kept his arms folded until he could secure the last spot.

“Oh my, we’re almost out of time. I think Jungkook and Jimin will have to go together. Thank god we have the floor space.”

Yoongi smiled widely, cocking his head to the side, watching Jungkook intently.

“Fine,” Jungkook and Jimin said synchronously.

The teacher smiled and winked. Jimin could have sworn that Yoongi winked back. Jimin turned his head to confirm, only to find that the man was eating crackers and looking at the ceiling.

“Ready to lose?” Jungkook said with a smirk.

“Always,” Jimin said cryptically.

Jimin wasn’t afraid to lose. He’d always gotten back up. This time was no different. Jimin was a spring, ready to release all the coiled energy in his body.  

The E note set in motion two dancers of the highest caliber. Jungkook started off with a series of quick, flawless twirls. But Jimin was the exact opposite, reaching up slowly, relying on his form to bolster the music. When the beat dropped, Jungkook slowed to a crawl, but Jimin looked like someone had pressed the 2X button.

They were opposites, the definition of contrast. But oddly enough, the two strong, torrential forces didn’t destroy each other. Instead, Jimin and Jungkook fed off each other, push and pull. By the end, even Yoongi, with his layman's eye for dance, could tell what it was. It wasn’t combat. It was a duet.

The song stopped with Jimin stretching in the air and Jungkook curling up into a ball. The performance had been stunning, award-worthy, utterly heart-stopping. There were five seconds when the only sound was the heavy breathing of two dancers, staring at each other hard. Then, the room exploded with thunderous applause.

“The winner is-”

The teacher smiled brightly.

“-the both of you. It’s a tie.”

The bell rang. Jungkook didn’t say anything about sharing first place with Jimin. Instead, he simply turned and walked out the door. Yoongi got up, saluted the class, quickly slipped the teacher an undisclosed amount of money, and walked out.

Jimin was still breathing heavy, exhausted from giving it everything he had. Was that a part of Yoongi’s plan? Would this somehow get Jimin out of his current school pariah predicament?

The boy looked around. For once, no one was giving him the stink eye. No one one was calling him names There was just a long, stunned silence as people slowly filed out of the room. It seemed to have worked.

He’d just tied with the ‘great’ Jeon Jungkook. He’d ‘proven’ himself.

Yet the victory tasted sour in his mouth. Jimin felt dirtier for it. He didn’t tie that dance battle by his own volition. Yoongi had paid the judge off to teach Jungkook some humility. Jimin too had learned humility.

Despite everything, Jungkook was a fantastic dancer, better than him by a long shot. Jimin cursed himself. Until he could meet the boy on even ground, he’d train like hell. Jimin resolved to practice tonight, and every night to come until that day.

Wait for me.

Jungkook had never tasted defeat before. It was so bitter that he realized that he couldn’t palate it. In his mind, the only reason they tied was that he was a Jeon. If Jimin had been the son of a powerful group, he’d have won uncontested. Jungkook wished he could spit the taste out of his mouth. It was more acrid than unsugared coffee.

“It was a tie,” Yoongi insisted as he walked beside Jungkook, tagging along for extra practice.

“Anyone with eyes could see,” Jungkook hissed darkly, “that he won.”

“You’re acting strange these days,” Yoongi answered with a Cheshire smile, glowing in the dark hallway, “I’ve never heard you admit defeat before. Not even when you really lose.”

“Your back hit the ground before my knee,” Jungkook said quickly, knowing exactly what Yoongi was talking about. It was a Ssireum match from three years ago. “There was even video replay.”

“See!” Yoongi shouted. “This is what I’m talking about. You never admit defeat. Even when you have to flip your best friend over and body slam him into a mat.”

“What’s your point?” Jungkook sighed, wondering how this conversation became about sports.

Yoongi shrugged. “I think you’re obsessed.”

“That’s only because that pig is some how getting the better of me,” Jungkook cried. “I have to figure out how to destroy him.”

“Everyone else is doing enough on your behalf,” Yoongi sighed. “If he doesn’t give up, I think he might end up dead.”

Jungkooks face turned white, as the blood drained from his cheeks, “Why is he so fucking proud. Does he have a third leg-”

Before the two could continue their conversation, there was a scream from somewhere ahead.

“Help me,” a desperate, far-away cry sounded.

Jungkook cocked his head. The voice seemed oddly familiar. He turned to Yoongi, only to see that the pale man had jetted off in a split second. The hall filled with the sound of sneakers against linoleum, as Yoongi had run faster than Jungkook had ever seen him move. Jungkook, on the other hand, was frozen to the spot.

“They wouldn’t really? Would they?” Jungkook wondered aloud as he felt his panic steadily rise.

Of course they would. They’d done the same thing to Jaehan when he dared to exist. But Jungkook hadn’t cared if that man died, anything to remove the stain of his existence. Why was Jimin any different?

But he was different.

Jungkook started walking slowly in the direction of the commotion, his pace quickening with every footstep.

What if Jimin could never walk again just like Jaehan? Jungkook felt his heart clench. He felt that a world in which Park Jimin couldn’t dance would be all the darker.

And it would be his fault.

Jungkook broke out into a run, turning the corner so that the lockers became visible.

Jimin was there with a bloody lip at the far end. His clothing was torn. His hair was a mess. He swung his fist and one of his attackers fell to the floor. Jungkook counted the bodies, one, two, three. They’d tried to jump him in the dark, three against one.

Yoongi was breathing heavily, his hand balled into a fist. It had appeared that he’d taken out at least one of the attackers given the split of his knuckles. Jungkook watched from the shadows, wishing somehow he could trade places with Yoongi. But he didn’t understand why he felt like that.

Yoongi turned to Jimin, who was still breathing shakily. He regarded the boy as though he were made of glass.

“Are you alright, Jimin?” Yoongi asked softly.

Jungkook didn’t know why, but he hoped desperately that the pig was alright. He wished that Jimin would just stalk off like usual, lips pressed into a tight line. In all the time of his bullying, Jimin had never cried, not in front of Jungkook, not in front of anyone.

But even in the dark, Jungkook could see Jimin’s lower lip wavering.

“No,” Jimin whispered so loud that it set Jungkook’s heart pounding.

Where was he hurt? And how badly?

Jimin shoulders started vibrating as fat tears streaked down his face.

“Thanks for saving me, hyung,” Jimin said between sobs.

Yoongi stepped forward and Jungkook held his breath. What the hell was happening?

“Are you hurt?” Yoongi asked with concern in his eyes.

“Yes,” Jimin said, wiping his face with his sleeves.

He was like a child with scraped knees, completely helpless to tend to himself. He was so innocent and small in the distance. Jungkook wondered what kind of horrific person would do something like this, only to realize that he was the monster in this scenario.

“Where?” Yoongi asked tenderly, taking a hold of Jimin’s shoulders to steady him.

“Inside,” Jimin cried. “I’m dying on the inside. It hurts so much. I didn’t cry in front of them. I couldn’t give them the satisfaction. But every hit, it hurt so bad.”

Jungkook swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. He watched the singular light disappear between the two figures.

Yoongi wrapped his arms around Jimin protectively, gently patting him on the head with one hand.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said on repeat, the mantra filling the cool air. “You’re strong... but that doesn’t mean you’re invincible. I’m sorry that I didn’t come sooner.”

“Thank you,” Jimin said, barely a whisper, though Jungkook could hear it all with perfect clarity.

Yoongi turned his head at last. Jungkook locked eyes with him. The exchange was hard. The easy nature of their friendship had suddenly turned to ice.

Jungkook realized at that moment that he had lost twice in one day. He’d lost to Jimin during the dance competition earlier. He was losing to Yoongi right then. But what was he losing? He couldn’t figure it out.

Jungkook shook his head, willing for the confusion to dissipate, but he still felt dizzy.

“Let him go,” Jungkook shouted, making his presence known.

Jimin turned his body, trying to break the hug. But Yoongi continued to hold the boy from the side.

“Who’s there?” Jimin called out, face pink.

Jungkook stepped into the dim lighting. His face was absolutely livid.

“Step away from him, Yoongi,” Jungkook commanded.

Yoongi was frowning. His eyes were adamant, defiant even. He didn’t let Jimin go. Instead, he pulled the boy closer, so that they were flush against each other.

“No,” Yoongi said softly to no one in particular.

A thin, gossamer strand snapped in half.

Chapter Text

“Step away from him, Yoongi.”

Jimin looked back and forth between the two elites. Electricity crackled in the space between them. The tension was high, and the air was only getting thicker.

Jungkook’s eyes burned Jimin’s skin with the intensity of his glare. He felt like he had fallen asleep on the surface of the Sun.

If Jungkook was fire, then Yoongi was ice.

Jimin had expected for Yoongi to back down once Jungkook had made his demand, but he found himself closer, so close he could smell the man’s soap as his nose was buried against Yoongi’s neck. God, he smells so good…

“No,” Yoongi mumbled, so softly that Jimin was sure Jungkook couldn’t hear it. The pale man inhaled deeply.

“No,” Yoongi stated, cold and hard, leaving no room for debate.

Icicles shot toward the sun, slicing the delicate status quo.

Jimin looked up in shock. Yoongi’s eyes were unwavering. His jaw was set. His shoulders were squared. His arms were firmly locked around Jimin’s back. He looked dangerous, a complete 180 from only seconds before.

The brown-haired man glanced toward Jungkook in time to see momentary shock flash across his features before darkening into something unreadable.

“Don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you,” Jungkook growled.

Jimin’s eyebrows shot up. What the fuck? Did he just…?

“He’s not yours, Jungkook,” Yoongi hissed.

Jimin had had enough. They were standing there, talking about him like he wasn’t there. Jimin broke Yoongi’s hold and stepped away from him.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” he glared back at them, his voice steely and level. He was thoroughly offended and hurt that even Yoongi would talk about him as if he were an object to be owned.

The dancer spun around and marched off, leaving the other two men to stare after him, dumbfounded, and if they were honest, a little unnerved at the change in his demeanor.

He stomped his way out the door before remembering that he left his bag. Cursing himself, he turned around and stomped back in. He glared at the two, daring them to say something about it.

Neither of them did.

With a ‘hmph’, Jimin slung his bag over his shoulder and stalked out, heading for where his bike was parked. He was sore as fuck and pedaling was painful. He made it halfway home before he had to just push it the rest of the way. The adrenaline left over from the fight had completely worn off by the time he got to the art studio.

There was a light on in the back room. Jimin knew that his parents were probably hard at work in that room. He didn’t want to distract them by letting them see him in the condition he was in. If the throbbing in his jaw was any indication, he knew his face probably resembled a lumpy, half-busted grapefruit. Or that one guy on The Goonies …

Jimin attempted to sneak into the building. If he could just make it past the cracked door to the stairs that led to the upper floor where his family lived.

Fuck!

As soon as he opened the door, the bell above it rang, alerting his parents to his arrival.

“Jimin, is that you?” Jimin heard his mother’s voice call from beyond the ajar door. He had been caught.

“Yes, Eomma,” Jimin replied, freezing as he passed the door. The door was cracked and he could see a large canvas leaned against the wall.

The canvas was painted to look like a playing card, a king of spades, to be exact. In the middle of the card was a face that Jimin saw every day in the mirror, only somehow it was more elegant and refined. He had to admit, even half-finished, the painting was breathtaking.

It was a rare glimpse into the eyes of another. This was how his mother saw him. But Jimin knew that his mother had quite the imagination. It was necessary for an artist of any caliber, but his mom was extraordinary. Her works were fantastical and ranged from vibrant and colorful to dark and monotone. It seemed that this particular painting was darker, painted in shades of black and gray. She had used mirrors for his eyes. Are those vampire fangs in my mouth?

“I left you some dinner in the refrigerator,” Mrs. Park called out, painting fine details on the suit lapel. “How was school?”

“It was fine,” Jimin said, trying to inject enough cheerfulness into his voice to seem normal. “Is Appa home yet?”

“Not yet,” she replied. “He is working on a project in Dongdaemun.”

Jimin’s father was also a painter. However, his brushes did not grace canvases. He painted buildings and walls. He worked on a crew painting both interiors and exteriors of stores and offices, with the occasional apartment building contract. As talented of an artist as Mrs. Park was, the gallery didn’t sell enough to break even, much less keep them in the black. With the supplement of Mr. Park’s income, they were able to stay afloat.

“I’m going to head on up,” Jimin said, still half-hidden behind the door. “I’m pretty beat, so I’m just gonna shower and go to bed.”

“Jimin,” his mother put her brush down, looking toward the door expectantly, “aren’t you forgetting something?”

Jimin frowned. He knew what his mother wanted, but the studio was well lit and his mother was not blind. Hesitantly, he pushed his shield open further and shuffled toward the paint-splattered woman. Her eagle eyes locked onto the busted lip and the red, puffiness of his jaw. Her eyes hardened.

“Park Jimin, what is this?” his mom asked, a paint-speckled hand reaching up to cup his chin, inspecting what was sure to be a nasty bruise the next day. “Have you been fighting again?”

“No, of course not,” Jimin lied, attempting to sound as convincing as he could. “I wasn’t watching where I was going and hit a curb with my bicycle. I’m fine, just a little sore.”

Mrs. Park still looked dubious, but it wasn’t like she could prove otherwise. Jimin nearly sighed in relief when she didn’t push the issue, but that would have given him away, so he refrained.

“There is an ice pack in the freezer,” the woman sighed. “Make sure you put one anywhere it hurts. Maybe it won’t swell too bad.”

Jimin nodded and kissed his mother’s cheek before excusing himself to go upstairs. The stairs led to the upper floor where the main living areas were located. He could hear the clicking of a keyboard coming from the common room. No doubt his brother was playing WAR. The younger boy thrived online, and the MMORPG was the latest craze. Gameplay was free. Upgrades… not so much.

“Damn it!” a pitchy voice echoed from the other room, followed by the sound of something slamming the tabletop. Jimin limped toward the disturbance. “Justin Seagull, what kinda stupid-ass ID is that?”

“Language, Jihyun,” Jimin chastised. If their mother had heard the 15-year-old swear, she would wash his mouth out with soap.

The dark haired boy looked up from his seat on the front of the computer. His headphones were laying on the table beside the keyboard, seemingly the source of the clatter from before.

“Ah, Hyung, you’re home,” Jihyun acknowledged.

The boy was typically quiet unless he was playing a game, then he tended to get super competitive. Jimin peeked at the screen, confirming his suspicion that his brother’s team had lost their battle.

“Who was it this time?” Jimin inquired, crossing the space toward the kitchen to retrieve an ice pack.

“Some douchebag with upgrades that haven’t even hit the marketplace yet,” the boy sulked.

Jimin pressed the frozen relief against the side of his face and hissed. The cold stung, but the numbness that followed was heaven.

“Looks like you ran into a douchebag of your own,” Jihyun quipped, indicating his brother’s condition.

“You should see the other guys,” Jimin joked lamely. He tried to laugh it off, but it came out as more of a yelp as his ribs protested the action. Jihyun just looked at him with a frown. The boy was a human lie detector, so Jimin knew there was no point in even trying to lie. “They really did end up worse off than me once Yoongi-hyung jumped in…”

“The problem is, Hyung,” Jihyun began, “you try to take the high road. Sometimes, you just have to Sparta kick those assholes back to their own level. Then they will think twice about messing with you again.”

“Oh?” Jimin raised an eyebrow. “And what would you have me do? Replace their shampoo with hair remover?”

“ Tch ,” Jihyun scoffed. “How old are you?”

“What would you do?” Jimin asked, tilting his head.

Jihyun often proclaimed himself as non-creative. The boy enjoyed programming, data analysis, and video games. He did not sing, paint, act, or dance. He was not an artist. But Jimin begged to differ. Jihyun had inherited the family's talents, if only for this one unconventional art form.

“First, we go to the hardware store and get a couple of landscaping outfits,” Jihyun explained. “Then, we go to the guy’s house and pretend the parents have hired us for a job. Then, we cut the rose bushes into giant penises.”

Jimin laughed, causing his side to ache. He could just imagine the look on Jungkook’s face. He’d really be Jeon Jungcock then.

Woozi was in a classroom, late at night, studying for an upcoming history test. He loved the stillness of the evening, and he preferred it to being at home where his grandmother would nag him to death. The boy was halfway done with writing a sentence when he heard a shout in the hall.

He remembered that Jimin was also in the building, practicing some high-difficulty dance moves. Woozi shot out from his chair and ran out of the room toward the commotion. But he had a very limited lung capacity and had to stop midway to catch his breath. When he’d finally reached the site, the noise had died out.

Woozi was hidden by a row of lockers as he peaked halfway out. Jimin was in the arms of Min Yoongi. Three faceless students were scattered about them. Something about it made Woozi decide to stay hidden instead of revealing himself.

“Inside,” Woozi heard Jimin cry softly. “I’m dying on the inside. It hurts so much. I didn’t cry in front of them. I couldn’t give them the satisfaction. But every hit, it hurt so bad.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi replied with more emotion than Woozi had ever known the young man to possess, “You’re strong... but that doesn’t mean you’re invincible. I’m sorry that I didn’t come sooner.”

“Thank you,” Jimin sobbed into the man’s shoulder.

Woozi felt a spike of jealousy toward the boy. Jimin had never mentioned how close he was with Yoongi. Not in all the time that they’d been friends, which was admittedly short.

But why? Why Jimin? Why this unremarkable person? Why not him?

What Woozi felt was doubled in an instant when Jungkook appeared in the distance.

“Let him go,” Jungkook said sternly in a voice that made hearts flutter.

Woozi’s stomach did a flip. He was here too. The physical embodiment of perfection was standing right there. Jeon Jungkook had been the object of Woozi’s obsession for as long as he could remember.

“Who’s there?” Jimin shouted, clearly blind to the perfection in front of him.

“Step away from him, Yoongi,” Jungkook said, ignoring Jimin’s inquisition.

Woozi noted the color of Jungkook’s eyes, the press of his lips and realized that the man was jealous. He was jealous because of Jimin. He was jealous because Jimin was in the arms of Yoongi.

They were fighting over Jimin.

They were fighting over ordinary, poor, pig-headed, Park Jimin.

How could this be?

Woozi’s mind blanked out for several minutes as waves of insecurity washed over him. Why Jimin? Why not him? Jimin was handsome, but surely not as perfect as himself. Woozi had spent hundreds of thousands on his face to look this perfect.

Why him?

Why him?

Why him?

When Woozi finally shook himself back into reality Jimin was gone. All that remained were the two unrelated brothers. Jungkook and Yoongi were staring at each other hard.

“Why were you holding him?” Jungkook asked heatedly. “Do you like him?”

“I’m not the one who likes him,” Yoongi replied, as cold as ice, “you are.”

Jungkook blinked several times. Woozi watched as anger, confusion, and finally, relief passed through his godly features.

“He hates me,” Jungkook said finally.

It was as good as an admission. Woozi lost all power in his legs as he fell silently to the ground. Jungkook liked Jimin. Somehow Jimin, during his weeks of hell, had won Jungkook over. Woozi felt something dark bubbling inside of him. Jungkook was supposed to be this unattainable thing, above everyone else. Woozi was just content to look. As long as no one else could have him, it was enough.

But Park Jimin ruined everything.

“Feelings can change,” Yoongi shrugged.

Jungkook sighed and leaned his body against the lockers. “What can I do?”

Yoongi laughed before kicking one of the assailants who attempted to get up. “You’re telling me that you can’t win him over? You’re the great Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook considered this for a moment as Woozi held his breath. The doll wished with all his might that Jungkook would laugh this off and say, ‘Like I would ever want someone like him.’

“How?” Jungkook said instead.

Woozi felt his heart smash into three thousand, seven hundred, and forty-two pieces. It was the number of days since he’d had first met Jungkook, back in grade school. He’d been in love with the heir for all that time.

“Do something romantic,” Yoongi said, “sweep him off his feet. That’s what I’d do if I were you.”

Jungkook smiled at his best friend, his shoulders relaxing. The chaebol bent down and whispered something into the ear of one of the fallen.

“Don’t come back to school,” he said before getting up and throwing his arm around Yoongi. “Did I ever mention that you’re a genius?”

Yoongi smiled back and walked with Jungkook out of the building. “You could stand to mention it more often.”

Woozi was left standing there, utterly hopeless. If he couldn’t have Jungkook, then no one would. He would make Jimin utterly disgusting in everyone’s eyes. It was like someone had taken possession of his body. His fingers dialed for him, calling his news anchor cousin on his phone.

“Yeoboseyo?” some one answered.

“It’s me, Woozi,” he replied.

“Why are you calling me so late?” the voice asked.

“I have something really important to tell you,” Woozi said urgently. “Do you have a pen?”

“I always have a pen.”

A few days had passed and Jimin’s injuries had healed. But, the damage on the inside had not.

Jimin was still furious, even as he quietly studied for upcoming exams in the school library. But calling it a library was a gross understatement. It wasn’t just a library. The thing was huge, filled with books, modern tech, and various learning apparatuses. Jimin doubted that the president had access to archives so grand.

Each computer station was state-of-the-art. Yet most students went on their even more expensive laptops, leaving the row empty. Only Jimin was there, using the fastest computer he’d ever touched. His fingers tapped away, bringing up various contrasting dance theories.

He blinked a few times and realized that he hadn’t gotten anything from the page. The words flowed in one ear, passed through the empty bird’s nest that was his brain, then went out the other ear. Jimin sighed frustratedly, running his fingers through his oily, unwashed hair.  

Jimin needed a break. He made the mistake of opening up a new window to read the latest gossip. It took him several seconds to process the front page news. His bored expression turned into one of pure horror.

Park Jimin, student at Sechs Kies, is allegedly the father of three illegitimate children. Sources say that he is currently working as an escort.

Jimin took off the noise canceling headphones that he was donning. It was then he heard the quiet whispers throughout the library.

“...knew he was a skank.”

“God, he is despicable. I can’t believe he has three kids.”

“...dare he act all high and mighty when he’s actually selling his body to-”

Who would do this? Jimin knew exactly who would do such a thing. If Jeon Jungkook was dead meat before, now he was a rotten carcass waiting to be eaten by crows. Jimin stood from his seat, causing his chair to loudly tip over to the ground. This caused the whispering to cease, only to be replaced by daggered glared.

The boy walked out of the library toward the campus housing for overseas students. Everyone knew that Jungkook had commissioned an exclusive hangout annex for the F4. Students went there to make pleas, as if Jungkook were some sort of King.

Jimin walked through the lawn, up the stairs, and past a gold-trimmed door. He had to stop briefly as his eyes adjusted to the blue lighting inside.

“Jeon Jungkook, you mouth-breather!” Jimin yelled out, “Come here and face me!”

Jungkook turned his head. The heir had a pool stick in his hands, which he was chalking up. His eyes were wide, and his cheeks were bright red. He looked like a tea kettle that was ready to explode.

“Jimin?” Jungkook managed to say, “W-What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t think you’d stoop so low,” Jimin shouted, pointing his tiny index finger at the man, “I’ll have you know that I’m an unkissed virgin.”

“What?” Jungkook said after swallowing hard.

Hoseok burst out laughing. The man fell to his knees as tears streamed down his face. He clutched his stomach and continued laughing until he finally managed to choke out what he found so funny.

“Kookie,” Hoseok gasped, holding back the giggles, “He’s an unkissed virgin just like you.”

“He isn’t like me,” Jungkook yelled, “I have high standards. He’s a leper who no one wants.”

Jungkook folded his arms over, but despite his haughty words, his face grew more and more flushed. Jimin could tell the man was embarrassed by his obvious state of distress. He might as well been naked with how vulnerable he was, the vulnerability being that he’d never been naked in front of anyone.

Then, Jimin realized he had the first bit of ammo in a long time, after being hit by sniper after sniper.

“If you spread any more rumors about me,” Jimin hissed threateningly, “I’ll tell everyone that you still have your v-card in your wallet.”

Jimin couldn’t believe the foul, loathsome words that were coming out of his mouth. Perhaps he’d been pushed over the edge, where he could no longer maintain any notions of his own high horse. If he was going to survive at all, he’d have to eventually play dirty.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jungkook said finally, pale-white.

Namjoon turned his phone screen over so that Jungkook could see it.

“He’s talking about this,” Namjoon said lazily.

Jungkook read under his breath, mouthing the word escort before scoffing.

“I didn’t do this,” Jungkook said angrily. “No one would believe that you’re an escort anyway. Just look at you. Like you could father three children.”

Jungkook waved his hands in front of Jimin, highlighting something about him that was so obviously un-escort like. But Jimin didn’t understand what it could be. Was he just so unsexy that he could never pass as an escort? Was he so awkward that no one would want his babies? That seemed like what Jungkook was implying.

“I hate you, Jungkook,” Jimin spat, ‘I hate your stupid-butt-face. I hate your ugly bunny teeth. I hate the part in your hair. I hate everything about you!”

Jimin turned on his heel and slammed the door hard. He walked down the stairs, through the grass and back onto the concrete. He took several deep breaths, hoping that the cool air would calm him down.

It didn’t.

The more he thought about it the angrier he got. How dare Jungkook lie like that? He was obviously the guilty party. Who else would spread a rumor like that? Then he realized that it could have been any one. He had a whole school full of enemies. But it was still Jungkook’s fault. If Jungkook hadn’t given him the red card, then it wouldn’t have given everyone else the incentive to attack him.

But this was different than the pranks at school. The food flinging, tripping, and that one time they switched out his gym clothes for a Santa’s elf costume were all carried out within the premises. Going to the newspaper to spread a rumor not only hurt Jimin, it hurt the school. The school was just getting over Jaehan’s bad PR. This was another bullying campaign in the making. Whoever did this… it was personal.

Jimin had walked all the way to the parking lot without realizing. He decided to take a seat on the curb to figure things out. He looked up and noticed two men standing in front of a Town car but he paid no attention to them. He was too busy playing Sherlock.

Jimin opened his phone to look at the article again. Maybe if he read it all the way through, he’d be able to find the real instigator. But the article was frozen on the site and when he refreshed it, he found that the article had been deleted.

“What the hell?” Jimin cursed.

A shadow blocked out the sun as Jimin repeatedly pressed the refresh button.

Sorry. The page you requested could not be found.

Jimin looked up to see that the two sunglassed men had traveled across the lot.

“Park Jimin?” one of them asked.

“No,” Jimin said with a straight face, “My name is Christian Chimchim.”

Jimin felt sweat trickle down his temples. He was as stiff as dried up play doh. It was obvious what was happening. Jungkook has sent hitmen to kill him. Or maybe it was the school, or maybe it was the person who’d lied to the press. But whoever it was, these two guys were going to shoot him and sink his body in the river.

“Come with us, Christian.”

The two men tried to grab Jimin. He kicked one of them in the stomach and punched the other in the face. The boy managed to slither out of their grasp and make a break for it.

Jimin ran through the lot, passing a sea of expensive cars. The men chased after him. They had longer legs that made up for Jimin’s athleticism. They were already reaching forward, nearly catching the hem of his collar. Jimin had no choice but to turn around and fight.

“Don’t touch me or else,” Jimin shouted before adding a bluff. “I know Muay Thai.”

“What a coincidence,” one of the men said before cracking his neck in that cliche way.

Jimin felt the blood drain from his face. First, there was a hard elbow to the stomach, then he felt a cloth cover his mouth. He inhaled something sweet and the darkness came.

Namjoon was an artist. Not the singing and dancing kind, though he did that too. He was the kind of person that liked to touch beauty and create it off the ends of his fingertips. He was a potter. He worked with earth, stone, glass... but his favorite by far was porcelain. His current obsession was making teacups.

It took a lot of patience to create a good teacup. It had to be durable yet beautiful, with the illusion of fragility. Namjoon’s teacups were the best, and as such, they sold for two-hundred thousand won easily. He had patience in spades.

Namjoon and Hobi were perusing through the Big Hit music store. That was their cover. What they really wanted to do was to run into Park Jimin and have a long conversation with the man. Jimin’s shift had started fifteen minutes ago, but he hadn’t arrived yet. Namjoon was getting restless.

“Namjoon?” Hoseok cocked his head. “You’ve been looking at that album for the past five minutes.”

“This is a bad idea,” Namjoon hissed. “Jungkook is going to be pissed.”

“We’re looking out for him,” Hobi replied quietly. “We don’t want another bad PR rap.”

Before they could continue their conversation, one of the store attendants interrupted the two.

“If you like classical music we have a larger selection on the second floor,” the man said from behind them.

Namjoon realized that he was holding a Brahms CD. He wasn’t interested in dead artists. He was simply pretending to browse and had accidentally picked it up.

“No, thanks,” Namjoon said, turning toward the voice. He was ready to shoo the worker away.

Oh. My. God.

Namjoon lived a decadent life, fueled by his artistry. His flat was filled with the pretty things he had crafted. Whether it was his pottery or his music, he took great pride in his handiwork.

But even he had to admit that nothing he made could hold a kiln to the man in front of him.

The man smiled at him, and Namjoon felt all coherent thought wash away.

“I like his lullaby… it’s good,” Namjoon said quickly as if trying to defend himself for having picked up the CD in the first place. “Rap music… my favorite.”

Namjoon was usually very smooth with his words. On top of being a potter, he was a respected rapper. He could spit fire at a moment’s notice. But right then, all he was spitting was cold, leftover TV dinners.

“Sure,” the man’s smile didn’t falter, “We have a lot of new stuff two aisles down.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon said, wanting to take it back as soon as the words left his dry lips.

Namjoon felt the entire world shift on its axis so that everything spiraled out of control resulting in the death of millions. It was over. He imagined the man shuffling away, wondering what brain injury could have caused such word vomit.

To his surprise and relief, the man laughed out loud, lightly slapping Namjoon’s arm. His eyes were beautiful. His mouth was perfect. He was the most exquisite porcelain teacup that Namjoon had ever set eyes on.

“Thanks,” the man said, his laugh winding down as he caught his breath. “Wow, you’re a charmer aren’t you? My name is Seokjin, but you can just call me Jin.”

Namjoon briefly wondered why God would put such a perfect creature on earth. Was it just so that every lesser being, himself included, could look upon Jin and weep. Then the rapper wondered if it would be weird to ask the man for his skin-care regime.

“Jin-ssi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Kim Namjoon,” Joon said with a bow.

Jin’s smile died as his eyes turned cold. He suddenly looked cautious and slightly annoyed. But even then, he was beyond beautiful.

“Are you the Kim Namjoon of the F4?” Jin asked with folded arms.

“I- yes,” Namjoon admitted.

“What are you doing here?” Jin hissed. “Are you here to bother Jimin? You won’t even leave him alone when he’s at work? That’s despicable.”

“We’re just here to talk,” Hoseok stopped him. “It could get dangerous if things continue going as they are.”

“Was that a threat?” Jin spat. Fire lit up in his eyes. “I won’t be intimidated. You’re gonna catch these hands!”

“Jungkook likes Jimin,” Namjoon spewed before covering his mouth.

Namjoon wondered what would possess him to spill such dangerous beans. He just wanted the beautiful man to stop being angry with him.

“What?” Jin’s expression changed from furious to confused. “But what about the bullying? Is this how he ‘likes’ someone.”

“He’s the kind of person that destroys things he likes just so no one else can have it.” Hoseok sighed.

“That’s not even close to liking,” Jin said finally.

“Maybe Jimin can transfer back to his old school,” Hoseok suggested.

“Over my dead body,” Jin frowned.

“We don’t want anything to happen to Jimin,” Namjoon said earnestly, “We don’t want a repeat of the last time.”

“The last time?” Jin gasped, “Yoon Jaehan. So you admit it… It was all on you guys.”

Namjoon nodded, his lips pursed before he whispered. “More or less.”

“Which is it?” Jin asked, the anger sparking up again. “More, or less?”

“More less than more…?” Hoseok stated, though it came out more uncertain than he had intended.

“So you get why we need to talk to Jimin,” Namjoon frowned, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, “before something happens that is out of our control.”

Jin blinked a few times, his eyes suddenly filled with worry.

“Jimin has never been late for work before. What if something has already happened?” he gulped.

Bingo

Jungkook was sitting in his living room. He was undecided between feeling nervous or overconfident. He’d ordered his men to bring Jimin there, provide him with the best clothes, hair stylists, etc. for a full body makeover. The boy would soon appear through the doors, glowing and thankful.

So why was he nervous? His leg was bouncing up and down. He was holding a magazine, but he couldn’t read the words. His eyes simply couldn’t focus. His heart was beating faster by the minute, no matter how hard he tried to breathe slowly.

“Master Jeon,” Butler Lee called, appearing at the door.

“Yes?” Jungkook dropped the magazine he was holding and hastily got up.

“I present the new and improved, Park Jimin,” Butler Lee said, moving to the side.

Jimin’s silhouette stood in the light. Jungkook had to blink a few times before his eyes adjusted.

The first thing Jungkook noticed was the hair. Jimin’s dark locks had been turned into the most decadent shade of silver. His ears were studded, one a cross, the other a butterfly. His lips were glossed lightly over with bubble-gum pink. His eyes were tight lined in a charcoal black.

Jungkook didn’t realize that he’d stopped breathing. He had to suck in a ragged breath to account for the oxygen deprivation. His eyes slowly scanned downward to take in the rest of the transformation.

Jimin was wearing an expensive suit from another more fashionable era. There was a dark button up, under a embroidered jacket, all completed with a pair of Italian shoes. His tiny fingers were dressed up with gothic rings. His belt had tiny dark studs on it. Every detail was perfect.

“Where am I?” Jimin murmured sleepily.

Not every detail was perfect.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jungkook looked to the Butler.

“He fought, so they had to drug him.” Butler Lee explained. “It should wear off momentarily.”

“You-,” Jungkook frowned, not understanding why that bothered him so much.

“You said to bring him here no matter what,” Butler Lee continued. “Is something wrong, sir?”

Jungkook thought about it for several moments before murmuring. “No. Just leave us.”

Butler Lee bowed and exited the room.

Jimin was left standing there, blinking copiously, “Jungkook? What are you doing here?”

“This is my house,” Jungkook explained.

Jimin looked around as his eyes started to clear. “This is where you live? I thought this was a museum.”

“It’s nice isn’t it?,” Jungkook smirked, feeling his confidence return. “You could enjoy things like this every day, if you agree to some terms that is.”

Jimin looked himself over, his cheeks flushing pink. Jungkook felt the nervousness disappear completely. Even the proud Park Jimin could be won over with pretty things.

“So, it was you?” Jimin said in a low, even voice.

“Yes, it was,” Jungkook announced. “Do you want to know how much this whole ensemble cost? Ten million won. And you know what? It was nothing, barely a drop in the bank.”

Jungkook watched the disbelief settle on Jimin’s face. He wasn’t saying anything. Perhaps he was shocked at the amount of attention he was receiving. Maybe it was a poor person thing.

“No one’s here,” Jungkook continued. “You can finally just admit it. You like me, don’t you? You’re the type to do and say the opposite, right? But you don’t have to keep playing hard to get. If you just say it, then you can be my boyfriend when no one else is around-”

“Are you crazy?” Jimin finally said.

“What?” Jungkook frowned as he reexamined Jimin’s expression.

Jungkook realized that Jimin didn’t look shocked. The boy looked angry.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Jimin repeated himself. “Are you suffering from some highly volatile brain parasites?”

The young heir felt that nervousness return with a vengeance.

“You’re the one who’s crazy!” Jungkook hissed. “I’m offering you the world and this is all you have to-”

“Do you realize that this is kidnapping?” Jimin continued, poking his jeweled finger into Jungkook’s chest. “Consent is a thing, ya know?”

“Why are you being like this?” Jungkook said finally, utterly dumbfounded. “Just look how much I spent on you.”

Jungkook took a hold of Jimin’s shoulders and turned him to the mirror. The boy gasped at his reflection.

“My.. my hair,” Jimin whispered. “It’s silver…”

This was more like it. Jungkook liked this speechless expression on Jimin.

“You see now?” Jungkook whispered. “Even a duck can turn itself into an egret with enough money.”

“Money?” Jimin shouted, clearly offended. “You think you can just throw some money in the air and I’d forgive you for everything? My hair is fucking silver.”

So he didn’t like the silver, Jungkook noted.

“Please,” Jungkook shouted back, “name one thing that money can’t buy.”

“Me, you fucking idiot,” Jimin said exasperatedly. “You can’t buy me with money.”

Jungkook just stood there for several moments blinking in utter disbelief. This was going all wrong so fast. The heir was at a loss for words.

Jimin looked him over and scoffed. “Whatever, I’m leaving.”

The boy turned around and tried to walk out the door before Jungkook hastily grabbed his arm.

“You can’t just leave,” Jungkook huffed.

Jimin thought it over before finally nodding. He quickly took off the earrings and tossed them into the soft, white carpet. Then he shrugged off the designer jacket and let it crumple on the ground. He pulled off the rings and tossed them at Jungkook, where they gently bounced of his chest.

“I want my uniform back,” Jimin shouted. “Bring it right now before I call the police!”

Jungkook was mystified as he called Butler Lee into the room. He didn’t know how to feel as Jimin snatched his uniform from the man. He didn’t know what to think as Jimin stalked off toward the bathroom. He didn’t know what to say as Jimin walked out the front door, past the fountain, and through the gate.

It was only when Jimin was gone that Jungkook finally reacted. Jungkook couldn’t believe that anyone could reject him. It had to have been the suit.

“Who dressed him?” Jungkook asked as he stomped on the jacket that Jimin had worn. “Fire that person immediately. The clothes were so tacky. Was that the best you could do?”

“But, sir-”

“Fire everyone who served him,” Jungkook shouted, “They were all so fucking useless. I only want the best. Hire someone better.”

“But sir, they were the best,” Butler Lee said cooly.

“Just hire more expensive ones then,” Jungkook screamed as he picked up a vase and tossed it into the wall. The room was filled with the discordant noise of shattered glass.

“I understand, sir,” Butler Lee bowed. “What should we do with the clothes?”

“Get rid of it,” Jungkook hissed. “Burn it. Toss it. I don’t care.”

“Of course, sir,” Butler Lee bowed again, picking up the various items.

The Butler reached for the jacket and draped it over his arm. Then, he reached out for the earrings. Jungkook felt something twist inside of him. He grabbed the butterfly stud before the Butler could, lightening fast.

Out of everything, he’d picked it out himself.

“Sir?” Butler Lee asked as he tilted his head.

“Never mind, just go,” Jungkook sighed. “Just leave me alone.”

The man bowed and left Jungkook in his own company.

Jungkook slid against the wall and hid his face behind his knees. His fist was tightly clenched around the silver earring. He’d never been so humiliated in his life. He never felt so desperate. He swore to himself that Park Jimin would be his no matter what. If he couldn’t buy Jimin with money, then he was all the more valuable.

Jungkook would stop at nothing to win Jimin’s heart.

Jimin left the Jeon estate with proverbial smoke billowing out of his ears. He was furious, frazzled, and a whole lot of other ‘F’ words he couldn’t think of. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. His hair… felt fabulous, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that he had been libeled, drugged, kidnapped, altered, and utterly offended all in the same afternoon. Who knows what else they had done to him.

“ Stupid Jungkook… thinking you can just throw money at me and it makes up for everything…” Jimin mumbled, tripping slightly in the bulky lift shoes. He ripped them off of his feet, glaring at them, before tossing them into the fountain and hobbling down the drive toward the mansion-lined street. “I’m fun-sized!”

“Yoongi-hyung is short too, but you don’t make him wear stupid foot prisons,” Jimin continued his tirade as he breached the gate. “Fucking asshole!”

“Excuse me?” a familiar baritone voice startled him.

Jimin turned around, eyes wide before remembering that he was still mad at the man before him. Min Yoongi sat, mouth agape, atop a motorbike, the engine shut off and his helmet hanging from the handlebars in front of him. He looked as if he had been sitting there a while.

“Yoongi-hyung?” Jimin inquired, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” the pale man stated as he retrieved his jaw from the ground. “What happened to you?”

Jimin deflated. As much as he was angry at Yoongi for objectifying him, he still was hoping that Yoongi would comfort him like he had before. But that was crazy, right? He wasn’t as different from Jungkook as he’d thought, was he?

“Jungkook,” Jimin answered with a half-growl, half-whine. “It looks awful, right?”

“Not at all,” Yoongi shook his head quickly. “If I didn’t know you, I might believe the rumors.”

That was the wrong answer.

Jimin turned bright red from humiliation and anger, not that anyone could tell with how thickly they had caked on foundation. Tears welled up in his eyes and he turned to run down the street. He didn’t stop until the sound of a motor zoomed past him and Yoongi was in front of him, bike blocking Jimin’s path.

“Jimin,” Yoongi called, flipping up his visor, “I don’t.”

“You don’t what?” Jimin crossed his arms, sniffling back the tears. Trying to look angry at this point was futile, but it didn’t stop him from trying. He still had his pride, after all.

“I don’t believe the rumors,” Yoongi said firmly. “I know you aren’t like that.”

Jimin didn’t look him in the eye. The pale man held too much sway over his feelings and could probably coax forgiveness out of him with one smoldering glance. Instead, Jimin opted to look at his feet, his tiny, cute, naked feet.

“It’s not about the rumors,” Jimin said, willing his voice to be steady. “It’s about being treated like some fucking play thing. I’m sick of this, of all of it.”

Yoongi mentally stepped back and considered this. He was silent for a long time.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” Yoongi dismounted the bike and took a step toward the silver-haired boy. “You are a person, and a damn good one at that.”

Jimin snuck a peek at the man as a large hand came down on his shoulder. The look in Yoongi’s eyes was some mix of proud parent and doting older brother. It made Jimin’s chest ache.

“And between the two of us, as good as you look now,” Yoongi continued, “you were cute before. All of the rest is just window dressing.”

Jimin bit his lip in embarrassment. He wasn’t good at taking compliments about his appearance, but he liked hearing them. Especially in the low timbre of Yoongi’s voice. He felt his blush all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Y-you’re just saying that because you feel bad,” Jimin sputtered, shuffling from one bare foot to the other.

“I wouldn’t say you were if you weren’t,” Yoongi shrugged. It was then that he looked down and his eyes widened. “Where are your shoes?”

“Um, good question…” Jimin pursed his lips in annoyance. “You’d have to ask Jungcrook. That slimeball had me kidnapped and stripped.”

“Kidnapped and stri-” Yoongi’s eyebrows shot up. He ran his hand down his face. “That idiot.”

Yoongi turned to the storage compartment on the back of his bike and rummaged around for a moment before producing a pair of black and red high tops. And not just any high tops, Air Jordan 1 Retro in the Chicago Bulls style. All of the moisture left Jimin’s mouth as his jaw went slack. They were beautiful.

They were getting closer.

“Here,” Yoongi offered the shoes to the barefoot boy. “Put these on.”

“But, I can’t,” Jimin said, his hands out in front making a ‘no way’ motion. “I can’t put my dirty feet in those. The shoe gods will strike me down for desecrating the holiest of holies.”

“Dude, get a grip. They’re shoes, wear them,” Yoongi retorted, rolling his eyes. He grabbed a second helmet from the compartment and thrusted both the shoes and helmet into the gawking boy’s arms. “And put that on too.”

Jimin watched Yoongi straddle the bike and replace his visor. Jimin hadn’t even noticed that the pale man hadn’t removed his helmet. But jimin was thrust into action when Yoongi looked over at him expectantly. He dusted the gravel off of his feet as best as he could before slipping his feet into heaven. He fit the headgear over his silver locks and walked over to where Yoongi was waiting.

“Hop on,” Yoongi smiled behind the visor. “I’ll give you a ride.”

A few days later, after a stern lecture on the finer details of kidnapping laws, Jungkook had called off the war on Jimin. The rumor about his less than savory after school activities had also died down. Jimin had gone back to being just another student trying to make it through classes. All was well in the world.

Or at least it would have been if Yoongi didn’t have to listen to Jungkook plot his next step in his ‘Make Park Jimin Mine’ plan. If Yoongi facepalmed any harder, he could scratch his own brain.

“Then, I’ll get a thousand roses, and fly him out to France-” Jungkook began, waving a fork around.

Yoongi sighed loudly before flicking his best friend in the middle of his forehead.

“You idiot,” Yoongi chastised, “Jimin’s not for sale. You can’t buy him. Just go over there, apologize for your idiocy, and ask him out on a normal date that’s not in France. And be sure to highlight your idiocy.”

“Speaking of France,” Hoseok cut in, “Taemin’s tour is ending. He’s flying back from Paris next week.”

“No wonder Yoongi is so cheerful these days,” Namjoon commented.

Yoongi paused with his hand in mid-air, poised to slap Jungkook in the back of the head. Was Taemin really coming back next week? He had been gone for what seemed like years, when it really had only been 10 months, 25 days, 7 hours, and 20 minutes. It had been hard on Yoongi to watch one of the only people he had allowed to break through his cool facade leave him. Just like everyone else eventually does...

“Ground control to Major Yoongi,” Namjoon waved his hand in front of the pale man’s face. Yoongi blinked once before snapping out of his thoughts. “You looked a thousand miles away just now. Were you visiting your heart in Paris?”

“Shut up. I just remembered that it is almost time for Holly’s vaccinations,” Yoongi deflected. It wasn’t a whole lie. He did, in fact, just remember about the shots… when he was trying to come up with an excuse.

Hobi and Namjoon exchanged a knowing look. Damn his friends for being so damn observant. Next to Taemin, the three men at the table were the closest thing to family he had left. Though, it seemed as if a new little brother was wiggling his way into his pack.

“You’re right,” Jungkook said standing up, “I’m gonna do it.”

“Do what?” Yoongi cocked his head, forgetting the advice he’d given not five minutes ago.

Jungkook didn’t answer. He simply stomped over to Jimin’s table, completely red-faced. Yoongi followed with his eyes, wondering what Jungkook could be thinking.

The heir sat down at Jimin’s table, startling the boy and his doll faced friend. Judging by the rapid speed at which Jungkook’s mouth was moving, he was saying a lot of stupid things very fast. Jimin looked absolutely appalled by the sight of him.

“Oh my fucking god, he’s a lost cause,” Yoongi sighed, “He should just adopt three cats and be done with it.”

Yoongi watched Jimin’s face turn bright pink from across the room. The pale man couldn’t believe what Jungkook had just said. It was almost like it was in slow motion. The young chaebol had mouthed out ‘joesonghabnida’.

Namjoon and Hoseok had seen it too, and they both gasped.

“Holy shit,” Hoseok choked, “He’s apologizing.”

Namjoon reached into his pocket to get his phone. He fumbled around with it, almost dropping it twice, before turning on the video camera.

Yoongi didn’t understand why, but all of a sudden he felt a deep dread in his belly. It stirred up his feelings and fermented inside his body. But why? Was it the food? Had it gone bad?

Jimin cocked his head to the side. He didn’t seem angry.

Of course he wouldn’t be angry. Yoongi knew that Jimin had a soft, forgiving heart. If he could forgive a friend for pouring strawberry milk on him, then he could also forgive Jungkook for all the grievous crimes that he’d committed. And it wasn’t like Jungkook was a homely wreck. The boy had charm for days when he decided to use it.

“Look at that bunny face,” Hoseok commented, looking at the scene through Namjoon’s phone rather than the actual scene. “He could get away with murdering the Pope.”

Jungkook reached into his pocket and pulled out a single butterfly earring. He was saying something quickly, with an endearing nervousness which could melt the ice from even the coldest heart.

“He’s a fucking genius,” Namjoon sighed.

Jimin nodded and accepted the thing. Jungkook smiled in a way that Yoongi hadn’t seen in a long time. It was earnest.

The heir made his way back to the table to cheers.

“Remind me to bring you along the next time I need a wingman,” Hoseok said while patting the boy on the back.

Jungkook simply smiled in that rare way again. He was happy.

“So, you got the date?” Yoongi asked, not understanding why the uneasiness in his body continued to increase.

“He said he’d think about it,” Jungkook sat back down, lazily.

“I think you should start attending peace negotiations in the Middle East,” Namjoon muttered, utterly impressed.

Jungkook sighed and turned to Yoongi. “I can’t take all the credit. It was your idea.”

Yoongi felt that it was starting to get very loud in the room. Or maybe it was the pounding in his head. He couldn’t be sure.

“Yeah, no problem... I should get going,” Yoongi said hastily. He didn’t wait for anyone’s goodbyes before walking out.

The man decided to go home and relax, to ease the feeling in his stomach. Only he couldn’t relax.

Hours later, there he was, in his cozy jammies, on his couch with Holly curled up on his lap. He should have been napping on the couch, but instead he was keyed up, his mind full of thoughts and memories ricocheting around like shrapnel. Holly tilted his head in that doggy way when Yoongi’s hand strayed away from his curly, caramel-colored ears, to absentmindedly petting his own knee.

Yoongi leaned forward toward the coffee table where several picture frames leaned against their stands. They were mostly candids that he had taken of his friends cutting loose. But there was one that had been taken by someone else. And that was the one he picked up to get a closer look at.

It was a picture of himself at 10 years old, holding a tiny, caramel fluffball. Standing beside him was the person who had chosen the bundle of fur for him.

Holly had been a Christmas present. The puppy had tried to eat the fake holly leaves that had decorated the fireplace, so that was what he named him. Taemin had said that day that he thought Yoongi needed to care for something. He hadn’t had the courage to tell the older boy that he already did.

Yoongi put the photo carefully back in place, before moving the sleeping dog. He needed to get dressed. He couldn’t stand being inside any longer. He needed to walk through the crowds and lose himself in the sea of faces. At least then they could all be lonely together.

He threw on a soft leather jacket and shoes before heading outside. Yoongi hopped on his motorbike and drove toward Dongdaemun. The cool wind whipped his jacket away from his body, quelling some of the burning in his chest. The shopping hub was only a 10 minute drive from Pyeongchang-dong, but the two areas were like night and day. Yoongi enjoyed the quiet of his upscale neighborhood, but sometimes he needed the hustle and bustle of a crowd to drown out his thoughts.

Yoongi was driving past a billboard when he noticed the image printed on it. He pulled off to the side to get a better look. It was an advertisement for face cream or some shit. Yoongi paid no attention to the product. It didn’t interest him. No, what drew his attention was the model promoting the product. There, backlit and beautiful, was the man that had occupied his heart for nearly a decade.

His heart ached, a mixture of anticipation and dread. It was like he had come full circle. Yoongi had wandered the streets of Seoul the day Taemin left, and he was doing the same when he found out the idol was coming back. He walked closer to the ad. Why did the thought of Taemin returning hurt so much?

They had left so many things unsaid before Taemin had boarded his plane. Yoongi had told himself that once the older man returned, he would confess and get everything he had been holding in off of his chest.

Truth be told, he knew why he dreaded the reunion. He was scared. Scared of being rejected by the only person he had ever loved. Scared of being accepted and having to hide it for the sake of Taemin’s career. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden on the one he loved.

Yoongi had unconsciously moved closer to the image of his love and was close enough that he could just reach out and…

He leaned his forehead against the billboard, his hands gently caressing the lines of Taemin’s face, remembering each slope and curve as if the man were really there. He had spent so much time studying Taemin’s face that he could map them out with his eyes closed.

“Soon, I’ll tell you everything…” Yoongi whispered into the printed jaw, his lips lightly brushing the plastic protecting it.

“Would you two like to be alone?”

Yoongi jumped away from the billboard, his face red. He looked over to the owner of the voice he knew so well, a guilty expression darkening his features. Of all people, he just had to be caught by Park Jimin.

Chapter Text

Jimin biked down the street, his sweater loosely hanging over his frame and a beanie covering his gorgeous, pedestrian-stopping silver hair. He wasn’t school presentable by any means. He had his thick-framed glasses on, for crying out loud. The boy had been in the middle of studying when his mother had asked him to deliver dinner to his father’s workplace. He hadn’t thought to change his clothes.

Jimin pedaled leisurely, the crisp, Autumn air gently caressing his face, turning his nose and cheeks slightly pink. It was actually one of his favorite times of the year: not too hot, not too cold, perfect sweater weather. He admired the various window displays as he rode past them.

It was then, as his breath fogged up the air, that he saw Min Yoongi, his thin frame leaning against a brightly lit billboard. It was Lee Taemin’s popular skin cream ad, a giant canvas of perfect, poreless skin. Yoongi stared longingly at the picture, pressing his fingers against the plastic. It was glass reflecting glass, perfection in all its symmetry.

At first, Jimin was just excited to see Yoongi. He didn’t wonder why the man was there or what he was up to.

Yoongi was there and that was all that mattered.

Jimin pulled the brake, stopping a few meters away. It was by no means a quiet action, as the bike grated against the sidewalk. But Yoongi didn’t look at him.The boy smiled and waved in order to steal his attention. But, still, Yoongi failed to notice him. The pale man was lost in his own solitude.

“Yo-” Jimin called out, before freezing.

His smile died.

Yoongi pressed his beautiful mouth onto the surface of the advertisement gently, tenderly…

Intimately.

Jimin felt that he was intruding upon a private meeting between two star-crossed lovers. It was destiny, and he was simply in the way.

“Would you two like to be alone?” Jimin quipped, the words coming out a lot more venomous than he had intended.

It had turned ten degrees colder and Jimin had started shivering. The blood was turning blue at the tips of his fingers and toes. His legs were suddenly shaking under the weight of his frame. But his face was so warm and his head felt so light. He was hot, cold, heavy and light all at the same time.

But mostly, he was just hurt.

Jimin wanted to keep it on inside, but it leaked out of him. He felt like a vase full of cracks, the water flowing through the crevices. He wanted Yoongi to see how fine he was. Jimin knew his crush was silly and one-sided. It wasn’t Yoongi’s fault that he was already… spoken for. He didn’t deserve to be at the brunt of the fallout.

Jimin took a steady breath as a last ditch effort to hide the damage.

Keep it together

“You’re out late,” Yoongi commented.

Yoongi voice was disinterested, but alarm showed in his eyes. The pale man was on guard. Perhaps he had always been aware of Jimin’s feelings, too much of a gentleman to turn him down and break his heart.

“You too,” Jimin said reflexively.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep,” Yoongi sighed, shrugging noncommittally.

“Something on your mind?” Jimin wondered aloud.

He cursed himself as soon as he asked. He had the feeling that he was about to hear some heart-shattering news.

Of course the perfect Min Yoongi would already be involved with someone as wonderful as Lee Taemin. Of course he would only consider someone like Jimin to be at most a friend.

“So you forgave Jungkook?” Yoongi asked.

That wasn’t what Jimin was expecting. He was expecting for Yoongi to lay his feelings out to dry and crush his hopes. But, talking about Jungkook seemed like a good distraction from the elephant in the room, or on the street, as it were. Jimin wanted to delay the inevitable for just a moment longer. He wanted to believe that he still had a chance in hell for a few more seconds.

“He’s your best friend right?” Jimin continued their line of questioning sans answers.

“Yeah,” Yoongi admitted. “So that was easy.”

“I figure if you’re friends with him,” Jimin sighed, “then he must not be all bad.”

Also, it had been one heck of an apology… and a beautiful confession.

‘… I’m sorry that things got out of hand. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. It was my fault. Yes, I know I’m a dick. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But, if you’ll forgive me, I promise I will try to be better…’

‘... Then, I saw you dance at the scholarship competition. It was beautiful. You were beautiful. And I did all of those stupid things because I wanted you to look at me. Because I just can’t stop looking at you…’

“Yeah, I guess,” Yoongi said, with that same non-committal tone.

“So, what are you doing out here?” Jimin shuffled nervously, steeling himself for the worst, “I didn’t realize how big of a Taemin fan you were. He is pretty awesome. His new album is amazing. He is smart and so talented. I’ll bet he could do anything he put his mind to.”

Jimin knew he had started rambling. He tended to do that when he was nervous. And on top of that, he was building up his rival. Not that he could compete with Lee Taemin. The man was practically a god.

Yoongi looked at the advertisement again. That same vulnerable longing filled up his dark eyes. Jimin didn’t have to ask. He already knew what it was.

“He’s coming back to Korea soon,” Yoongi sighed.

Jimin, as a fan, also knew this.

“He just finished his last show in France,” Jimin nodded.

“I don’t know what I’m going to say to him when he gets back,” Yoongi continued.

Jimin felt his heartbeat steadily rising. The concrete on the sidewalk beneath him was crumbling. He could fall through at any moment. And he knew he could delay it no longer. He needed the verbal confirmation, to sharpen the blade on his own guillotine.

“Do you love him?” Jimin asked.

Jimin did not leave any room for interpretation. This was not a question about if a fan loved an idol. This was a question about if a man loved a man.

“I’ve known him since I was a kid,” Yoongi said, eyes as a still as the shadow against longs stalks of grass, “of course I love him.”

Jimin sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

It was all that he could manage.

“So Jungkook,” Yoongi changed the subject again.

Why was he still asking about Jungkook? This had nothing to do with Jungkook.

“He asked you out?” Yoongi continued. “What are you going to do?”

… I’m sorry about the hair, and the clothes, and the kidnapping. It was all fucked up. I said you could be my secret boyfriend or some shit like that. But I didn’t mean it. It doesn’t have to be a secret. I don’t want it to be. Go out with me…

Jimin pressed his fingertips against his pant pocket. The silver butterfly stud was still in there, a token of Jungkook’s sincerity. Jimin had been moved by Jungkook’s beautiful speech, but he’d held out on agreeing. It would have been a disservice to say ‘yes’ while thinking of someone else. But now, there was no reason not to.

“I’m going to say yes,” Jimin said finally.

Part of him wanted Yoongi to try to talk him out of it. To tell Jimin to fight for him.

“Oh,” Yoongi simply replied.

Jimin felt his heart drop to the ground and shatter into a million pieces.

“Hi, welcome to Big Hits!” Jin flashed a charming smile at incoming customers. “Are you looking for anything in particular today?”

The two girls in high school uniforms giggled and shook their heads, one pushing her hair behind her ears and the other biting her lip a little. Jin couldn’t help but feel like he was attending to two cute, attention-seeking puppies.

“Ok, well feel free to look around. If you need help with anything, just ask. My name is Seokjin,” he nodded to them and went back to rearranging the rack of band t-shirts.

The high schoolers giggled again and thanked him. They whispered amongst themselves as they walked away hand in hand, almost skipping from excitement. “Is he even real?”

Their inventory shipment had arrived that afternoon, so Jin had a good bit of restocking to do. His boss, Bang Shihyuk, had left on a bank run so he was alone in the store. It actually happened quite frequently. The boss had a lot of trust in his abilities.

Jin was reliable. He was always on time, always polite to customers, and he really knew his music. It also didn’t hurt that his looks brought high school girls (and boys) to the shop in droves. Statistically, on the days that Jin worked there, sales increased by 143%. Basically, he was a model employee who brought in the traffic. Nothing ever went wrong while he was on shift.

He had just moved on to straighten the Taemin display when the tinkling of the door chimes brought his attention to the entrance.

“Hi, welcome to-” Jin began, but he didn’t finish his usual greeting once he saw who had entered.

Jin was met with the sight of full lips, charming, uneven dimples, and sultry, smoky eyes. Kim Namjoon had walked in, utterly stunning in a crisp, dark suit with a glittering Rolex on his wrist. The air filled with the smell of soil and rain. He was the son of the light and dark, of the earth and the sea. Billows of dust scattered the sunset that peeked through the aperture.

“Just the man I was looking for,” Namjoon nodded, giving Jin an obvious once over.

The tall man shuffled forward, closing the gap between them. The handsomeness per square meter exceeded safe levels. Girls in the store had stopped shopping, albums forgotten in their hands and their noses trickling blood, to ogle at the two of them. The store had turned into a shipyard, the female occupants writing fanfiction in their minds about them already.

“Oh, it’s you,” Jin smiled politely.

Jimin had told him about the scene Jungkook had made in the cafeteria. He had to admit, it was like something out of a drama. But that didn’t mean Jin was fully prepared to forgive and forget the atrocities that had been committed against his best friend. However, the deep seated hatred toward F4 was gone.

Namjoon took the smile as an invitation to interact.

“I’m here to extend an olive branch,” Namjoon said directly, though his eyes seemed hesitant, flitting toward Jin’s face, losing nerve and settling somewhere on his collar.

The timid gesture was endearing.

Jin had to physically steel himself from reacting. His hand tightened on the display board, steadying his footing. He mentally chastised himself for being so weak.

“Rich people know how to apologize? How surprising,” Jin said, perhaps a little too harshly, if only to combat how ice cream he felt inside.

“This is an apology note for Jimin,” Namjoon pulled a wax stamped letter from inside his suit jacket and handed it to Jin with his free hand.

There was a light blue box in his other hand, which Jin assumed to be part of the extended regrets.

“Why are giving this letter to me? Why not hand it to Jimin in person,” Jin said in the angriest voice he could muster. It wasn’t very angry at all.

“Because then I’d have no excuse to talk to you,” Namjoon said in his deep, smooth voice.

Pull yourself together, Jin. It’s not like he’s the only good looking, rich, adorable, sexy... Good Lawd, his voice is like chocolate... What does he use on his hair to make it that perfect?

“W-Well, I see that makes sense,” Jin said in a last attempt at sounding vindictive.

Namjoon smiled at him sheepishly, the dimple on the left side of his face appearing like the sun from behind a cloud. His eyes were hesitant yet hopeful, pitch yet beautiful, perilous and yet endlessly safe.

“I have something for you too,” Joon said, giving the box to Jin with both hands, “It’s beautiful, but not like you. Not even close.”

Jin swallowed thickly. The store attendant knew that he was born gorgeous. Every day, Jin would get hit on or asked out at least once. People on the street openly turned their heads to gawk at him. Every Valentine's Day, he received a mountain of homemade chocolates, a dozen anonymous strawberry cakes, beautiful handwritten cards, flowers, stuffed animals, brownies, and one time, a pet turtle. Then, on White day, it’d be the same thing again, except it’d be from all his male admirers.

Frankly, Jin was sick and tired of it. When would someone be interested in something other than his looks?

“Look, I’m flattered,” Jin said finally, “but you don’t know anything about me.”

He opened the box anyway, curious to see how Namjoon would buy his affections. The blue paper gave way, revealing a delicate white and gold tea cup, nestled in soft, fluffy clouds of cotton.

It was exceedingly beautiful, holding an old-world charm, presented with a modern twist. Sporting hand painted leaves, a bright golden handle, and a lovely, wide mouth, it was easily the most luxurious cup that Jin had ever seen.

“It’s a tea cup,” Jin stated the obvious. “You bought me a tea cup?”

Among the many gifts that Jin had received over the course of his life, no one had ever gotten him a tea cup. He least of all expected someone like Kim Namjoon to give him something like this. It was sweet, though, and oddly appropriate. Jin started laughing, sounding like a pair of old windshield wipers in need of replacement.

Namjoon’s face turned pink.

“I didn’t buy it,” Joon said defensively, snatching the thing out of Jin’s hand. “I made this.”

Jin considered this with a bemused expression. “You’re sweet but-”

-I’m not interested in gifts or money. Let’s just go out for coffee or something.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Namjoon cut the man off, “It’s just a cup. I make so many every week that my shelves are all full of them. Use it if you want to, or throw it out if you don’t.”

Jin blinked a few times, wondering if he’d misread the situation. He suddenly felt disappointed. Perhaps Namjoon wasn’t interested in him at all. Maybe he was just trying to get rid of the clutter in his house.

“Okay,” Jin answered simply. “Well then, thanks.”

Namjoon took the cup out of the box in order to hand it over. But for reasons unknown, the tall man tripped forward, dropping the thing. The cup landed on the ground, the rim chipping against the wooden grains. Joon looked at the thing, then he looked up. Then, he looked at the thing again.

“Whatever,” Joon sighed, turning on his heel and walking out the door, leaving Jin standing there, utterly confused.

Jin looked down at the chipped teacup. It was such a shame that the cup had been damaged. He crouched down to retrieve the priceless porcelain, carefully gathering the cup and the small piece that had broken off, marring the otherwise perfect surface.

Standing again, Jin inspected the craftsmanship, fingers tracing the intricate gold leaf patterns with a slight smile. He thought the chip actually gave the cup character.

Even broken things can still be beautiful.

“Alright, ya bastards,” Hoseok said, his head tilted to the side as he listened to the movement of the several men surrounding him. His stance was casual, almost bored as the men circled him. “Don’t hold back, because I won’t.”

The first fist came from behind, the breeze from the punch blowing strands of midnight hair as it passed, its target having shifted to his knees suddenly. Hoseok reached upwards, grabbing the man’s forearm, and flipped him over his shoulder to the ground.

Two more fists came at him from opposite sides as he got to his feet. Hoseok blocked them, bringing his elbows up and circling his forearms around the men’s arms, effectively locking them in. He threw them to the ground in front of him, stomping first one, then the other, before giving them each another kick for good measure.

Hoseok felt something large and rope-like hit him from the front, covering him from head to toe. It was some sort of net. Hoseok grabbed hold of it, removing the offending barricade from his face and pushing it down his body toward the floor. The net pooled at his ankles so he jumped free of it, cracking his neck before settling into a fighting stance.

That was when the real fight began.

Fists and feet came from every direction. Hoseok was barely able to keep up. He managed to block them, his flexibility allowing him to outmaneuver them. However, with so much going on at once, it was hard to keep up his defenses. The dark-haired man could hear the men closing in on him from all sides. There was only one thing left to do.

Hoseok took a couple of steps and jumped, swinging his lower half around in mid-air, windmill- kicking the men that got in his way. He landed, preparing for the next wave.

It never came.

The room stilled as a door at the far end of the room opened and Hoseok sensed another presence enter. He could feel the difference in the energy in the air. It crackled off of his skin and made it tingle with anticipation.

The defeated foes cleared the area, presumably to stand back and watch. Hoseok really couldn’t care less. His focus was on the person standing a short distance in front of him.

“You’re pretty good,” a deep voice rumbled across the few feet that separated them. “You even took them out blindfolded…”

“I have been training my whole life, so I should hope so…” the dark-haired man smirked at the awe in the newcomer’s voice. “Who-”

“But I wonder...” the man interrupted, his voice reverberating in Hoseok’s chest, “could you take me blindfolded?”

Hoseok tilted his head. Why did that sound so suggestive? He swiped his tongue over his heart-shaped lips. Two could play at that game. “I could take you however, wherever and whenever.”

“Is that so?” the other challenged. “Right here, right now.”

“Bring it on.”

Somewhere in the near distance, a gong rang. Hoseok sank into a fighting stance, excitement simmering just below the surface, aching to burst out. He advanced toward his opponent.

“Test your might,” the other man said in a distinctly lower voice before continuing to hum the Mortal Kombat theme.

Hoseok nearly burst out laughing. This guy was something completely unexpected. He was even doing the sound effects. The blindfolded man couldn’t resist joining in.

“MORTAL KOMBAT!!!” Hoseok yelled, causing his opponent to giggle. He had actually giggled. And if that didn’t pique the black-haired man’s curiosity, nothing could. He really wished he could take a peek at him. He would have to make due with his imagination for the moment, his mind providing an interesting picture of what the other man would look like.

Because of the playful way the other man had approached the fight, Hoseok was not fully prepared for the clash when it came. He had let his guard down, and the other man had been ready for it.

As if a switch had been flipped, all former traces of mirth disappeared and the man’s aura changed. The attack came fast, like a teenage boy seeing adult content for the first time. Hoseok didn’t have time to dodge fully and the fist caught him in the cheek. This guy was definitely not playing.

Hoseok regained his bearings and got his head in the fight. They traded blows, punch for punch, kick for kick. They were evenly matched, even with one being sightless. It was a tango, their bodies complementing and mirroring each other naturally. Hoseok hadn’t had this much of a challenge in a good long while.

A particularly well-timed leg-swipe knocked Hoseok off of his feet and onto his back. Before he could right himself, he felt weight settle on his stomach and large hands pin his wrists to the floor. He attempted to buck the other man off, but there were leanly muscled thighs trapping him on either side. Hoseok felt the man lean down until he felt warm breath on his ear.

“Looks like I win,” the deep voice rumbled teasingly in his ear. “Should I finish you off?”

“Get it off,” Hoseok said, his voice barely above a whisper. The was a sharp intake of breath at his ear. “the blindfold, get it off of me.”

There was a chuckle before the weight shifted on Hoseok’s stomach and one of his hands was freed. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust when the blindfold was removed. He blinked against the onslaught of light. His imagination sucked.

There was very little that Hoseok’s mind had gotten right about the Adonis looking down at him. Instead of some off-the-wall color, his hair was a beautiful chestnut color and shiny like a hair ad model’s. He had expected a very masculine face when he heard the deep voice, but the man had smooth, boyish features and a sharply chiseled jawline. He didn’t look real.

Then, the man contorted his handsome face into the most awkward expression imaginable. “Aish, that’s gonna hurt tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you got me pretty good there,” Hoseok agreed, referring to the eye that had caught a mean right cross. He could feel the dull ache that promised a shiner. “So, who do I send the hitman after in revenge?”

“Hoseok, I see you’ve met Taehyung,” the voice of Hoseok’s father rang out from the doorway. The older man made his way over to the younger men as they scrambled to get up off of the floor and out of the compromising position. “You two seem to be getting along.”

“Yeah, if you call kicking each other’s asses getting along,” Hoseok scoffed.

He didn’t exactly see eye to eye with his father on most things. As a matter of fact, most days he wished he had been born into another family, any other family, if only to get away from the birthright that hung over his head. Being the heir of one of the largest Jo-Poks in Seoul came with a certain stigma, and it made it hard for him to make friends growing up.

“No one is dead, so I call it a win,” his father retorted. “Taehyung will be staying with us while his father and I discuss the best way to move forward with the merger.”

“Looks like I’ll be in your care,” Taehyung turned to Hoseok and bowed slightly. He shot hoseok a boxy smile.

Hoseok’s stomach flipped.

Jungkook had paid off Jimin’s dance teacher so the man could take a week long vacation in Puerto Rico. This meant that Jimin and he now had combined dance classes for five whole days. It was admittedly the best money he’d ever spent on anything, if only to watch the boy do jumps.

Jungkook made a note of every tiny interaction he’d had. Then he’d disclose these details to his friends, to their dismay and boredom. On Monday, he had said hello and Jimin had looked in his direction, giving him a half smile. On Tuesday, he had offered Jimin a bottle of water and the boy had accepted it with a thanks. On Wednesday, he had asked Jimin to help him with a few of the advanced dance moves, to which he agreed. It was all going according to plan. Today, Jungkook planned to ask Jimin if he needed help stretching.

“Hey,” a familiar voice sounded.

Jungkook had been so focused on his plans that he’d failed to notice when Jimin came in, changed his shoes, shrugged off his cardigan, took a long drink of water at the fountain, and warmed up.

“Oh, hey,” Jungkook answered, nervously fixing his hair, “How was your weekend?”

Jimin blinked a few times, “It’s Thursday.”

“I mean, any plans this weekend,” Jungkook quickly corrected, surprised at his own save.

“About that,” Jimin said, pink dusting his cheeks like stars in the night sky, “yes.”

“Yes?”Jungkook cocked his head to the side, “You have plans?”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you. This weekend, if you’re not busy,” Jimin said, eyes downcast.

“I’m not busy,” Jungkook said eagerly. “We can go ice skating or bowling or watch a movie.”

The young heir was elated. It was like Christmas, his birthday, and Chuseok all rolled into one. Finally, the great and lonely Jeon Jungkook had someone to be with. He could think of no one more worthy than Park Jimin

“I’m up for anything, as long as you don’t buy out the building,” Jimin smiled at him, finally looking up.

Note to self: Do not buy out building.

“I think I can manage that,” Jungkook blushed. “You won’t regret this, hyung.”

Jimin laughed good naturedly before reaching out and gently patting Jungkook on the head. “You’re actually kinda cute like this.”

Jungkook batted Jimin’s hand away, fixing his locks back to how they were before. He frowned, “You mean handsome and dangerous, right.”

Jimin stared at him for five seconds in silence, “Yes, sure.”

The days sped by until Saturday night rolled around. Jungkook had changed several times, going from fancy, to casual, to fancy, and finally, back to casual again. The two agreed to watch a movie at the Daehan Cinema Complex, followed by the Sky Rose Garden for dinner. It was turning out to be a fun first date, and the only date that Jungkook had ever gone on.

“Is this sweater okay?” Jungkook asked Yoongi, who was lying like a beached whale atop his bed.

Yoongi used all of his strength to tilt his head upward, in an agonizingly slow motion. Jungkook was wearing a cable knit sweater, dark blue, skinny jeans, and bleach-white high tops.

“You look fine,” Yoongi grunted. “Just ditch the limo and you’re all set.”

“Jimin wants low key,” Jungkook cocked his head. “I can’t just come up in the Rolls Royce.”

“Limos are high key,” Yoongi sighed. “What you need is a Civic.”

“I don’t have anything like that,” Jungkook sighed.

“Sir?” Butler Lee suddenly spoke from under the mountain of discarded clothes he was holding. “You can borrow my car.”

Thirty minutes later, Jungkook rolled up to Jimin’s apartment in a 2016 jet black Civic. To be perfectly fair, to most people, it was actually still a very nice car. To Jungkook, it was like he was driving in the rusty bucket car from Sponge Bob. The man pulled the car to the curb, cursing at the coarse controls. He wondered how people could even drive something so dangerously unpredictable.

He turned the ignition off and got out, holding a bouquet of wild flowers. As per Yoongi’s advice, the young Chaebol hiked up the stairs and rang the doorbell. Yoongi had used the exact words, ‘Be a fucking gentleman for fuck’s sake. Ring the door, talk to his parents, and act like a fucking grown up.’

A young teenager answered the door. He looked a lot like Jimin, only grungier and skinnier.

“Hello,” Jungkook greeted the boy.

The boy turned his head back

“Hyung,” he called out into the dead space, “it’s that pretty boy, billionaire.”

Jimin appeared at the door in fifteen seconds, out of breath. He looked utterly perfect, his silver hair styled and parted. He had an oversized, fuzzy blue sweater on. Most importantly, he was wearing the butterfly stud that Jungkook had given him. It sparkled brilliantly, adorning his left ear.

“You’re early,” the boy commented.

Ten minutes to be exact.

“Can I come in?” Jungkook tilted his head. “Or should we just go?”

“Let’s go,” Jimin tried to usher him out.

A voice called out from the abyss, and a light flickered on. “Jimin-ah, you’re not going out without inviting the boy in first are you?”

Jimin sighed, looking like a resigned Koala bear. “Come in.”

Jungkook stepped over the threshold. He wondered briefly why Jimin wanted to leave without a meet and greet. Was he embarrassed by his parents? Was he embarrassed by him?

There were two people sitting at small table. The man was drinking tea and the woman was drinking coffee. They both got up to greet him.

“You must be Jungkook,” the woman said.

Jungkook bowed deeply. “It’s nice to meet you. Please take care of me.”

The two nodded in acknowledgment. “So where are you two going?”

“First we’re going to the Sky Rose-” Jungkook began.

“If he has to tell you everything then we’re going to be late,” Jimin interrupted.

Jimin’s father sighed. “Just be back at twelve.”

Jimin grit his teeth. “Dad, that’s too early.”

Jimin’s father looked at Jungkook, “You bring my son back at twelve.”

“Understood, sir,” Jungkook bowed to Jimin’s dismay.

Jimin’s mother eyed the bouquet in Jungkook’s hand, “Those are lovely.”

“They’re for you,” Jungkook said stoically, handing the flowers to the woman.

Jimin’s mother eyed Jungkook shrewdly before accepting the bouquet.

“What is your interest in our son? He’s not just a fling is he?” she asked.

The woman was direct. Jungkook was a well known Chaebol son. His family had vast holdings in Korea and internationally. What was his interest in a common boy from a regular family?

But Jimin wasn’t common. He was special.

Jungkook looked offended. “No, he’s not. I like him a lot.”

Jimin turned bright pink. “Mom!”

“What do you mean, ‘what is your interest’? Who wouldn’t be interested? Your son is fantastic,” Jungkook continued ranting.

Jimin had turned strawberry red.

Jimin’s mother blinked a few times before breaking out into a bright smile. “I like this one. He’s better than the last one.”

Jungkook froze.

Last one.

“Okay, good bye guys,” Jimin said loudly, pushing Jungkook out the door. “Don’t wait up.”

Jungkook stumbled down the steps. Jimin rushed past him, opening the car door and shoving himself in. The heir rounded the front and sat in the driver’s seat. He turned on the car, and the heat came on.

“Sorry about my family,” Jimin sighed.

Jungkook saw his mother three times a year, his father even less. His older sister was living in the States. He hadn’t seen her since her wedding day a year ago.

“I liked them,” Jungkook reassured the boy

Jimin turned to Jungkook and flashed him a look. It was a ‘who are you and what have you done with Jungkook’ look.

“Okay,” Jimin said finally, “And what my mom said about the other guy. It wasn’t anything. We never did anything. I mean you’ve dated before right? It’s-”

Jungkook shrugged. “I haven’t.”

Jimin started biting his lower lip. “What?”

“I haven’t dated anyone before. This is my first date ever,” Jungkook explained unabashedly.

Jimin sputtered. “That puts a lot of pressure on me! What if this doesn’t go well? What if it rains?”

Jungkook laughed. “I’ll live.”

Jimin looked out the window, and upward toward the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. It was blue for miles.

“So, tell me about you,” Jimin sighed. “What’s your family like?”

“They’re boring people,” Jungkook grit his teeth. “I don’t see them a lot.”

Jimin tilted his head. “Oh.”

“The closest thing I have to family is the F4,” Jungkook continued. “They’re my brothers.”

“You’re lucky,” Jimin said finally.

“yeah, I know,” Jungkook readily admitted. “So what do you your parents do?”

“They’re painters,” Jimin answered, still looking out the window. “My mom has a gallery. My dad does office buildings.”

“And the little brother? Does he paint too?” Jungkook asked, while taking a highway exit.

“Not unless it’s vandalism,” Jimin joked. “He’s on the programming track. I think he’s going to marry his computer.”

Jungkook laughed. “He’s cute. I wish I had a little brother.”

“No siblings?” Jimin inquired.

“Just a noona. She lives in New York,” Jungkook clenched his jaw again.

A hard expression graced his handsome face.

“Something wrong?” Jimin turned to look at him.

Jungkook missed his sister more than he was ready to admit to himself. The woman had taken care of him when he was sick. She’d read stories to him to help him fall asleep. She’d kick his ass whenever he was out of line. Then one day she was simply gone.

“Let’s pull over and mess around in the back seat,” Jungkook suddenly said.

“What?” Jimin gasped.

“I was kidding, “Jungkook sighed.

Jimin’s touched to the back of his hand to his face. “That’s not funny.”

“We’re here anyway,” Jungkook replied, pulling the car into a lot.

Jungkook walked around the car and opened the door for Jimin like a gentleman. Jimin flushed before sliding out of his seat.

“Thanks,” Jimin muttered, looking up from under his eyelashes.

Other people in the lot cast the two of them curious glances. Jungkook barely registered their existence, not with Park Jimin stealing all his attention. The two made their way to the movie theater, walking at a leisurely pace.

The Daehan complex was full of shops. It wasn’t just a theater. Jungkook usually custom ordered his clothing so he was a bit curious what the inside of the stores looked like.

“Do you wanna take a look?” Jimin asked, looking at Jungkook as Jungkook looked at the windows.

“So you just buy clothes that other people have touched,” Jungkook asked, genuinely curious. “What if it doesn’t fit just right? Who takes your measurements.”

“Some people buy clothes that other people have worn,” Jimin said scandalously, “I know, it’s shocking, isn’t it. If it doesn’t fit just right, sometimes we wear it anyway.”

The boy laughed, his eyes glittering in the bright lights.

“Are you making fun of me?” Jungkook preened nervously.

Jimin looked at Jungkook thoughtfully before hitting Jungkook playfully in the shoulder.

“So you can dish it but you can’t take it?” Jimin teased.

Jungkook was reminded of the intense hazing that Jimin had gone through because of him. He’d never been so sorry about anything in all his life. All he wanted to do was protect Jimin for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry about that,” Jungkook said seriously, stopping dead in his tracks, “I hurt you so much. I wish I could take it all back.”

Jimin turned his head curiously, his smile dying as he looked in Jungkook’s eyes, “I already forgave you.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” Jungkook answered, “My parents taught me that if you want people to respect you, you have to make them. But it was all wrong. I was wrong.”

Jimin nodded before stepping closer to him. The shorter boy leaned to the side and nudged Jungkook’s shoulder with his own. “I understand. It’s okay.”

Before Jungkook could react, the boy pulled him forward, “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

Jungkook paid for the tickets, and the popcorn, and the grass jelly drinks. The two managed to find spots right in the middle of the theater where the viewing was the best, and the audio was superb.

“People are staring,” Jimin commented, his reddening cheeks visible in the semi-darkness.

Jungkook looked around, realizing there were other people, “It’s too bad they’re going to miss out on the movie then.”

Jimin smiled in the dark before turning back to the screen. He leaned over and rested his head against Jungkook shoulder, before taking a sip of his drink.

Two and a half hours passed.

Jungkook was in the theater, in the seat. But he didn’t see the movie. He was too preoccupied with Jimin. He watched the boy from the corner of his eye. He liked how Jimin hid his face during romantic scenes and how he laughed at the funny parts. He liked every single, minute gesture. But mostly, he liked how Jimin nuzzled against him, holding his arm, gently playing with his fingers.

“That was pretty good,” Jimin announced, “Shall we get some dinner and head up.”

Jungkook nodded, “Sounds good.”

The two purchased fried chicken at the food court before taking the elevator up to the top floor. The Rose Garden was atop the Complex. It offered a spectacular view, wreaths of lights, white archways, and lawn furniture tables. Fireflies danced around. It was breathtaking.

“The roses weren’t in bloom the last time I was up here,” Jimin exclaimed. “It’s gorgeous.”

The roses were pretty but Jungkook would rather look at Jimin. He was the most ravishing thing in the whole place. The fairy lights set the boy aglow.

“Let’s sit over there,” Jimin pointed at an empty table near the edge, railing on one side.

The two sat down and unpacked their styrofoam containers. Jungkook eyed the food warily. The man hadn’t eaten anything that wasn’t prepared by top notch chefs, never, not in his entire life. But it was surprisingly good.

“This is nice,” Jungkook commented. “We should come here again.”

Jimin was already digging in, sauce at the corner of his mouth, “Definitely.”

“You have something on your face,” Jungkook said.

Jimin dabbed the clean corner of his mouth, “Here.”

“No, the other side,”

Jimin tried to clean the other corner of his mouth but failed to do so, resulting in more sauce-face.

“I got it,” Jungkook said automatically. He reached over and wiped Jimin’s mouth off with the pad of his thumb.

Jimin turned crimson and lowered his eyes. He cleared his throat and leaned back, “Thanks.”

It was then that Jungkook felt that the stars had aligned. It was the most perfect sky that the Earth had ever had the pleasure being under. Jungkook reached forward and brushed Jimin’s hair behind his ear.

“You’re welcome,” Jungkook responded

The younger leaned forward. His breathing slowed to a crawl. He hesitantly hovered above Jimin’s lips, resting his forehead against the other’s. He looked in the boy’s eyes and the boy looked back with equal intensity.

“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook huffed.

Jimin’s eyes flitted to his lips, before he ultimately turned away.

“People are looking,” Jimin finally said, “What if a reporter is hiding in the bushes? I can’t.”

Jungkook felt the moment ebb away. The fireflies faded back into oblivion. The lighting dimmed and the rest of reality came crashing back. People really were looking, wide eyed, and whispering.

Jimin had turned way to look at the night sky in all its swirling glory.

“I can wait,” Jungkook whispered, joining the boy in his star gazing.

Yoongi was waiting at the airport for Taemin’s arrival. Actually, he was pacing back and forth at the airport. He felt nervous, exceedingly nervous. The rest of the greeting party was utterly fine. Jungkook was chatting with Hoseok and Namjoon. The three of them were laughing. Not one of them was a wreck like he was.

Hoseok was talking animatedly. The man had a black eye which he didn’t bother to cover up.

“He was good, really good. No one has landed a punch on me in three years,” Hobi gushed.

“Ooh, I think you might be in love,” Jungkook teased the man.

“No,” Hoseok deadpanned, “You’re the only one in love.”

Namjoon chuckled and covered his mouth, “Ooooh.”

Jungkook blushed and hit Hoseok on the shoulder, “Me and Jimin are fated. They’ll be writing songs about us soon.”

“It was one date,” Namjoon reminded the man.

“I’m a genius,” Jungkook defended his one date, “I can tell just from one date. Jimin-”

“Speak of the devil,” Hoseok suddenly looked up.

Jimin was there at the far side of the port. He was dressed warmly and he was waving to them. Yoongi didn’t know why, but his stomach suddenly dropped.

What the fuck is Jimin doing here?

No one knew about Taemin’s return time. That’s why his fans weren’t crowding the terminal. Jimin wasn’t supposed to be there, in his cute oversized hoodie and his charming striped, pompom hat.

“How?” Yoongi sputtered as Jimin slowly walked over.

“Jimin is a fan,” Jungkook said as he waved back, “I told him not to tell anyone else.”

Yoongi nodded, wordlessly. He had been anxious before, but now that Jimin was here, he was on the verge of breaking down.

Why did Jimin have to be here? He imagined Jimin looking at him as he confessed his feelings to Taemin.

It sent chills down his spine.

“Oh my god,” Jimin gushed, “I’m so excited. Do you think that he’ll sign this album?”

Jungkook wrapped his arms around the boy, “You should ask him for a photo too.”

Jimin playfully struggled out of his grasp, “Stop, you’ll hurt the CD case.”

Their date had gone well, Yoongi finally registered. Jungkook had been going on and on about it for days. Yoongi chalked it up to Jungkook’s over inflated sense of self. But he could see that Jimin was happy.

It made Yoongi jealous.

Why couldn’t he have that with Taemin?

Yoongi thought it over but he felt that something was off. He wasn’t really jealous, was he? Maybe it was something else. But before he could contemplate further, a storm of people exited the terminal.

Yoongi froze. Taemin was here, among that the masses. Yoongi scanned the area in a panicked fashion. What if Taemin walked right past him without him noticing. The pale man was suddenly drowning in faces, in suitcases, in people that were there with their loved ones.

But then, the seas parted. Yoongi saw a pair of designer sunglasses. He saw a pair of perfectly sculpted lips, dark gloved hands pulling along a bright white Chanel suitcase. There among all the crows, was a single perfect dove.

Taemin smiled at him, mischievous, vixen-like. The idol stunned him to absolute stillness. Everything he remembered about Taemin paled in comparison to the real thing.

But he was utterly confused. He didn’t feel like how he expected to feel. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong.

“Yoongi,” Taemin called, leaving his suitcase and running forward. He squeezed Yoongi, kissing the side of his face. “God I missed you so much. Why didn’t you call more?”

“Busy,” Yoongi grumbled.

Taemin let him go and proceeded to hug the other members of the F4. He started with Jungkook first. “I saw you got a Roll Royce for your birthday on the news. Give me the keys and I’ll show you how to really drive it.”

Jungkook laughed, “We can head to the track some time.”

Taemin hugged Namjoon next, “You owe me a teacup.”

“I made you one for your birthday,” Namjoon said, before covering his mouth, “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Taemin smiled and pinched the tall man’s cheek, “You’re as cute as ever.”

He turned to Hoseok and regarded his black eye, “Still fighting? How old are you?”

“You should look at the other guy,” Hoseok shrugged.

Taemin sighed and hugged Hoseok, “Don’t get hurt. I worry.”

Then Taemin finally noticed Jimin. Yoongi looked between the two of them. Why did he feel so much dread in the pit of his stomach?

“Who’s this?” Taemin inquired.

Jungkook swung his arm around Jimin proudly.

“This is my boyfriend,” Jungkook said assuredly. “He’s perfect isn’t he?”

Jimin flushed, trying to wriggle his way out of Jungkook’s embrace, “We went on one date.”

Taemin laughed, “Oh he’s cute. He should come to the party. It’s going to be a blast.”

“We’re hosting a comeback party for Taemin. It’s costume themed.” Jungkook explained, “As my boyfriend, you have to go.”

Jimin couldn’t turn any pinker. The boy hid his face behind the Taemin album in his hands.

“Oh, no,” Jimin shook his head, “It’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.”

Taemin cocked his head, “If you come… I’ll sign that for you.”

Yoongi’s mind was swirling. He wanted Jimin to come, but at the same time, he didn’t.

“I’ll go,” Jimin said timidly.

What was wrong with Yoongi? He couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Oh my god, Jin,” Jimin wailed in full on panic mode, “the party is in two hours and I don’t have anything even resembling a costume!”

Jimin stood in his room surrounded by every article of clothing he owned. No costume. Jin had been trying to calm the boy down, but no amount of dad jokes could bring Jimin to an even keel.

“What about Jihyun?” Jin asked. Jimin gave him the stink eye. “What? You guys are almost the same size…”

“He grew 10 cm over the summer…” Jimin mumbled. He was well aware that his younger brother inherited the tall genes, and as such, had begun wearing tall jeans. He also knew that nothing in his brother’s closet would fit him. His round ass made sure of that.

“Hey, remember that Big Hits mascot that we used for promotions?” Jin asked. “As long as you don’t mess it up, I’m sure it would be ok to borrow it.”

Jimin remembered it. He had been the one dancing in it for 6 hours a day for a week straight. He remembered how hot the thing was and how the inside of the head smelled like tuna, which was surprisingly fitting for a cat costume. However, he had no other prospects of finding a costume on short notice, so he nodded in reluctant affirmation.

While Jin sent the boss a text about borrowing the costume, Jimin decided to get ready. Not that anyone would see him. He would be covered from head to toe. But it never hurt to put your best foot, or paw, forward. After getting a thumbs up from Jin regarding the costume, Jimin got ready for the party. He would pick the costume up at the store on the way there.

As Jimin approached the building, he could tell the party was in full swing by the music thumping from inside the club. Apparently, Hoseok had cleared out one of the clubs his family ran for the night. Jimin had never been inside a real club. He found himself wondering if it was like the ones he had seen on tv.

It wasn’t.

It was a high-end club, typically catering to the rich and famous. Jimin would have had no hope of even peeking inside such a place before. But he had been personally invited by his idol. He felt the need to pinch himself for the umpteenth time to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep in math class again.

Nope, still awake, Jimin smiled to himself inside the giant calico cat head. He walked into the main part of the club, only to freeze in his steps. Ah, damn…

One look around the room told him that he had missed the memo about the theme being a sexy costume party.

Jimin wanted to turn tail and run home, but before he could, someone caught his arm.

“Jiminie?”

His eyes followed the hand on his arm up to the sleeve of a fitted white t-shirt, which was under red suspenders, which were attached to yellow fireman pants, and boots… all of which were attached to Jeon Jungkook. Jimin swallowed reflexively, his mouth suddenly dryer than the Sahara desert.

“H-hey, Jungkook,” Jimin stuttered. “You look… um, yeah.”

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Jungkook grinned widely, his bunny teeth oddly complementing his ensemble. He dragged Jimin toward a small group of costumed people. It looked like he’d also missed the group costume memo.

The other F4 members were also dressed as firemen, each with their own spin. Namjoon was dressed in the boots and pants with red suspenders… and no shirt. Hoseok was dressed like Jungkook, only he added a helmet and oxygen tank and left one of his suspenders hanging. Yoongi... well, Yoongi had decided to go with a different approach. Instead of donning turnout gear, he had dressed in the formal dress uniform of a Fire Chief, complete with medals and cap. Jimin felt the need to wipe the drool escaping his mouth under the giant cat head.

“Jimin! You made it!” Taemin greeted him, flashing the sweet smile that had won the heart of Korea. The idol was dressed in black leather pants that hugged his thighs and a white, fur coat with black spots. His lightly defined abs were on full display and he had a red dog collar buckled around his throat. Nestled in his perfect, platinum blond locks were cute, spotted dog ears. He made for the perfect mascot for the F4 fire squad.

“Yeah, thank you for inviting me,” Jimin tried to sound less embarrassed than he was. He felt like a potato in the presence of gold nuggets.

“Of course you had to come,” Taemin chuckled good-naturedly, “you are our little Jungkookie’s boyfriend.”

If he were being completely honest, the title made Jimin a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Jungkook. The bunny-toothed boy had actually started to grow on him. It was just that the balance of affection was skewed a lot more to one side than the other. Jungkook was smiling from ear to ear, looking at Jimin with heart-eyes. Jimin just wasn’t quite there yet.

“I feel a little overdressed…” Jimin stated, looking around at all of his scantily clad classmates. There were several other cats, but they were girls, and they were all dressed to impress in skimpy, skin-tight catsuits or tiny tutu dresses. And no one covered their faces completely, much less had a giant head concealing their identity.

“Aw baby, you look cute,” Jungkook gushed, much to the chagrin of the rest of the group. “If you were stuck in a tree, I’d come rescue you.”

Namjoon and Hoseok made gagging sounds, Taemin cooed as if it was the cutest thing he had ever witnessed, and Yoongi just rolled his eyes, clenching his fists in agitation.

Jimin was suddenly grateful for the cover the giant head provided. His face had turned lobster red.

“I... you-,” Jimin sputtered, embarrassment clouding his brain. “You are so barking up the wrong tree, dude.”

“Oooh, a kitty!” an unfamiliar voice exclaimed from behind him.

Jimin turned toward the voice, coming face to face with Mileena from Mortal Kombat, only not Mileena. The person was definitely male, there was enough skin visible to confirm it. The man was wearing a purple tunic-vest, the sides of which were nonexistent and showed bare skin from shoulder to upper thigh, a belt at the waist the only thing keeping the tunic covering his naughty bits. He wore a matching face mask pulled down around his chin, leaving a sharp-toothed snarl exposed. His hair was long and black, framing pretty features. Thigh-high boots and shiny psis completed the ensemble.

The man crossed over to stand beside Hoseok, who squirmed a little on edge at the other’s close proximity. Jimin guessed that he was the cause of Hoseok’s black eye.

“Jimin, this is Taehyung,” Hoseok introduced the purple-clad man. “He is a family friend.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jimin said, waving at the newest addition. Taehyung’s bright smile split his painted-on snarl in two. Jimin instantly liked him. He seemed nice and Jimin was glad not to be the only one whose costume was off-theme with the group.

There was music playing overhead, but very few people were actually on the dance floor. Jimin noticed that Jungkook kept glancing at the empty area and Jimin could tell the other boy wanted to say something. Truthfully, Jimin didn’t really feel like dancing, so before the heir got a chance to ask, Jimin excused himself to go check out the food table.

Jimin wasn’t disappointed. He’d come to understand how the rich lived. The spread was excessively well done by, no doubt, the most talented culinary team in the entirety of Korea. There was a fairy themed table to go with the costume party. Garlands of white flowers covered the top, where layered trays of tiny cakes glittered invitingly. Jimin picked up one of the flowers and realized that it wasn’t even real. It was a sugar flower, entirely edible and covered in drops of honeyed dew. He took a timid bite and groaned. It was delicious.

“Yugyeom, I wasn’t aware they allowed strays inside, were you?” Bambam’s smug voice stood out above the buzzing of the multiple conversations taking place and the music booming in the club.

Jimin turned to see the PowerPuff Girls standing in a row, boxing him in against the food table. Bambam wore a pink dress and red wig, Yugyeom wore a green dress and his hair was black, and Jackson wore a blue dress and blond side-ponytails. The three men all wore white thigh-high stockings and black mary janes. It was clear that they had intended to look sexy, but Jimin wanted to burst out laughing. He almost forgot to be offended.

“No, Bambam, I don’t believe they do,” Yugyeom responded in an overly shocked tone. “Ew, it looks so dirty. Jackson, what should we do?”

“Aw, it looks hungry. Maybe we should feed it,” Jackson’s face feigned concern. He brought a finger to his lips as if in thought. “Hmm… What was it that cats like?”

It was then that Jimin noticed that the three each had a hand behind their back. That didn’t bode well, so he attempted to flee back toward F4, however, Yugyeom cut off his route to safety. Jimin looked back at his group of friends. They were all engrossed in a conversation amongst themselves and none of them were looking his way. He glanced around, his eyes falling on Woozi, who was chatting with a couple of girls near the entrance. Jimin tried to signal to him subtly, but if Woozi saw it, he gave no indication. Jimin was on his own.

“Guys, come on,” Jimin attempted, backing up only to bump into the food table, “I thought we were past the whole hate each other thing.”

“Oh yeah,” Jackson said, a mischievous grin spreading across his features. The three closed in on Jimin from three sides, “the thing cats love is… milk!”

“No, guys, don’t,” Jimin began.

It happened in slow motion. As soon as the word was said aloud, the three revealed what they had been hiding. Tall glasses of the cold, white dairy were dumped over him simultaneously, even as he tried to dodge. However, ducking only revealed his collar, and Jackson took the opportunity presented to him. Jimin squealed in shock as the milk ran down his nape and down his back inside the costume.

The ice cold liquid on his skin shocked him, making him lose his grip on the cat head and it fell from his head and rolled away. It stopped at Jungkook’s feet, who had been alerted to Jimin’s predicament just in time to see his boyfriend doused in dairy.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Jungkook raged, stepping over the mascot head as he advanced on the dairy dumpers. He grabbed Jackson by the shoulder and shoved him into Bambam and Yugyeom. “How fucking dare you even touch him? You wanna die? Hmm?”

Jungkook drew back to throw a punch, but in an instant, Namjoon and Hoseok were at his side restraining him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… Let’s all just calm the fuck down,” Namjoon interjected. He turned a sharp glare toward the three men in dresses. “I suggest you apologize to Jimin and get the fuck out. Otherwise, I can just let Jungkook here beat the living shit out of the lot of you.”

Bambam and Yugyeom rolled their eyes in unison but managed to mumble out a half-hearted ‘sorry’ to the headless cat sitting on the floor in a pool of milk. Jackson refused, choosing instead to glare down at Jimin.

“Strays like him don’t belong with pedigreed pussycats,” Jackson sneered.

Jungkook pulled free and socked Jackson right in the nose. Blood poured down the blond’s face, staining the front of his blue dress.

Hoseok signaled the bouncers at the entrance to escort the three men out of the club. Yugyeom grabbed a few napkins, handing them to Jackson. Bambam was on his phone speaking to what must have been a plastic surgeon, saying something about an emergency nose job.

In all of the fuss, Jimin just sat on the floor, unable to move, partly from shock and partly from embarrassment. It wasn’t until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he snapped out of his daze.

“Hey,” Yoongi said softly, crouched down beside the milk-covered man, “let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?

Jimin looked over at Jungkook, who was too busy fuming and ranting about what had happened to even notice his boyfriend still sitting there. His head had disappeared and he was sure to get yelled at by his boss for ruining the store’s mascot. He felt hot tears stinging his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Calming himself with a deep breath, he turned to Yoongi and gave a firm nod, accepting the pale hand that was offered to him. Taemin was standing behind Yoongi, a frown on his face and sympathy in his eyes.

“Hyung, I saw some stage props in the back when we were getting everything set up,” Yoongi addressed the idol. “Do you think you can help him find something to wear? I’d help, but someone has to calm down Jeon Cena over there.”

“Of course,” Taemin nodded, a soft smile replacing the frown. “Come on, Jimin. I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

Jimin allowed himself to be led toward a room marked ‘Employees Only’ , passing Taehyung dancing with his giant cat head along the way.

The first stop was the employee locker room. Jimin stripped out of the wet cat costume and the clothes he had worn under it. Thankfully, his underwear had not suffered in the soaking. He felt eyes studying him.

“What size clothes do you wear?” Taemin asked, handing him a clean towel from the rack and pushing him toward the showers.

“Um, a medium, I guess,” Jimin replied, blushing. Taemin raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I might be able to fit a small if it is big…”

Taemin nodded and set off to look through the rack of uniforms and stage props through an open doorway, leaving Jimin to clean himself up in privacy. He had just stepped out of the shower when he heard a shout from the other room.

“Oh, this is perfect!” Taemin exclaimed from the other side of the wall.

Taemin brought out an outfit and made Jimin change into it. He wasn’t allowed to even glance in the mirror until the idol had completely finished with him. Taemin did Jimin’s makeup and styled his hair using his own supplies, having brought along his makeup kit and such for touch-ups. When the beautiful Dalmatian finally allowed Jimin to look in the mirror, he was at a loss for words.

Why does this look familiar?

Yoongi felt like there were fire ants crawling under his skin. He had thought that the party would help take his mind off of his Taemin issue. But it was hard to ignore when the very man had been glued to his side practically since he returned home.

‘Aw, Yoongi, don’t be like that. Is it so wrong for me to want to spend time with my precious dongsaeng?’

Of course Yoongi hadn’t been able to refuse. He had never been able to refuse the older man anything. He had been a goner the moment the blond idol had turned his pout on him. He always had thought that it was a dirty trick. Taemin knew exactly how to turn his resolve into putty.

So there he was, with his small group of friends, guys he had known since childhood, yet it felt different. Sure, Namjoon and Hoseok were the same as always, but the thought of Jungkook‘s near-constant rattling on about Jimin made Yoongi want to gag him. Not that he had anything at all against Jimin. In fact, it was the opposite. However, hearing Jungkook talk about how wonderful his boyfriend was all the time made his chest ache.

Then there was Taemin himself. Yoongi had been anticipating and dreading his return for months. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, then Yoongi was filled to bursting with affection for the older man. He just wasn’t quite sure how to tell Taemin, who always treated him like a younger brother. He used to be so good at hiding his feelings, but something had changed in him. He just couldn’t put his finger on why. How could things change so much in less than a year?

“Oh, look at that,” Namjoon nodded toward the door.

Yoongi followed the potter’s gaze. A cat mascot had just entered and he didn’t have to see their face to know exactly who was inside of it. Jungkook’s reaction was enough to give it away. Yoongi snorted at the way the other male had bound over to the cat, like a puppy whose owner had returned after a long absence. The sight made him a little jealous. Why couldn’t he be so open in expressing his feelings? How was he more emotionally constipated than Jeon Jungkook?

Once Jimin joined them in the group, Yoongi felt the itching under his skin worsen. Taemin had somehow ended up closer when another body was added into the already tight-knit circle. It was all too much for him. He felt nauseated, though it could have been due to Jungkook’s cheesy attempts at flirting with Jimin in front of everyone. He nearly sighed in relief once Jimin excused himself to make himself a plate.

Yoongi was beginning to relax when a squeal of distress called his attention. The man’s heart began to race even before he’d gotten a clear visual. That voice could only be Jimin’s and that sound could only mean he was in trouble. Jungkook had stopped mid conversation as well, turning to the noise.

Yoongi scanned his best friend's face. Jungkook’s eyes went from surprised to pure fury.

“Son of gun,” the chaebol hissed as he stalked through the crowd.

Yoongi lingered for a moment, watching a startled, helpless Jimin sink to the ground. The pale man recognized the look on Jimin’s face. The boy was on the verge of a panic attack and he needed help right away.

“Jungkook, you idiot,” Yoongi muttered under his breath. Jungkook had turned on the assailants rather than tend to his boyfriend. Jimin was looking worse and worse as the seconds ticked. It made Yoongi’s heart ache, though he was too scared to wonder why.

Yoongi pushed his way through the crush, almost shoving a waiter into a table. Finally, he made his way to Jimin. Gently, as though the boy were made of glass, Yoongi placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Yoongi said, keeping his voice quiet in order not to traumatize the boy further, “let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?

Jimin’s eyes cleared, the fear receding. His eyes shifted over to Jungkook who was still in mid tantrum before looking back up at Yoongi. Then the boy mutely nodded and accepted his hand. Yoongi swallowed. Why was his heart beating so fast, and why did the boy’s pain feel like his own?

Yoongi didn’t have a second to come to terms with his feelings. Jungkook was going to get arrested if he didn’t calm down. The air seemed heavy as the walls were crumbling to pieces. Jimin needed help, Jungkook needed help and Yoongi had to quickly decide what to do.

There was Taemin, the man Yoongi trusted most in the world. He was looking at Jimin, eyes full of concern. Yoongi decided he could leave Jimin with him.

“Hyung, I saw some stage props in the back when we were getting everything set up,” Yoongi managed to say. “Do you think you can help him find something to wear? I’d help, but someone has to calm down Jeon Cena over there.”

Taemin must have replied. His eyes were soft, warm and full of compliance. But Yoongi wasn’t sure what he had said. A persistent ringing filled his ears that wouldn’t go away. The pale man suddenly felt that he should not let Jimin go, not even to Taemin. But before he could recant, the idol took Jimin by the shoulders and the two disappeared behind a black door.

Yoongi turned back to Jungkook, who was still fighting against Hoseok and Namjoon. Hoseok was a trained fighter, not known for his restraint. The man looked like he was about to turn Jungkook’s light off. Yoongi sighed and knew he’d have to intervene. Being the peacemaker was getting fucking old. The emotions he’d held back for so long bubbled to the surface.

Jungkook was still trying to get to the Powerpuff girls even as they were being escorted through the back door. Yoongi took a hold of Jungkook’s shoulders and forced the younger man to look at him.

“He needed you and you let him down,” Yoongi hissed.

Jungkook struggled, twisting his body one final time before settling against Yoongi’s hands.

“I’m going to kill those fuckers” Jungkook spat, turning his head to the side, avoiding Yoongi’s eyes. Yoongi twisted his head to the side so that Jungkook was forced to keep eye contact.

“He didn’t need you to beat anyone up,” Yoongi said steadily, his voice like the edge of knife, “He just needed you.”

Jungkook swallowed thickly as water pooled in his lower lash line. He blinked and set a single tear free. It rolled down his cheek and died on his mouth.

“He needed me?” Jungkook looked helplessly lost. He started scanning around for Jimin, realizing that the boy was already gone. Yoongi sighed. Jungkook had finally come to his senses.

“Are you good?” Yoongi asked, easing up on the pressure. Jungkook nodded silently before bowing his head,

“I’m okay. I-I’m sorry,” he said shakily.

“Good,” Yoongi sighed, fatigue settling in his muscles. “But don’t apologize to me. I’m not the one you let down.”

“Where is he?” Jungkook asked, finally raising his eyes again. “Is... is he ok?”

“Hyung took him to get cleaned up,” Yoongi gritted out. The words felt like battery acid on his tongue, which made no sense. He had been the one to hand Jimin off to the older male. Why did it feel so wrong to not be with him? And which him?

Yoongi walked toward the bar to get something to drink. He needed to get away from Jungkook for a few moments. He was still angry with him for abandoning Jimin in his rage. That boy deserves so much better than that. He deserves to be cuddled, and pampered, and given hot chocolate…

Yoongi sipped his coke through a neon pink twisty straw, the brown liquid tickling his throat as it slipped down. He scanned the crowd, observing the various groups chatting, likely about the scene that Jungkook made when he punched Jackson Wang. One face in particular stood out, causing the cogs to start turning in Yoongi’s brain.

Jimin’s best friend hadn’t even attempted to check on him, even though he was closer to the table than Yoongi and Jungkook had been. Surely he would have noticed something…

Yoongi was pulled out of his thoughts by the sight of Jimin’s cat head floating in his peripheral vision. But upon closer inspection, it wasn’t floating. It was impaled on Taehyung’s fist and the man was dancing the tango pressed cheek to cheek with it.

“Where on earth did you find this guy?” Yoongi asked Hoseok, who had just checked in with the bartender. The other man just smiled.

“He’s what you get when you put the lime in the coconut,” Hoseok replied.

Yoongi sighed and wiped a hand over his face. “Only if the coconut came from a crazy tree.”

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok put a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, “I’ll make sure the head gets back to Jimin.”

The two men rejoined Namjoon and Jungkook a little ways away. Jungkook had been in the middle of checking his watch.

“What is taking them so long?” Jungkook huffed.

Yoongi opened his mouth to chastise him for his impatience, but the words never made it from his lips. Jungkook had frozen in his place, mouth agape and eyes wide. Yoongi followed his gaze, turning to see what had gotten the boy so shook. His eyes landed on a sight that had him cursing under his breath.

Park Jimin stood in the doorway dressed as a nobleman from another era, radiant and perfect. He wore a midnight blue crushed-velvet jacket over a black silk shirt, the low ‘V’ collar dipping down to expose his collarbones and the hint of a strong chest. Tight-fitting black pants showcased his muscular, dancer’s thighs. Fastened around his throat was a wide, red leopard-printed choker.

Yoongi thought Taemin had really outdone himself with Jimin’s makeup. Jimin’s eyes were smoky and sultry, his face was smooth as porcelain, and his lips… God, his lips were pink and plump, with small fangs protruding from between them.

Yoongi took a step toward perfection, but he stopped, coming to his senses when he saw Jungkook approach Jimin. His head reeled his heart back in. Jimin was his best friend’s boyfriend. He watched, holding a clenched fist to his throbbing chest, as Jungkook led a blushing Jimin by the hand to the dance floor.

“Yoongi,” Taemin’s voice was a whisper by his ear, the soothing hand rubbing circles into his back barely registering, “why are you crying?”

A single tear had slid down Yoongi’s cheek. He hadn’t even been aware of it.

“I’m not,” he replied, wiping the evidence away. “I looked directly into the Sun.”

Chapter Text

Jungkook was chatting up Yoongi when it happened. The loud music and the chaotic swaying of the crowd had suddenly stilled. The heir almost thought that he’d gone deaf until he saw the reason for the abrupt pause. There was a singular point of light, and it lit inside Jungkook’s heart.

Jimin had appeared through the door. He was dressed up as an eighteenth-century vampire. It was like a page out of Jungkook’s super secret diary. The heir swallowed whatever was lodged in his throat, possibly his regret. Jimin could only be described as devastatingly beautiful. Everyone was gazing at the boy in silent awe, but he didn’t seem to notice. Jimin was focused squarely on Jungkook. It both thrilled and terrified the younger.

Suddenly, the chaebol was aware of what a terrible boyfriend he was. It should have been him that made Jimin shine like that. But he’d lost the chance. He only hoped that he still had a few left.

Jungkook could scarcely stop what compelled his legs forward. Jimin beamed at him, blushing and absolutely radiant. The young heir took the boy's small, delicate hand and kissed it. A jolt shot down his spine when Jimin inhaled sharply.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said, looking his boyfriend in the eye, still partially hunched over. “I’m just sorry for everything. I should have been there for you, but I was too busy showing off.”

Please don’t dump me.

Jungkook felt his heart squeeze uncomfortably as he waited for Jimin’s answer. Jungkook already had so many mistakes under his belt. Perhaps that was an understatement. He was the one who’d hurt Jimin the most. All the bullying, all the pain, it was all him. And this fiasco had been his fault too.

“It’s okay, Kookie,” Jimin said softly, eyes warm, “I forgive you.”

Of course, he would. The boy was perfect.

Jungkook’s chest felt so full that it might burst. He briefly wondered what he’d done to deserve someone like Park Jimin. It was the first time he’d ever considered something like that. He’d always felt like he was entitled to everything, just for being him. But money, wealth, and status were nothing compared to Park Jimin’s forgiveness, or that gentle smile that was just for him.

The younger man just looked, unable to turn away for even a moment, afraid that he’d disappear in a blink. Jimin looked back at him from under his full eyelashes, smiling ever so slightly. The world melted away until it was just the two of them. Beating hearts became the cadence of the universe.

“Do you wanna dance?” Jungkook managed to say after realizing he’d been silent for nearly two minutes. Jimin had started to fidget uncomfortably.

But luckily, his question had Jimin utterly elated. The boy giggled, covering his mouth with his free hand. “I’d love to.”

Jungkook led his boyfriend to the dance floor, where high-intensity lights made the club floors glitter. It felt like a dream, as hackneyed as that sounded. Jungkook couldn’t describe it any other way. His body felt all floaty. It was surreal.

The floor was quiet. No music had played since Jimin’s spectacular slow-motion arrival. There was no movement either since everyone had their eyes completely focused on him.

Jimin flushed, “Everyone is looking at us.”

Jungkook shook his head, “No baby. They’re just looking at you.”

Jimin smiled at him again, this time brighter, showcasing a row of teeth as his eyes became half closed in delight. It was even hotter due to the fact that Jimin had false fangs on. Jungkook filed that away for later processing.

“Alright!” the DJ called from the booth. “Let’s follow that Disney princess entrance with this re-re-re-remix!”

The room filled with the sound of a record scratching as the DJ fiddled with an old turntable. Then music blasted out of the speakers. The crowd went from garden tea party to mosh pit in a matter of ten seconds. He’d turned on the electric version of the Beauty and the Beast’s dance number.

Jungkook wasted no time. He let the music roll through his body, showing Jimin exactly how agile he was. Jimin watched him with glittering eyes before doubling the ante. The boy knew exactly when to push and when to pull, making their dance as competitive as it was complimentary.

Then, drunk on music and adrenaline, Jungkook felt bold. He swung his arm out, caught Jimin’s tiny waist and pulled the boy into his embrace. Jimin half-hiccuped and half-giggled, vibrating against Jungkook’s chest. Then, Jimin wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s neck, exhaling moist air onto his face. When the beat dropped, Jimin sank to the floor, rolling onto the balls of his feet before thrusting his chest forward on the way up.

Jungkook was almost too shocked to register what had happened.

Oh shit. He just dropped it like it was hot.

“Oh my,” Jimin whispered teasingly, “you look a little flushed there. Are you feeling alright? Do you need to sit down, Jungkook-ah.”

Where had this bold, confident Jimin come from? Jungkook wanted to know for… reasons. The younger tried to take a breath, as it had become uncomfortably hot. He was pretty sure his insides had melted already.

“B-bite me,” Jungkook sputtered, meaning it to be a rebuttal to the teasing. But it’d come out more like a proposition. The younger male blushed violently, hoping that the hammering of his heart wasn’t noticeable. It beat against his eardrums in rhythm with the music.

Jimin giggled again, “Maybe later.”

The two of them continued dancing, everyone else forgotten. Jimin smiling, twirling, and having a good time was all that Jungkook could see. When Jimin leaned in close during a slow song, whispering how much fun he was having, it’d become the happiest night of Jungkook’s life.

Yoongi didn’t understand why he suddenly couldn’t breathe. Something was constricting his chest. It was the same feeling that he got every time he stepped on stage. He couldn’t be in this room anymore.

“Yoongi?” Taemin called, “Are you okay?”

Vaguely, Yoongi could see Jimin and Jungkook swaying on the dance floor. Jimin looked happy, beautiful, half-closed eyes, a plush smile, and a faint dusting of pink across his nose and cheeks.

“No,” Yoongi said through gritted teeth, “I’m not okay.”

Taemin flashed him a worried look and muttered something that sounded like, ‘Panic attack.’ The idol looped his arm under Yoongi’s and lead him backstage. The pale man felt himself being pulled along. It was so loud and there were so many people. He was certain that Taemin was talking to him, but he just couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears.

Then, they went into the equipment room, were masses of wire and speaker sets littered the floor. Taemin sat Yoongi down on the biggest one, then the singer dimmed the lights to the lowest setting.

“... you’re gonna be…”

Yoongi felt nauseous. The room was spinning, thick cables seemed to coil at his feet... But worst of all, god damn it, there was just so little air in the room. His heart was slamming against his ribs because of oxygen deprivation. The pale man wondered if he was going to die.

“Yoongi? It’s okay, just look at me okay.”

Yoongi’s eyes met with Taemin’s and felt the world gradually come to a standstill. The idol’s eyes were warm yet heavy with worry. He was gently squeezing Yoongi shoulders, trying to relieve the tension built up there. The singer was absolutely stunning, even in the poor lighting. His eyes, nose, and mouth were all perfect. He was the only person in the world, besides Jungkook, that could help Yoongi through a panic attack.

“Are you with me?” Taemin asked.

“I’m- I’m feeling better,” Yoongi said, voice still strained.

“What happened?” the singer purposely spoke softer, modulating his voice so that it was smooth and comforting. Or maybe his voice was just that perfect.

“I dunno,” Yoongi frowned. “I just feel so confused.”

“Confused,” Taemin sat down on the floor, looking up at him. “Talk to me. You’ve been so quiet since I’ve gotten back. It’s like you’re avoiding me.”

Yoongi bit his lip. He could feel the tips of his ears heating up and he prayed that Taemin wouldn’t notice. The pale man just wanted to crawl into bed and never leave. He wanted to shut it all out forever.

But he couldn't live without Taemin. Taemin made him feel safe. The man was like his family.

“I-I’ve been keeping something from you,” Yoongi admitted. “I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

As concerned as Taemin was before, he was even more so now. His voice was laced with worry, “Whatever it is, I’m here for you. Please, just talk to me, Yoongi.”

“I…” Yoongi swallowed. Did he really have to confess in some dingy audio room? Was this the right place and time. Yet, even as he thought it, he couldn’t stop himself. “I love you.”

Taemin blinked a few times before he smiled. Then a small laugh escaped his lips, “Of course, I love you too.”

Yoongi shook his head. It was all wrong. This was not how it was supposed to go. “No… not like that. I-I’m in love with you.”

The singer sighed, gently rubbing Yoongi’s upper arm. “I know you. You’re not in love with me.”

“I am,” Yoongi said urgently, trying to make Taemin understand. “I worry about you. I always hope that you’re eating well when you’re touring. I want the best for you. I love you.”

Taemin shook his head and sighed again, “Tell me then, what do you think about kissing me, right now?”

Right now? In this little, dusty old room? That sounded ridiculous.

“No?” Taemin said, gentle smile on his lips, “How about going on a date? Let's go bowling tomorrow? Or dinner and a movie?”

Bowling? Yoongi didn’t feel like bowling. Besides, if anyone got a picture of the two of them together it would ruin Taemin’s career.

“You’re not in love with me, Yoongi,” Taemin sighed. “I’m your family and you love me like a brother.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” Yoongi spat indignantly. “You couldn’t possibly know what it was like when you left me behind!”

“You felt uncomfortable?” Taemin guessed. “Like something was missing, but you couldn’t figure it out. You felt lonely and agitated?”

Yoongi wanted to protest, but Taemin was absolutely right.

“I felt it too. But that isn’t romantic love. You were just feeling homesick.” Taemin whispered.

“No,” Yoongi shook his head, “I want what Jimin and Jungkook have. I want that with you. You’re-”

But even as Yoongi voiced it, he felt that it was false. He did want what Jimin and Jungkook had. But he’d never envisioned himself doing those things with Taemin. He’d always been focused on-

“You’re in love with Jimin,” Taemin said right on cue, as if he was reading Yoongi’s thoughts.

The pale man sputtered, “That’s so stupid, I’m-”

That was preposterous. Yoongi was not in love with Jimin. Jimin was just a cute friend. A cute, supportive friend. Well, Yoongi wasn’t blind. The dancer was beautiful, sweet, and funny. But that didn’t mean that he loved Jimin. Well, he did like Jimin. After all, it was impossible to dislike the short, adorable man. He just had this smile that could light up a room, as cliche as that sounded. And the way he danced, it was so spectacular.

So in short, Park Jimin was talented, sweet, a model citizen, funny, cute, but… wait, what was the point of this? Oh right, Yoongi was not in love-

Taemin watched the pale man as he worked it out in his mind. The battle raged on for several more minutes. Then finally, Yoongi’s eyes widened in shock.

“I-I,” Yoongi breathed out, “I’m in love with Jimin. Fuck, I’m in love with my best friend’s boyfriend.”

Yoongi wasn’t even sure what to do with the new information. He had been so convinced that Taemin was the one his heart belonged to that he hadn’t considered anyone else. He was the worst of the worst. How dare he fall for Jungkook’s boyfriend after helping the boy win him over? And why was he stupid enough to shoot himself in the foot like that? If he hadn’t interfered, Jimin might still be single and he wouldn’t feel like the biggest jerk in the world right now.

Taemin had left a bit before to rejoin his party. Yoongi had stayed in the audio room to get his thoughts straight. He kind of wished he had never realized his actual feelings because now, everything was complicated... or more complicated. Jungkook was the happiest that Yoongi had ever seen him. He was less hostile and actually thought about others outside of his tiny circle. Being with Jimin had changed him for the better. Could Yoongi really bring himself to come between them?

But where did that leave him? His chest hurt just thinking about Jimin with someone else. He wanted to be the reason the dancer smiled the way he had on the dance floor. Yoongi wanted to be the one to tell him he is the most beautiful person in the room. He wanted to be the one Jimin searched for in the crowd. He ran a hand over his face in frustration. How does one live with the knowledge that they helped create their own personal hell?

He couldn’t do that to Jungkook. No matter how much he loved Jimin, Jungkook was still his best friend. Yoongi took a deep breath and steeled himself to return to the party. He couldn’t stay holed up in the closet forever. He would have to go back and watch the two of them dance happily together. He would just suck it up and pretend that he wasn’t dying on the inside.

The music was still booming when he opened the door, the party still going strong. He spotted Hoseok and his date dancing in the crowd. He saw Namjoon over by the food table and headed that way, his eyes purposefully avoiding the shiny Shojo manga sparkles. He knew Jimin and Jungkook were at the epicenter of them.

“Jeez, who pissed in your cornflakes?” Namjoon remarked. Yoongi had crushed a fancy cookie when his eyes caught a glimpse of Jimin grinding on Jungkook.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” Yoongi deflected. “Keep your weird kinks to yourself.”

“Wha-” Namjoon began, but Yoongi was already stalking off toward the employee area.

He had been wrong. He couldn’t even be in the room with them. His heart was in his stomach, slowly being corroded by the acid he could taste. It was too much to subject himself to. It was too cruel. He had made it nearly to the locker room when a hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin’s voice was quiet, cautious, as if he were approaching a wounded animal. Yoongi wished it were further from the truth.

“What is it, Jimin?” Yoongi asked out loud. What he really meant was: What is it about him that is better than me? But of course he couldn’t say that. It wasn’t Jimin’s fault that Jungkook had acted on his feelings first.

“Are you ok?” the younger boy asked. “Taemin-hyung said you weren’t feeling well, and you ran out so quickly-”

“I’m fine, Jimin,” Yoongi answered, trying to keep his voice steady and confident. He was such a liar. “I just needed to get away from the crowd.”

“You look a bit flushed,” Jimin noted. “Are you sick?”

Before Yoongi could reply, Jimin had stepped closer, reaching up to brush sunset locks away from Yoongi’s forehead before checking for a fever. The boy’s small hands felt cool against his warm skin, heated not from fever, but from their proximity. Yoongi held his breath, as the air around them thickened. He looked into Jimin’s warm, chocolate eyes and felt like he could drown in them.

“You are a little warm, Hyung,” Jimin stated, concern clear on his face. “You should go home and rest. I was ready to leave myself, so I can make sure you get home alright.”

“I’ll be okay on my own. You should stay with Jungkook,” Yoongi objected, but Jimin gave him a hard look.

“If you pass out driving that motorbike home, I would never forgive myself for letting you go alone,” Jimin reasoned.

Yoongi could tell that he was not going to let it go. Jimin and Jungkook were similar in that way. Yoongi sighed and cursed himself for feeling giddy inside.

“Fine,” he agreed. “I have to change out of this getup first.”

While Jimin excused himself to tell Jungkook he was leaving, Yoongi went into the locker room to get out of his uniform. He slipped out of the dress shoes first, tossing them aside before unbuttoning the uniform jacket and dress shirt. He had unbuttoned the pants and was about to take them off, when he heard an ‘Oh shit!’ He looked up just in time to see a wide-eyed Jimin stumbling toward him. Yoongi reacted, letting go of his pants in favor of catching the boy. Jimin’s face made contact with his pale chest at the same time his pants hit the floor.

Jimin was pressed flush against him, cheeks bright pink. Yoongi momentarily lost all brain power. Oh, fuck me.

Taehyung threw open the door of the town car before it had really come to a stop. His head was buzzing with his party high, the music and the copious amounts of sugar he had consumed making him giddy. He’d had a blast and even made several new friends in the bathroom line, though he didn’t learn their names. He shrugged. He’d just refer to them as Unicorn Man, Captain Underpants, and Slutty Snow White. Unicorn Man and Slutty Snow White seemed to have really hit it off on the dance floor. And speaking of the dance floor…

“Hoseokie-hyung, what was the vampire kid’s name again?” he asked, practically leaping out of the car. “The one that had the cat suit. He was cute.”

Hoseok stepped out of the car behind him, undoing the top button of his shirt. The man had changed out of his firefighting apparel and into street clothes, or what passed for street clothes to a Mafia heir. A button-up and slacks was about as dressed down as Taehyung had seen him outside of the house. Taehyung, however, had worn his costume to the party and had not brought a change of clothes. Or a coat, for that matter. He hopped up and down, trying to keep the icy chill from turning him into a Tae-sicle.

“Jimin,” Hoseok answered, eyeing the bouncing boy, “and I don’t suggest letting Jungkook hear you commenting on his boyfriend’s level of attractiveness. That is, unless you enjoy having hellfire and damnation rained down on your head.”

Taehyung laughed, a deep part-chuckle and part-giggle. He turned back toward Hoseok, catching a glimpse of the man’s heart-shaped smile.

“I don’t want to date him,” Taehyung explained with wide eyes, “I just think he’s adorable and I want to smush his cheeks and feed him ice cream.”

Taehyung was really freezing his perky ass (and his very exposed sides and thighs) off by the time they breached the front door of the main house. As much as he loved his costume, it was a bit lacking in protection from the elements. Though, the approving looks he had gotten throughout the night had made it worth it. One must suffer for their art, I guess.

The house was huge and, if he were honest, he hadn’t really paid attention when he was given the grand tour. He had been too busy thinking of names for the different corridors to actually pay attention to where the hallways led. All he remembered was which one his room was off of.

“To the Dragon Hall!” Taehyung called, pointing toward the stairs dramatically and grabbing Hoseok’s hand to pull him along.

“Dragon Hall?” Hoseok repeated, looking confused, but still allowing himself to be dragged along.

“Duh, the one our rooms are on,” Taehyung deadpanned. “The wallpaper looks like dragon scales.”

Taehyung looked at the man quizzically. How else would one categorize halls?

“Oh…” the man replied, “I actually never noticed.”

Hoseok led Taehyung in the correct direction when the boy had tried to turn left at the top of the stairs instead of right. Taehyung noticed that their hands were still intertwined, which was probably a good thing since he tended to wander off and get lost in both unfamiliar and familiar places alike. He had once gotten lost in his own zen garden. To be fair, it was rather sizable.

They stopped outside of Taehyung’s room and Hoseok released his hand. Taehyung already missed the warmth.

“Well, here we are,” Hoseok stated, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” Taehyung responded, a little sad that the fun was over. Or maybe it doesn’t have to be…

“So, I’ll see you in the morning,” Hoseok said, turning to go to his own room next door.

“Wait!” Taehyung exclaimed, reaching out to grasp Hoseok’s sleeve. When the man turned back toward him, Taehyung was wide-eyed with his best pout puckering his lower lip. “Do you think, maybe we could hang out for a little longer?”

“Taehyung, it is getting late…” Hoseok started to decline.

“I just…” the younger man began, stepping a bit closer, “I’m not really good in new places, but I feel comfortable with you, Hyung .”

Hoseok tensed up at the familiarity, but he didn’t seem angry. In fact, he seemed pleased with it if the way he caved was any indication. His shoulders fell and Taehyung knew he had won. The older man nodded.

“Great!” Taehyung’s face was bright again with a boxy grin replacing the pout. “I unpacked my video games earlier if you want to pick one. Or we could do something else.”

“Games are fine,” Hoseok said, smiling a the younger man’s enthusiasm. “Let me go change into something more comfortable. The only buttons allowed in the game room are on the controllers.”

They’d agreed to meet back in the hallway in fifteen minutes, so Taehyung quickly changed into an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He ran to the bathroom that separated their rooms and washed the makeup off of his face and brushed his teeth. Just because he now lived down the Dragon Hall didn’t mean he should have dragon breath.

After a quick check in the mirror, he ran back into his room and grabbed an armful of games. He wasn’t even sure which ones he had taken. Then, there was a knock on his door and he was so startled that he dropped them all on the floor.

“Damn it,” he muttered, stooping down to pick the games up. “It’s open!”

“Taehyung, is everything ok?” Hoseok asked from the doorframe wearing a colorful, plaid hoodie and sweatpants. “I thought you’d be out by now.”

Taehyung picked up the last game and stood, smiling as he walked over to his new best friend.

“Yep, I have lots of games to pick from,” he replied, indicating the plethora of plastic cases in his arms.

Hoseok led the way to a game room a little further down the hall. The whole wing of the house was the older man’s domain, his father allowing him to do pretty much whatever he wanted with the rooms there. If Taehyung remembered correctly, there was another guest room and a dance studio, as well as a whole room dedicated to Hoseok’s collectible toys and figures off of the Dragon Hall.

The game room itself, which was more like an entertainment room, was a teenaged boy’s wet dream. Three walls were covered in posters and neon-lit signs. The other held a large shelving unit that held several gaming consoles, an expensive stereo system with surround sound, and shelves for movies and games, all built around a giant flatscreen TV.

“Nice,” Taehyung whistled, his eyes zeroing in on the gaming chairs set up in perfect playing positions. He walked over to the shelf holding the games and set his down on the free space in front. “So, what are you in the mood for? It looks like we have similar taste in games.”

“Mario Kart could be fun, or Street Fighter,” Hoseok began, but paused when his eyes fell on one particular game. His lips turned up and Taehyung couldn’t help but smile as well.

“MORTAL KOMBAT!” they both yelled at the same time before bursting into a fit of laughter.

Hoseok put the game on while Taehyung settled into one of the gaming chairs with a controller. Once the older man got everything set up, he flipped the main lights off, leaving the neon glow of the signs and the illumination from the TV to light the room. They settled in, choosing their characters (of course, Taehyung chose Mileena), and played several rounds.

After a win 7-6 in Taehyung's favor, Hoseok suggested that they watch a movie. Since the older had technically picked the game, Taehyung picked the movie. His eyes fell on the collection of animated movies. He nearly squealed with delight when he saw Ponyo among the options .

They settled in on the small, two-person couch, popcorn in a tub and Sprites from the mini-fridge close at hand. It was a little chilly in the room, so Hoseok grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over their laps. Soon, they were shoveling popcorn into their mouths and tossing pieces at each other.

It wasn’t even a quarter of the way into the movie and Taehyung felt himself getting sleepy. And if the way Hoseok’s head nodded was any indication, the older was feeling it as well. Taehyung tried to concentrate on the movie as it was one of his favorites, but his fatigue won out and he drifted off, his head resting on something firm and warm.

“Young Master,” a bulky man entered after knocking and receiving no answer. His eyes widened at the sight he was met with.

The two mafia sons were fast asleep on the couch and covered in popcorn. Their limbs were intertwined. They snored softly as the credits rolled on the TV screen. The gangster held up his phone and snapped a picture, mumbling to himself about ‘reporting the progress to the Boss.’

It had been a few days since the party. Jimin was still reveling in the afterglow of his successful debut into high society. Not that he cared what rich socialites thought of him. He only cared that the bullying had finally stopped. This meant he had a chance to audition for the lead in the school play.

Perhaps ‘school play’ was not the right word. The production that the Sechs Kies School of the Arts put on every year was attended by idols, actors, producers, scouts, and sometimes even presidents. It was a kill-or-be-killed, all out cat fight, especially that one year they did ‘Cats’.

Jimin remembered attending when he was ten years old. His parents had managed to get seats in the nosebleeds. Even from up there, it had been one of the best experiences of his young life. That performance of La Boheme had moved him to tears. Now, he would have a chance to join that spectacular, magnificent, perfect-

“I don’t get it,” Jin frowned before taking a sip of his doggy foam coffee. “So, it’s a school play?”

To be clear, doggy foam coffee was not made from dogs. The two were in a dog cafe, where all the drinks were decorated to look like dog faces. Jin’s drink was a pug with a chocolate swirl nose. And to be even more clear, the Sechs Kies stage did not host school plays. It hosted life-changing performances.

“No,” Jimin hissed, “it’s not. It’s important to me. It’s my chance to finally show that I didn’t win that scholarship via pity.”

Jin liked music, but his artistry was entirely culinary. He didn’t understand what a big deal it was.

“So what are they doing?” Jin asked politely. “Rent? Hairspray? That one about the ca-”

“It’s-” Jimin sighed as if he couldn’t believe his own words, “Romeo and Juliet.”

Okay, so the material was on the trite side this year, Jimin admitted. But if anyone could do Romeo and Juliet justice, it was Sechs Kies. Before Jin could offer his words of wisdom, the waitress set a plate of cookies down between them.

“Here you are!” she said enthusiastically, white dog ears atop her head, giving her that whole happy puppy look.

Jimin eyed the tray. It was what Jin had ordered, a macadamia lab, a double-chocolate terrier, a strawberry-filled corgi, and a sugar-encrusted husky.

“Oh my god,” Jin laughed, in that cleaning a window kind of way, “these are so cute. I need to tweet this.”

“Pay attention, Hyung,” Jimin frowned, “I need h-”

“... so cute. At the Bau House Dog Cafe with my best…” Jin had a tendency to mumble what he typed. The elder hit the send button and looked up. Jimin was pink with indignation.

Jin sighed, “I don’t know why you’re all worked up. With the way you dance, you’re gonna get a part. Maybe you can be that guy that dies.”

Jimin’s frown persisted. It was Shakespeare. The ‘guy that died’ could literally be any person in the cast.

“I don’t want just any part. I want the part,” Jimin sighed. “But… I don’t know how. Everyone is so talented. I saw this guy doing ballet the other day in class... I almost cried.”

“Look, I don’t know what you want me to say,” Jin rested his cheek in his palm. “You’re good, really good. You can dance with the best of them. But if you don’t think your hip hop style makes you the next Romeo, then you have to do something that will.”

Jimin thought it over. Jin was right. If he was going to be Romeo, he’d have to really surprise the audience. Maybe he could do ballet or something in that classical vein. He mulled it over in his head. What could he do? Nothing seemed to be popping up. All he could think of was a faint tune on the piano.

“I have nothing, Hyung,” Jimin cried dejectedly, dropping his head so that it laid flat against the table. “I’m a one-hit-wonder hack.”

Jimin started hitting his head against the glass. Jin sighed and lifted Jimin up by the shoulders. He used his hyung voice, “Jimin, I believe in you. You can do it.”

“I can?” Jimin’s eyes wavered uncertainly. “I can do it?”

“Yes, you can,” Jin said without a trace of doubt. “You’re one of the most capable people that I know. You can make this happen.”

“I can,” Jimin slammed his fist on the table, causing the plate to jump up ever so slightly. “I’m gonna blow them all away.”

“Ah,” Jin laughed good-naturedly, “That’s the Jimin I know.”

The two chatted about school, homework, test scores, and food for the next thirty minutes. Jimin realized how much transferring interfered with their friendship. He hadn’t had a decent conversation with Jin in a while. It was always about Sechs Kies drama or some other stupid shit.

“So…” Jimin wondered, “is anything going on with you? Anyone catch your eye?”

Jin flushed. “No.”

Before Jimin could beat Jin up for more information, a tall, handsome man appeared behind them. He was holding a small dog, which contrasted with him quite nicely. It was like looking at a handsome gorilla holding a kitten. Jimin’s eyes panned upward. Kim Namjoon, Jungkook’s second or possibly third best friend, was there, fidgeting nervously.

“Ahem,” Joon cleared his throat. Jin turned his head reflexively.

“Oh, hi, Hyung,” Jimin smiled, waving slightly. The tall man blinked a couple of times, as if he’d only just realized that Jimin was present.

“Oh, Jimin,” Joon acknowledged, “I didn’t see you there.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. He could feel the tension in the air. Jin had gone completely silent beside him in the booth, finding the paw print design on the empty plate extremely interesting all of the sudden. Oh. My. God.

Jimin smirked, his eyes going between the other two males. They both looked so awkward. Jimin felt the little devil on his shoulder Spartan kick the angel into oblivion. The chance to tease his hyungs was too tempting to pass up.

“Come have a seat, Hyung,” Jimin invited, indicating the spot on the other side of Jin. Jin’s head shot up and he looked over at Jimin in a silent plea. Jimin pretended not to notice.

Namjoon hesitated a moment before sliding into the booth and placing his dog next to him, right between himself and Jin. The dog looked between the two and hopped down under the table to sniff around.

“So, Jin-ssi,” Namjoon began, swallowing audibly, “how have you been?”

“Fine,” Jin replied, tracing the pattern on his mug. “And yourself?”

“Fine,” Joon replied, fidgeting with the leash.

This had to be the most awkwardly boring conversation Jimin had ever heard. He needed to liven it up a bit.

“How do you two know each other?” Jimin asked, a teasing undertone to the question.

“We don’t,” Jin spat out quickly.

“Big Hits,” Joon answered at the same time. Then, he realized what the other man had said and frowned.

Jimin could tell by the pink dusting Jin’s ears that he was lying. They'd been best friends since elementary school. He knew all the older's tells. It was time to turn up the heat.

“Jin-hyung, I don’t know if you know this, but Namjoon-hyung is a master potter,” Jimin stated. “I bet he would love the new teacup you have been using.”

Jimin saw the twitch in Jin’s brow and knew he had guessed correctly at the origin of said teacup. He then turned his attention to Namjoon.

“It is beautiful, Hyung,” Jimin continued. “Pure white with fancy gold trim. Jin-hyung drinks out of it every day at the store. He doesn’t even care that it’s chipped.”

Namjoon’s face lit up, even as Jin hid his own in his hands. Jimin felt a sharp kick under the table.

“Do you really drink out of it every day?” Joon asked, the hope in his voice barely contained.

“Yes,” Jin replied, his voice a strained whisper. Namjoon looked like he could die a happy man.

However, the moment was ruined when Jin let out a sharp yelp, his head snapping up so quickly that Jimin thought the man may get whiplash. There was a scandalized look on his face and Jimin was confused until he peeked under the table.

Namjoon wasn’t the only one who had taken a liking to the beautiful man. Apparently, his dog shared his taste in men and had taken it upon himself to claim Jin for his owner. Or maybe the dog was jealous for attention and felt the need to assert his place as alpha. Whatever the reason, Jin had a dog humping away at his leg.

“Oh my God!” Jimin cackled, nearly falling on the floor from the force of his laughter. He pulled out his phone to document the moment.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Park Jimin!” Jin screeched. He managed to get back some of his usual calm before addressing the dog’s owner. “Kim Namjoon, please remove your horndog from my leg.”

It was Namjoon’s turn to look horrified. He apologized profusely as he tried to pull the dog away from Jin’s leg. He was finally able to separate them after a long, two-minute struggle.

“Rapmon, you know better!” Namjoon scolded. “I am so sorry, Jin-ssi. He is usually well behaved.”

“You could have at least let him finish,” Jimin giggled. Jin smacked him in the back of the head, but it was so worth it.

Yoongi sat behind the curtain in front of an electric keyboard. There was a perfectly good one on the stage, but it was a baby grand and it couldn’t be moved into the shadows. If only Yoongi could walk over to it and play, the sound would be that much more wonderful. But he couldn’t because being on stage meant that all eyes would be on him. At Sechs Kies, even auditions were a highly anticipated event.

“Hyung?” Jimin appeared from the performer's ready room. “What are you doing back here?”

“What’s it look like?” Yoongi sighed, pulling up the next musical number: a jaunty Chaplin tune, ‘The Entertainer’.

“It looks like you should be out there,” Jimin frowned. “Is the grand out of tune or something?”

“Nope,” Yoongi shrugged, “I just don’t like the stage lights. They’re like a thousand degrees.”

Jimin was silent, looking pensively at Yoongi. Or, at least, Yoongi imagined he was because Yoongi was staring at the sheet music like he’d never seen the song before.

“You deserve a spotlight too, Yoongi,” Jimin finally said. The boy left before Yoongi could respond, not that he had much to say anyway.

Yoongi looked to the stage. They were calling out the next auditioner, Kim Heechul, a junior who’d been left back three times (a super junior, if you would).

The man sauntered onto the stage, wearing a gigantic Teletubby suit. It was better than last year when the man wore another type of suit… one that you wore your birthday. Yoongi started playing ‘The Entertainer’, the sound amplified by the speakers.

The man did a whole Monty Python skit in the suit while Yoongi stared on in open-mouthed disbelief. It was so horrible and yet somehow strangely provocative that Yoongi started to question reality afterward. At the final note, the performer bowed deeply, despite the lack of applause. Yoongi asked himself if the man was simply before his time.

The pianist pulled up the next song, wondering which classical composer would get haphazardly chosen next. Brahms was popular this year. But when Yoongi focused on the actual notes, he realized that it was an original.  

“Serendipity,” Yoongi muttered, the words feeling foreign yet familiar on his tongue. “Composer, Kim N., Audition, Park J..”

There were at least fifteen ‘Park J.’s in the school, and nearly all of them were auditioning for the production. But it was him wasn’t it? Who else would use an original piece? He shook his head and waited for the cue to begin. It was a good thing he could sight read with perfect precision. It looked relatively easy too, a single melody serving as its entire basis.

The casting director called out a loud ‘Next!’ and Jimin stepped out onto the stage. He was dressed in an oversized sweater and loose-fitting pants. He was barefoot. He was beautiful.

“Park Jimin, auditioning for the role of Romeo,” Jimin spoke out in a clear, confident voice.

Yoongi’s heart skipped a beat. It was him. He’d already known somehow. The pianist wondered how Park Jimin would top his scholarship competition dance. What heights would he soar to now?  

“Proceed,” the director sounded bored.

Yoongi pressed down on the keys, bringing the notes on the page to life. He couldn’t believe it himself how absolutely beautiful the music was.

Who wrote this?

It was utterly perfect in its simplicity. It was a love song, plain, and simple, carrying a young person’s heart. It was hopeful and eternal.

Yoongi watched Jimin, wondering when he’d burst into dance, awing the crowd with his fluid movements or wowing them with his astounding jumps.

But Jimin didn’t dance.

“All this is no coincidence,” Jimin sang in a dulcet tenor, standing perfectly still, the spotlight a witness to his flawlessness.

Yoongi swallowed, playing on even as his whole body started shaking. His brain was screaming at him. There he is. He’s the one.

“I’m just going with the flow. The world is different from yesterday. Just with your joy.” Jimin’s voice was sweet and clear, like a bird singing at dawn. It was warm and all-encompassing.

Yoongi’s stomach flipped. He wanted to leap out of his seat and run. To where? To whom? His frantic mind provided him nothing.

“Maybe it’s the way of the universe. That’s how it is. You know, I know. You are me, I am you.”

Yoongi wanted the song to end. It was agony to listen to. Yet, he also never wanted it to stop. It was confusing.

“I’m scared, just as much as my heart flutters. Because destiny keeps getting jealous of us. I’m just as scared as you. When you see me. When you touch me.”

Jimin sang the words that occupied Yoongi’s heart. Every time he thought of the beautiful angel that occupied the stage, he felt them resonating. He was afraid, but he wanted to believe it was possible.

“Just let me love you. Just let me love you. Ever since the universe was first formed. Everything has been planned. Just let me love you”

Yoongi never believed in destiny. It was cosmic mumbo-jumbo. He’d always thought that Romeo and Juliet was a story about two stupid teenagers. But when Yoongi looked at Jimin, his whole body cried out for what could never be. It was as though there was a great tear in the stars, a rift in the sky. And he finally understood, there were some things worth risking it all for. There were some people worth dying for.

The song ended on a soft note, one that Yoongi barely managed to play. There was silence, five long seconds where Jimin looked out into the crowd. Then, a tidal wave of applause filled the hall. Thunderous clapping was cut by high pitched wolf whistles. Jimin flushed, blowing the crowd a kiss before taking a deep bow.

Yoongi sat in the shadows and cried, silently, wiping at his tears furiously. He begged to unknown gods that no one would find him like that. And no one did, because they were all looking at Park Jimin.

Yoongi watched the final scene unfold through blurry eyes. Jimin beamed, bowing successively as the cheers only got louder. Jungkook bull-rushed the stage. The younger had already auditioned earlier in the day, doing a brilliant number to Bohemian Rhapsody. Everyone, Yoongi included, thought he’d cinched the part. But no one in their right mind would deny the lead to Jimin.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” Jungkook yelled in front of the live audience. He pulled Jimin into a bone-crushing embrace.

And only from Yoongi’s place in the dark, with a clear view of the chaebol’s face, could he see what Jungkook whispered into Jimin’s ear: “I love you.”

Jimin blushed, turned his head and kissed Jungkook on the cheek.

It was like a stake had been driven through Yoongi’s heart.

Jungkook couldn’t remember the last time he woke up feeling so good. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. His crops were watered. His skin was clear. Everything was perfect. The boy hopped out of bed and made his way over to the walk-in closet, which was really large enough to be its own room.

Golden lights were set on low, casting a honey glow from the ceiling. Shoes shined. High thread count jackets glistened. Rows of Rolexes shimmered.

“Who left this light on?” Jungkook noted the switch before looking up.

Butler Lee was in there, sorting out the new fall-winter collection. He’d been quietly humming to himself when he realized that he was no longer alone. The middle-aged man peered over at Jungkook like he had three heads.

“What are you doing up so early, Master Jeon?” he asked, a slight frown on his face. “Is something wrong? Is it that annoying squirrel again?”

Jungkook laughed, “No, I have to get ready to go to school! Otherwise, I’ll be late.”

The older man continued staring at him as though his response didn’t make any sense, and that Jungkook, had in fact, sprouted yet another head, making a total of four heads. Jungkook just beamed at him, patiently waiting for the man to connect the dots.

“So… you’re worried that you’re going to be late to school?” Butler Lee said slowly.

“Yup, can’t miss school,” Jungkook chirped, “not with production practice. Oh, and did I mention that my Jiminie got the lead? He’s gonna need me to run lines.”

Butler Lee seemed very perplexed with the many, many heads Jungkook had grown. Eventually, he nodded, “Of course, I’ll get the stylist here so you can get dressed. What would you like for breakfast? We can call the staff chef in early, Master Jeon.”

“Ah, no that’s fine,” Jungkook replied, “I don’t want to be a bother. Let them sleep in. I can handle it.”

The young heir grabbed the first thing off the rack and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the butler gaping after him, “Don’t wait up!”

Jungkook made it to school with plenty of time to spare. The sky was so blue and the grass so green. The young man almost felt like he was in the opening scene of ‘The Sound of Music’. He had a strong urge to puff out his chest, throw his arms to the side, and sing. There was precisely one reason why he felt so good. His cheek still tingled at the memory of Jimin’s lips pressed upon it.

He scanned the campus grounds for his one and only. Jimin stood at the steps below the entrance, waiting for him. Jungkook was ready to call out, loud enough for everyone to hear when he noticed that Yoongi was there as well. The two were chatting. Yoongi looked like Yoongi, pained and frowning slightly. Jimin was beside him, smiling radiantly and laughing. They looked oddly good together, like two parts of a whole. A sudden twinge of jealousy twisted in Jungkook’s chest, but he squished it down.

“Ah, stop being paranoid,” Jungkook mumbled to himself before walking over.

Yoongi noticed him first, turning his body to greet him. Jimin turned around, first surprised, then happy to see him.

“Hey, Kookie,” the pianist saluted, “or should I say Mercutio.”

Yoongi’s smile was a bit teasing. But Jungkook wasn’t bothered at all. Jimin had secured the lead, fair and square.

“The best man won,” Jungkook sighed, signaling Jimin with his hand “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Jimin flushed, gently hitting Jungkook’s arm. “Well, I wouldn’t say best man.”

“Well, I would, Hyung,” Jungkook answered before kissing Jimin’s temple and throwing his arm around the boy’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get to class.”

“I like this good-sport Jungkook,” Jimin commented, leaning into his embrace, “It’s a good look on you.”

Jungkook wanted to say ‘You’re a good look on me’, but he refrained.

The three made it inside, strolling in casually, almost in slow motion. Jimin was as bright as the sun with Jungkook draped over him. Yoongi was the picture of ease, wearing a blue hoodie instead of the school uniform, one earbud in, one hanging off his shoulder. Ah, it was turning out to be a good day, magazine catalog good.

Jungkook was positively elated when the noticed a huge crowd in the lobby area. The morning announcements screen wasn’t displaying the normal bullet point news. Instead there was a video on loop.

“What’s this?” Jungkook wondered, looking around.

The crowd was pressed in on itself trying to get a better look at the screen. Then, Jungkook heard what they were saying.

“Oh my god, that two-timing snake!” a girl shouted.

“Park Jimin is such a fucking slut,” another girl hissed.

Jungkook saw red. What did she just say about his boyfriend? Jungkook grabbed the girl by the collar, “Who do you think you are, talking about my boyfriend like that?”

“Just look at the screen,” the girl cried, eyes wide with fear as she glanced over at the TV.

Jungkook dropped her and made his way to the front, the sea parting for him. Jimin and Yoongi followed close behind. It’d suddenly become a thousand degrees in that room.

It took a moment for Jungkook to process what was on the screen. It was blurry, but he could tell it was Yoongi, even if he was just looking at the back of the guy’s head. It was definitely Yoongi, standing there.

What the fuck was going on?

Jungkook felt himself sink into the floor. He prayed that it was a mistake, surely it wasn’t what he thought it was. But then, the camera tipped further into the hallway. Jimin was in the video too. His boyfriend was chatting animatedly with Yoongi, touching his cheek tenderly. Yoongi’s head was moving ever so slightly in response. Then, the camera shut off abruptly.  

Was that it? That could mean anything. Jungkook almost sighed with relief. Jimin was just a concerned citizen.

But then the video turned on again. There had been a time skip. Yoongi was the feature again. Only this time he was … almost completely naked, stripped down to his boxers. And-

Jungkook let out a pained sob.

-Jimin was there, pressed against his chest. The two were kissing.

What?

They had kissed.

How?

The two of them, his best friend and his boyfriend. They had kissed behind his back. They were fooling around behind his back.

When?

Jimin was in his vampire get up. This was a video from Taemin’s welcome back party. This was just a week ago.

The cameraman panned downward from shock. The whole thing blacked out for two seconds before the video looped over again. And Jungkook had to watch it once more: the chatting, the flirting, and the kiss.

“What the fuck?” Jungkook hissed, every word dripping with anger. “What the fuck was that?”

Yoongi was furious, pressing the off button on the side. “It’s fake. Nothing happened.”

“What were you doing with him in the first place? Why were you two alone? Why were you naked?” Jungkook couldn’t stop talking. His heart was shredded. “When you said you were leaving early… you were cheating on me?”

“Nothing, it was nothing,” Jimin piped up. “I would never. It’s the camera angle…  I just tripped. I didn’t kiss him. I like you. Please believe me. Someone is just trying to make me look bad. I swear.”

Jungkook wanted to believe Jimin. The way Jimin looked at him, so urgent and honest. He was ready to let it go. He just needed Yoongi to confirm it. He looked over at his best friend.

“Tell me that you don’t have any feelings for Jimin, Hyung,” Jungkook looked the pale man in the eye, “then I will bury this. I won’t even go after this fucking camera guy. Just tell me and it’s over.”

Yoongi stared back at him, before his eyes flickered downward, “N-Nothing happened between us.”

Jungkook knew his best friend like he knew himself. That was an admission. Nothing had happened between them but… Yoongi did have feelings for Jimin. But somehow, that was even worse.

“How dare you?” Jungkook spat, “After everything… you think you can steal from me?”

“I swear I didn’t mean-” Yoongi began.

Jungkook’s brain short-circuited. His blood boiled in his veins. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d already wound backward. He swung a fist, a powerful right hook. It collided with the side of Yoongi’s face. The pale man stumbled to the floor from the disastrous impact.

The room filled with hushed silence. The tension became so thick that no one could breathe.

And then, Jungkook cried out like he was the one who’d received the punch. His best friend… his boyfriend- ah fuck, he couldn’t even think. It hurt so bad. It hurt so fucking bad like he’d gotten stabbed in the chest.

No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man. ~ Mercutio, Romeo and Juliet, Act 3 Scene 1

Chapter Text

Searing pain radiated from the side of Yoongi’s face. The impact was like a red-hot brand on his cheek. With traitorous tears painted down his face, the pale man unsteadily got to his feet.

“Stop it,” Jimin shouted, his voice strained and confused. His hand was pressed against Jungkook’s chest, acting as a brace and a deterrent. It was the circus and this was the first act. Everyone gathered around, faceless spectators, and cobwebbed cotton candy.

“Jungkook, I…” Yoongi began, his jaw throbbing. He searched the dark-haired boy’s face for any hint of the friendship they had nurtured over the years, but all he saw was fury and anguish. He opened his mouth to, again, deny any ill intent, but he was cut off by a glare from above.

“You were my best friend,” Jungkook said, dangerously calm all of the sudden, nose flaring. “You were my brother. But now,-” a dry sob escaped his throat before he continued. “Get out of my sight.”

Were.

The word was like a thousand needles tipped with acid, penetrating deep down into his gut, eating away at his insides. He froze, his eyes widening. Had he really done something so wrong to warrant excommunication? He hadn’t even acted on his feelings. What the hell?

“What makes you so high and mighty, passing judgment on everyone else?” Yoongi asked, measuring his words carefully. He tilted his head slightly, climbing to his feet and taking a step toward the younger. “Who died and made you God? You act like I tried to fuck him. I haven’t even touched him. I have done nothing but talk you up to him, no matter how much you don’t deserve him.”

Jungkook stepped back, hurt swirling in his irises, a young vulnerable child, but only for a moment, before sealing over again. Then, Yoongi was faced with the same Jungkook that could send a man to the hospital over nothing. “As of now, you’re out of the F4. Consider yourself orphaned. Never show your face to me again.”

“Jungkook!” Jimin gasped, taking a step back. “Yoongi is your best friend! How could you be so cold?”

“He’s being a petulant brat,” Yoongi scoffed.

Jungkook looked at Jimin, conflict evident on his face. The chaebol closed his eyes, exhaling softly before addressing the dancer. “It’s me or him. You’re a smart guy, choose the winning side.”

Yoongi gaped. Was he really going to make Jimin choose between them? There was steel resolve in Jungkook’s eyes. The guy was serious.

“I’m not going to choose,” Jimin was on the verge of tears. “You guys are best friends. Just trust me, please. Nothing is going on!”

“So you do have feelings for him,” Jungkook said without skipping a beat, “I knew it. I knew it all along. I knew you couldn’t love someone like me.”

“What do you mean ‘someone like you’?” Jimin asked, confusion contorting his face.

“Did you fuck him?” Jungkook cried, tears freely streaming down his face. “You fucking slut!”

Jimin laughed, not mirth-filled but disdainful, all vinegar and no honey. He looked at Jungkook just like he had once before when he’d suffered all the bullying in silence and Jungkook was the instigating scum of the earth. “I can’t believe I gave you a chance. We’re through. I trusted you, forgave you for everything. You can’t trust me this one time when I’m telling you the truth.”

Slut?

Yoongi’s brain had zeroed in on that one word and he snapped. He felt the fire rise up in him like magma boiling over the edge of a volcano. Two steps and he was in range. His fist connected with hard bone and the impact jarred his own teeth. Jungkook went sprawling, his legs and arms flailing in the air before he hit the ground.

“Don’t you ever call Jimin that,” Yoongi growled, his chest heaving and his knuckles throbbing, a trail of blood trickling from a split in the skin on the ridges.

Then, reality came rushing back as Yoongi’s fire cooled. The man became acutely aware that people were still standing around, whispering and taking photos, smiling as if this were Shakespeare in the park and not Yoongi’s life going down the drain. So many eyes, so many discordant noises, and Jimin looking helplessly between the two of them.

The room started to spin and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. The faces of the people around him morphed like reflections in a funhouse mirror. He had to get away. He had to run.

So he did, scurrying away as fast as his legs would take him, away from the two men that meant the most to him. He just hoped that Jimin would understand.

“Ok, Vante, for this next shot, we need sultry, like you are trying to seduce the camera.”

Lights flashed as Taehyung tilted his chin back, letting his lids sink halfway closed as he stared into the lens. He had always loved clothes, especially expensive clothes that felt like heaven against his skin. He also happened to look good in just about anything. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to turn his passion into a nice side job. One day, he might even take up design. He had done pretty well with designing costumes so far.

Sure, he hadn’t had any training. And yes, Taehyung did just wake up on a particular Tuesday and say, ‘I want to be a model’. Then, within that very week, Vante was born. And of course, he’d shown up to auditions in his pajamas because they told him to dress for the job that he wanted. And, damn it, they were Gucci.

The cameraman sighed, looking at the photos and Taehyung could tell that something was missing from the shot just from the man’s reaction. They were currently advertising Armani suits, hence Taehyung being dressed to the nines in one. Looking good wasn’t the problem. It was the content. They weren’t really trying to sell suits, they were trying to sell an idea, a feeling. But it seemed to elude them both.

What is missing?

It was then that Hoseok appeared from the shadows. Taehyung had no idea how long he’d been standing there. The model could barely quell the feelings growing in his chest upon seeing the older: excitement, happiness, pure childish glee. Tae’s heart was buzzing inside his chest. The whole of his body filled with caffeine-like energy.

“Hyung,” Taehyung called, forgetting that he was in the middle of a shoot, despite lights going off in his eyes. Or maybe it was that megawatt smile that Hoseok flashed him.

“Oh, was I too early?” the older asked, his smile dimming slightly. His eyes flitted around, taking in the scene. “I can just go wait…”

“No, I’m done,” Taehyung insisted. “Are we done? I need to go home. We’re having fusion tacos tonight.”

“Yeah,” the photographer replied with a relieved smile, “that last shot was a keeper.”

Hoseok looked apologetically at the man. “Sorry, I can go if you want.”

The man shook his head, pulling Hoseok so he could view the digital stills. “Look, it’s this one.”

Taehyung watched Hoseok’s face flush ever so slightly, the older’s eyes widening just a fraction as he stuttered. “Y-yeah, that one is really nice.”

This prompted Tae to hurry over and take a gander. He stuck his head in between the photographer’s and his hyung’s.

Oh

The picture in question wasn’t like the others. Taehyung was absolutely stunned by this side of himself. He was bright and there was a glow that didn’t seem to originate from the lighting. It was that of a groom seeing his beloved walking toward him on their wedding day, anticipating the life they would build together.

“When did you take this one?” Taehyung all but whispered.

“Right now,” the photographer said, still immersed in the photo, “when your boyfriend walked in.”

Hoseok, who had been drowning his thirst with a water bottle, began to cough violently. The photographer hoisted his body in front of the spray as if he were protecting a newborn baby and not a camera. “Ah, fuck.”

“Hyung, are you ok?” Taehyung inquired as he pounded on Hoseok’s back.

“We’re just friends,” Hoseok said weakly, his voice like gravel.

“Yeah…” Taehyung agreed, less enthusiastically, “just friends.”

“Cleopatra, queen of denial,” the photographer mumbled as he cradled his expensive camera against his chest and walked away.

“So,” Taehyung resumed his chipper demeanor, “tacos?”

“Yup-” Hoseok began before his phone interrupted him with several pulses. “Ah, hold on.”

The man checked the screen and sighed. “I’m too old for this shit.”

Taehyung frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“You know when your two friends like the same person,” Hoseok said in a hypothetical, but clearly not hypothetical way, “and you’re just standing there in a radioactive suit, trying to stave the fallout?”

“That sucks,” Taehyung frowned.

“Then someone posts this video of the guy in question cheating on one friend with the other friend. But it’s clearly a fake,” Hoseok continued. “Then, the one friend punches the other friend really hard in the-”

“Wait,” the model put up a hand to stop the barrage of information. “Who posted the video though?”

Hoseok opened his mouth and closed it again.

“I don’t know,” Hoseok finally answered. “But that is a good fucking question.”

“That seems like something worth knowing,” Taehyung commented, “after tacos.”

“Hmmmm,” Hoseok scratched his chin. “You’re right.”

“Most data is traceable,” Taehyung continued. “Snitches tend to leave trails. I’m sure you’re aware of it in our line of work.”

“Of course,” Hoseok agreed. “The video had to originate somewhere. I could look into the IP address. Unless this person is a professional, which I highly doubt, they probably didn’t try too hard to hide it.”

“Once you verify that it’s a fake,” Taehyung added, “your fallout days are over.”

“You are a genius!” Hoseok beamed. “I could kiss you!”

“Then pucker up, sunshine,” Taehyung smirked, running the tip of his tongue over his upper lip.

“Uh,” Hoseok’s smile died, as he turned bright red, “I was just- It’s a figure of speech.”

The older picked up the nearest magazine on a conveniently placed table and flipped through it. It just happened to be the newest edition of Seventeen featuring Angel, an up-and-comer from stateside.

“I was just kidding, hyung,” Tae assured the man, patting his back good-naturedly. “Come on, let's go. I’m starving!”

A best friend’s duty was to bring ice cream to post-breakup get-togethers. That was the law. So Jimin was not surprised when Jin showed up to his house with two cartons of his favorite ice cream. It was only excessive because he also toted along homemade cupcakes.

“I have to watch my figure,” Jimin said tonelessly. “I’m still the lead in the play.”

“You can stand to eat one,” Jin coaxed, waving the sweet-smelling confection within range of Jimin’s nose. “Hyung made them with love and care especially for you.”

Jimin had to admit, they smelled delicious. And it would be rude not to try one since Jin had gone through the trouble of baking them. “Fine, I’ll have one.”

Jin was quick in handing him the pink frosted mound. He bit into the spongy cake, closing his eyes and groaning as he let the flavor of strawberry coat his tongue. It was the next bite that made him open his eyes mid-chew. There was something hard in his mouth. He pulled it out and wiped it off to get a better idea of what it was.

It was a small, clear capsule with something red inside of it.

“Are you crazy?” Jimin flushed. “What if I’d choked?”

“I know CPR,” Jin winked. “Just open it.”

Jimin popped the capsule open and a folded red paper fluttered out onto the table. He opened the paper up, which took longer than he was expecting. Just how many times did he have to fold it to get it to fit? The paper unfolded into a notebook-sized heart with ‘Don’t go baking my heart!’ written on it.

“Come on, smile,” Jin goaded. “It’s funny right?”

“It’s batter than nothing,” Jimin deadpanned.

They stared at each other a moment before they both burst into laughter, Jimin leaning over onto Jin’s shoulder for support against the force of it. Not that Jin was very stable himself. His shoulders jerked with each squeak as he laughed.

At that moment, Jihyun slithered into the room quietly, grabbing one of the cupcakes, before trying to exit.

“Rude!” Jimin yelled to the boy’s back.

“I need this fucking breakup cupcake right now,” Jihyun replied.

“Language,” Jimin threw a sock at the boy’s head, only he managed to dodge. “This kid.”

Jimin huffed. His baby brother was weirdly secretive these days. Was he dating? Why did he need a breakup cupcake?

“So, he’s getting tall,” Jin commented.

“Don’t,” Jimin simply said. He didn’t need to be reminded that Jihyun had gained yet another centimeter on him.

“He seeing anyone?” Jin asked.

“Who cares,” Jimin said dismissively. “How about you? Shouldn’t you be getting back on the horse?”

“First, please never refer to dating as getting back on a horse,” Jin said. “Second, I don’t need another shit show in my life, thank you.”

Jimin could see that Jin was done. But the dancer was so curious.

“What about Namjoon?” Jimin asked tactlessly. “You guys seem to really-”

Jin turned scarlet in a manner of seconds.

“-like each other.”

“That’s- well, you just - I mean he’s cute but,” Jin sputtered, waving his arms around like a madman.

“But what?” Jimin asked, poking Jin in the side.

“I don’t know,” Jin sighed, taking a huge bite out of another cupcake.

Jimin snorted at the older’s packed cheeks. As if he would stop pressing the issue just because Jin’s mouth was full.

“Don’t let the actions of one asshole stop you from pursuing something that could be great,” Jimin advised, squeezing Jin’s arm affectionately. “The guy has major heart eyes for you… and we both know how much you love hearts.”

Jin swallowed the lump of cake in his throat. He sighed and Jimin knew he had broken through the hesitation.

“Since you know so much about dating, what would you have me do, oh love guru?” Jin asked with extra pomp and flair.

“Just send him a text, all casual like,” Jimin said pointedly.

“I don’t even have his number,” Jin argued.

At that point, Jihyun returned to the room. “Oh god, send him a text? That’s fucking terrible.”

“Stop eavesdropping on me. And stop cursing,” Jimin hit the boy with a pillow.

“I have a plan,” Jihyun announced importantly, dodging the brunt of Jimin’s blows. “What you need to do is dress up like a young lord from a period drama, go to his next teacup expo, pretend you want to buy all the merch up-”

“GET OUT,” Jimin yelled at the top of his lungs.

Jihyun quickly exited, but not before shouting, “He sells teacups online. There’s a number on the website. You can probably reach him via one of his assistants.”

Jin smacked himself in the forehead. “There was a business card in the box with the teacup he gave me. There may or may not have been something written on the back…”

Jimin gave him a withering look as the older man pulled a card from his wallet. “Oh for the love of-”

Jihyun’s voice rang out from the other room. “Language!”

Jimin watched tentatively as Jin dialed the number. It rang exactly once.

“Hello,” the deep, unmistakable voice of Namjoon answered on loudspeaker.

Jin didn’t say anything, his face beet red. He made a motion to hang up, but Jimin stopped him.

“Jin?” Namjoon asked uncertainly.

Jin swallowed, inhaled and exhaled. “How did you know it was me?”

“Oh,” the man’s voice wavered on the line, “it is you. Well I- this is my private number and I- I didn’t give it out to anyone but you. And this is an unknown number so I figured it must be.”

“Well umm,” Jin wrung his hands nervously, “I was wondering if you were busy this-”

“I’m not busy,” Joon immediately answered.

Jin hadn’t even specified the time yet. Jimin giggled quietly behind his hand in the background. They were so cute.

“-Saturday,” Jin continued, “Do you want to grab a cup of coffee or something?”

“Coffee is awesome,” Joon said excitedly. “I love coffee.”

Didn’t the guy make teacups for a living?

Jin cleared his throat, his cheeks still burning red. “Well, then, um… should we meet around 4 at the cafe near the record shop?”

“AM or PM?” Joon asked.

Would Joon actually meet Jin at 4 AM if he asked? Jimin was legitimately curious about the depths of the potter’s interest.

“PM, of course.” Jin laughed squeakily, swatting at the air.

“Y-Yeah, great, I mean I’d love to,” Joon’s words tumbled all together.

“Ok, so, it’s a date,” Jin rushed out. “I guess I’ll see you then.”

“A date?” Joon’s voice was all over the place, like a pubescent teen’s, “Awesome, perfect… okay, sounds good, baby. Oh fuck- I mean-”

Jin let out a strangled noise and his face turned three shades darker red. Jimin was giggling uncontrollably and his ass chose that moment to slip off of the bed and land on the floor. It seemed like Jin had a weakness to being called ‘baby’. Or maybe it was just to Namjoon saying it.

“You can just call me hyung, if that’s okay.”

“Jin-hyung?” Namjoon tested it out, “Yea… that works. I’m gonna hang up now before I embarrass myself further.”

“No,” Jin protested, “that was - you’re really swe- I mean, I see you soon. Goodbye.”

Jin promptly pressed the end call button. His eyes flickered back to Jimin, who stared at him in disbelief.

“So what was that?” Jimin asked, absolutely serious. “You in love with him or something?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jin shouted, hitting Jimin on the shoulder.

“Language!” Jihyun shouted again.

“Remind me again why I have to come along,” Yoongi grumbled, literally covered from head to toe in black, not one square centimeter of skin showing. The man wore a cap, a hood over that cap, sunglasses, and a face mask.

“I’m not sure it is you under there,” Hobi leaned in close to the man’s personal space. “What if you just hired some short guy to-”

“Call me short again,” Yoongi said, his voice sharp.

Hoseok’s tongue stilled before he smiled. “Ah, so it is you under there.”

“I’m going home,” the man said, turning away.

“No,” Hoseok pulled Yoongi back by his shoulder, “I can’t let you wallow away in your batch pad, eating greasy noodles, and watching One Piece reruns.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m watching One Punch Man reruns,” Yoongi corrected snarkily.

“I see you have been busy training, then...” Hoseok retorted. “You gonna punch someone else?’

“That was uncalled for,” Yoongi folded his arms. “He swung first.”

“Okay, fine,” Hoseok threw up the proverbial white flag, “but I’ve been calling you for days and you just radio silenced me. Come on, man. I worry.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Yoongi protested. “Doing this Sherlock Holmes level shit with you.”

“Yah!” Hoseok shouted. “This is gonna save your bromance. Get on board already.”

Yoongi grumbled under his breath but didn’t complain aloud anymore. Hoseok was glad for it because they were about to meet up with the guy who had managed to erase problematic feeds from the school’s secure network. He went by CodeMaster2000.

“Hyung, whatever you do, don’t piss this guy off,” Hoseok warned, pulling a face mask over his mouth. “Just let me do the talking.”

“Yah, I know how to conduct business,” Yoongi objected. “I can charm anyone with my tongue technology.”

“Yeah, well, this guy only speaks actual technology,” the younger sighed, adding as an afterthought, “and money.”

They were nearing the meeting place, a dark alleyway. The hacker was already there, donning his trademark beats headphones, a strip of acid green in his hair. He had the aura of a young genius.

“You’re late,” the boy said, sounding slightly miffed.

“This kid? This kid is our hacker?” Yoongi complained in disbelief. “Do your parents know where you are, boy?”

CodeMaster2000 looked positively affronted.

“The NIS wanted to hire me right outta high school,” the boy said smugly, “I don’t appreciate the down talk.”

Hoseok stepped in, handing him a yellow envelope. “Ah sorry, he’s just like that. It’s all there.”

The kid checked the bills, plenty of lettuce for a growing boy.

“Okay, let’s see this video,” he said finally. Hoseok fished out his phone and played it.

The boy watched the video a few times, before emailing the mp4 to himself. “So why do you want to trace the IP address?”

“Those are our friends in that video,” Hoseok said. “We want to catch the mfer who did it.”

“I’ll do it for free,” the kid said after a long pause, giving the cash stack back to a surprised Hoseok.  “Just... when you catch this fucker, make sure he pays. I’ll text you the deets tonight.”

The kid disappeared at the mouth of the alley with a two-finger salute.

“What a brat,” Yoongi commented, pulling down his facemask.

“He kinda looks like Jimin,” Hoseok mused, “but, like, taller and grungier…and cooler.”

“Jimin is adorable,” Yoongi defended, “he doesn’t have to be cool.”

“It’s words like those that got you in trouble in the first place,” Hoseok chided.

“I… am… going… home,” Yoongi said with a frown.

“Let’s grab a coffee and wait this out,” Hobi insisted. “The night is young.”

“Yeah, but my soul is old,” Yoongi griped.

The two did, in fact, end up waiting it out at a coffee house. At precisely 8:42 PM, while Hoseok was halfway through a chocolate chip cookie, the hacker texted them the ‘deets’. There was a name and a face, the kind that belonged on a student ID.

“Lee Jihoon,” Hoseok read aloud, spraying crumbs everywhere, “You know this guy? He… he kinda looks like you. I feel like I’ve seen him around somewhere.”

Hoseok showed Yoongi the picture. His hyung’s face went from apathetic to pure rage in two seconds. “It’s Woozi. That’s Jimin’s friend, the one he protected, the one he hangs out with all the time. He did this? What the fuck?”

“According to the kid, this is the guy,” Hoseok confirmed. In his head, he was already formulating a plan of action. “Say the word and I call this in.”

Yoongi’s lips pressed into a hard line. “The word.”

Things happened pretty fast after that. As much as Hoseok hated how jopok caricature it was, there they both were at an abandoned warehouse within the hour. It was just the fucked up lifestyle of those who lived in contempt of the law.

Jungkook arrived under false pretenses. The chaebol came running into the warehouse, guns blazing, hair disheveled, mismatched shoes, shiner on his face. How did Hobi get him here? He told him that Yoongi had been kidnapped. God, the kid is gullible.

“What,” Jungkook blinked several times, clearly confused at Yoongi’s obvious freedom. “What’s going on?”

“Sorry I had to lie,” Hoseok explained, “It was the only way to get you here.”

It took a half minute for Jungkook to realize the ruse. His worry was replaced with contempt. “I’m leaving.”

“Before you go,” Hoseok continued, “we found the guy who posted that video in the first place. That fake ass video that almost destroyed the F4… or maybe it will destroy us if you let it.”

Jungkook stopped dead in his tracks.

“I’m not the one who tried to steal someone else’s boyfriend,” Jungkook stated, icily.

“I never did,” Yoongi replied with a huff.

“Oh my God, would you two cut it out?” Hoseok interrupted, effectively ending the argument before it built up steam. “We are not doing this right now. We are here for one reason and one reason only: to get the slimy fucker that made that fake video.”

As if he had been summoned by a blood ritual, Woozi appeared in the wide doorway, escorted by a thug on either side of him. Hoseok motioned for them to bring the shorter man further into the circle.

Jungkook looked confused. “Him? This is Jimin’s friend? Whizzi or whatever.”

Woozi cringed, visibly hurt by that statement. He mumbled a barely audible, “It’s Woozi…”

“Some friend,” Yoongi scoffed. “Who needs enemies...”

Hoseok was not his chipper self. He couldn’t be. Not in this setting, not right now when he was every bit his father’s son. “Tell them what you told me, Woozi.”

There was no verbal threat, and yet it was there.

“I recorded the video…” Woozi said, his voice faltering slightly.

“And?” Hoseok urged him on.

“And I edited it to make it look like Jimin was cheating on you,” the words rushed out of Woozi’s mouth.

Jungkook’s jaw twitched as he looked at the man with contempt. Hoseok could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, finally free from the buildup of shit that had gotten in the way. One word was all the chaebol spared for the man confessing. “Why?”

“He didn’t deserve you,” Woozi replied. “I have known you since primary school. I have been here the whole time. I did so much to be with you. I read every article and watched every interview. I made myself into everything you ever said you wanted. But then he just came out of nowhere and messed up everything I had worked so hard for. He doesn’t know you like I know you. Jungkook-oppa!”

Hoseok knew that look on Jungkook’s face. It was the ‘who-the-fuck-is-you’ look.

“I am not your oppa,” Jungkook’s voice was cold, leaving a frozen trail straight toward the teary man in the middle of their circle. “I don’t even know you. Get some help. You are obviously delusional to think I would ever choose you over anyone.”

Woozi’s legs buckled as he sobbed. Hoseok motioned for the thugs to remove him from their presence. The real repercussions would come later.

Jungkook didn’t look at Woozi again, acting as if he didn’t exist at all. Instead, he turned to Yoongi. “I’m so sorry, hyung.”

“I-I forgive you,” Yoongi said.

In a moment of epic bromance, Yoongi and Jungkook hugged like they hadn’t seen each other in years.

Hoseok stood there and nodded. All was right in the world.

Namjoon mentally ran down his checklist. Hair? Styled. Brows? On fleek. Clothes? Gucci.

Okay, his leg really needed to stop shaking. It was unbecoming of him to be this much of a nervous wreck. Jin hadn’t even arrived yet. As a matter of fact, Jin wasn’t set to arrive for another ten minutes. Namjoon had been so scared of being late that he had left early, probably too early considering he had been sitting at the table for close to half an hour. He had downed one cup of coffee already, bringing his caffeine intake up to three-

Jin walked in, a vision, donning a fitted pink blazer, and an off-white turtleneck sweater.

Namjoon found that he couldn’t think straight. All that mattered was that Jin was there.

“I’m sorry, I’m late,” Jin huffed. “I was halfway here when I realized that my socks didn’t match.”

Namjoon looked down at the man’s ankles. His socks weren’t even visible. Also, he was actually ten minutes early so-

“In my defense,” Jin continued hurriedly, cheeks flushed, “one was Kirby and the other one was Jigglypuff. But look at me, just going on about socks. How are you?”

God this man was fucking cute.

“Nervous,” Namjoon admitted, which seemed to put the older at ease. He looked softly at Joon before his eyes flickered down at the table.

“Me too,” the man whispered, moving to sit. “It’s been a while.”

Namjoon jumped up out of his seat, intending to pull the opposite chair out for Jin, but he nearly knocked it over in his haste to be a gentleman. His cheeks flared pink as he righted it and motioned for his date to sit.

Jin stared at him for a second before bursting out in squeaky laughter, “Damn, that’s- I mean, thanks.”

The potter nodded his head once and reseated himself across from the beautiful man. He couldn’t think of anything to say. His brain kept screaming at him about just exactly how perfect Jin’s Adam’s apple was, which was a really weird thing to be fixated on. Namjoon really needed to figure out what to say before this silence extended to dangerously awkward levels.

“So, how’s work at the music store?” Joon asked hurriedly.

“We got a new shipment in from overseas,” Jin replied easily. He seemed to have slipped into his comfort zone. “OVO Sound artists.”

“Did you get Drake’s new album in?” Namjoon asked excitedly, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. At Jin’s hum of affirmation, he tried to reel himself back into the chill range. “That’s cool. I’ll have to come by and check it out sometime.”

“Come anytime,” Jin replied with a smile.

The conversation came to a standstill and Joon realized that they hadn’t even ordered.

“Have you eaten yet?” Joon asked, and for some reason, Jin preened at the suggestion. “We can order food here, too. They have a decent selection of clubs, I think.”

Namjoon mentally kicked himself because Jin was, in fact, the person who suggested the place, the cafe being near the music store he worked at. He probably knew about the sandwich selection.

“Swiss turkey on rye sounds pretty good right now,” Jin mused. “What do you want? My treat.”

Namjoon wanted a Jin sandwich, or more specifically to be sandwiched between Jin and a large king sized mattre-

“Whatever,” Joon nearly shouted, “Turkey or ham, it’s all good. I mean you’ve been here before right? Whatever you think is good.”

Jin eyed him quizzically before flagging down a waiter. The sharply dressed man took their order in several quick pen scratches. He returned promptly with their food, two turkey clubs with all the fixings. But he also set down a tray of sugar cookies that was not theirs.

“We didn’t ask for cookies,” Jin informed him, a confused wrinkle forming between his brows.

“Oh, right,” the man replied. “They’re from that gentleman over there.”

Joon followed the waiter’s gaze to the far side of the room. There was a good-looking guy staring at them. The potter looked back at Jin, wondering if this guy was his friend or something.

“Ken?” Jin whispered, his eyes furrowed in some unknown emotion.

He was definitely in the ‘or something’ category.

This ‘Ken’ guy stood up from his seat and sauntered over, his face the picture of ease. Joon flickered back and forth between the two as the distance closed. Jin’s eyes were like steel as he white-knuckled the table.

“Jin-hyung?” Joon called softly.

Jin looked over at Joon, his expression softening again, “I don’t want you to think any less of me for what’s about to happen.”

What was about to happen? Who was this guy?

“Hey, baby,” Ken leaned over their table, his voice a little thicker than Joon thought it’d be, “Trying to make me jealous? With this scrub?”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. Who did he just call a scrub?

Lightening fast, Jin picked up the long, wet, floppy pickle cut lengthwise, the one that came with every sandwich and slapped Ken across the face with it.

The man blinked, too stunned, it seemed, to react.

“You don’t get to call me baby,” Jin stated, looking down his nose at his vinegar-doused ex, “not even in your fantasies.”

Joon urgently rummaged his coat pockets for his wallet so he could throw some bills down. He realized that the two of them would have to get out of there fast before the police were called. The potter clumsily fumbled around with the cash, before placing them on the table. Then he grabbed Jin’s shoulder.

“Hyung, let's get out of here!” Joon gave the older a gentle shake.

Jin relented to Joon’s coaxing, grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers before making a mad dash for the door of the establishment. The older paused, doubling back and retrieving their clubs. Then, each desperately clutching a sandwich, they made their escape.

They ran in a random direction, Jin pulling Joon along until he felt like his lungs would burst. Eventually, Namjoon could go no further and keeled over, breathing heavily with his hands braced on his knees.

“I’m sorry,” Jin said, gasping as well, “I ruined our date.”

“Ruined a perfectly good pickle, maybe,” Joon panted, “but definitely not the date. That was the hottest thing I have ever witnessed.”

“He was a fucking cheating scumbag,” Jin continued, “but that was no excuse. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

Joon straightened up, face red from overexertion. “What?”

“I’ll save you a copy of the new Drake album,” Jin bargained.

“No,” Joon shook his head, his vision swirling like a snowglobe, “that guy cheated on you.”

Inconceivable… on Jin, on this perfect human being? This Adonis of a man?

“It really messed up my headspace-” Jin explained, “but still, our date. Damn, I’m so sorry.”

“But you’re like-” Joon, who was always so good with his words, was having some serious trouble, “so cool, and gorgeous. God, you’re so damn beautiful, and your cute laugh, and your taste in music, and- I can’t imagine anyone- I would never- I could never hurt you like that. Fuck, now I wish I’d pickle-slapped him too.”

“I can’t believe I wasted a pickle,” Jin began to giggle, which was pretty infectious. Joon couldn’t help but join in.

The two ended up continuing their date despite the initial hiccup. They hadn’t even bitten into their sandwiches at the cafe, so they munched on them while discussing their options. They decided a movie would be a good next step. Star Wars: The Last Jedi was playing and they wanted to get in on that action.

The movie was everything Namjoon had expected from the franchise, or, at least, what he saw of it. His eyes kept wandering from the screen and settling on Jin’s picturesque profile. His eyes followed the movement of the older’s jaw and lips as he chewed his popcorn, and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed cola. Of course, whenever Jin looked his way, he was quick to refocus on the movie, hoping the cinema was dark enough to hide his blush.

Two and a half hours and several hand-brushes in the popcorn bowl later, the two exited the theater, chatting about what they could remember of the plot. It was well after dark and slightly chilly. Not that Namjoon minded because Jin used it as an opportunity to walk closer. He noticed the older rubbing his hands together, trying to warm his fingers.

“Here, put this on,” Namjoon said, reaching into his pocket and handing a mitten to Jin.

Jin gave him an odd look, but did as instructed. Joon put the other mitten on his own hand before clasping their bare hands together and stuffing them in his coat pocket.

“Better?” Joon asked softly, red dusting his cheeks. Jin nodded and they continued to walk toward Jin’s house, enjoying the night sky in comfortable, yet nervous silence.

Joon walked Jin to his doorstep, the pace of the older’s ascent slowing with every stride, until he stood still at the top step, fumbling with his keys. He was waiting for something, and Joon knew what.

But fuck, Joon struggled to keep calm even under normal circumstances around the older. The thought of being so close to Jin was giving him heart palpitations. But the thought of not being that close to him was even worse. It ached inside, the push and pull, the magnetism of whatever this was between them.

And it was just the very first date.

Jin had given up on searching for the right house key. Clearly, the pretense was flimsy anyway. So Joon gently pressed down on his hand, effectively ending what small barrier it offered. Then it was just the two of them, looking at each other hesitantly, not saying anything.

The elder stared at him, all soft-like under his full eyelashes. The peachy glow of the streetlights cast down on them, setting everything in a sweet haze. And Joon knew at that moment that this, whatever it was, was not a run of the mill thing. Perhaps he had always known, but his mind had chosen to realize it at that point.

Jin was special, in a way that Joon didn’t even fully understand. Because it was not something to be made sense of, not logical nor rational. It just was.

“I really like you,” Joon blurted out, cutting the silence with a sharp intake. “I don’t think I’ve ever liked some as much as you.”

God, that sounded like a line if there ever was a textbook example of one. Fuck, Joon was just no good at this, at romance, at wooing someone. And if anyone deserved romance, candy and flowers, and wooing, it was Jin. He deserved all of it, and probably someone better than him, better looking, better at this whole-

“I really like you too,” Jin replied.

Wait, what?

Joon’s insides melted into honey. He was happy, but also acutely nauseous. Jin continued to look at him fondly, waiting patiently for him. Slowly, the potter raised his hand, cupping Jin’s cheek. Jin was like the most perfect, fragile piece of porcelain and Joon treated him as such.

The younger inched forward, unable to stop his shaking. Jin’s eyes fluttered shut, his mittened hand coming to rest on Namjoon’s shoulder, his mouth slightly parting in a final exhale before momentum carried them through.

Their lips met softly and the world seemed to fade away. It was a perfect moment, suspended in time, and over far too quickly.

Namjoon pulled back slightly, pressing his forehead against the older’s. He needed a second, for the kaleidoscope of emotion in his chest to settle. It was too much, and yet, not enough. Was he going crazy? It was just a kiss, a perfectly appropriate first date peck. Was the earth really supposed to be moving under their feet like this?

But Jin was frozen in the magic too, eyes still closed as he inhaled and exhaled, puffs of white vapor caressing the younger’s cheeks. Then in one fluid motion, Jin bounded off, cheeks flushed bright pink. “I should get inside. Goodnight, Joonie.”

The ache in Joon’s chest returned, and he wanted to crush the older in his embrace. Instead, he nodded mutely. Jin was already inside before he regained enough faculty to say anything.

As he turned to walk home, Namjoon smiled to himself. “Goodnight, sweet prince.”

There Jimin was on the stage running lines with a pretty, dainty doll of a girl. But no one was looking at her. Everyone was absolutely fixated on Romeo, sweet, gentle Romeo who was newly single and technically on the market again.

“You should try blinking,” Yoongi commented. “It’s actually quite in trend nowadays.”

“I tried apologizing,” Jungkook said. “He threw water in my face. He didn’t even uncap the bottle. He just threw the whole bottle at my face.”

Yoongi snorted. “That’s still fair.”

“How do I make this right, hyung?” Jungkook’s voice was borderline whiny.

“I don’t know, Kook,” Yoongi frowned, rubbing the back of his neck, “but you can’t build a relationship without trust… And you don’t really trust anyone, not when it matters.”

The chaebol ran his hand over his face and groaned. “You know why.”

“You can’t let your mother determine how you live your life,” Yoongi stated. “Not everyone is out to stab you in the back. Love is different than a business deal.”

Jungkook eyed the stage where Jimin was still standing. There was someone else beside him now, the new AV kid. His name was something-han. The heir couldn’t actually remember. But fuck the name because the AV dude was just about as close to Jimin as one could be without it being carnal. Jealousy flared out of Jungkook’s nose.

He turned back to Yoongi, only to find his hyung looking at the guy with a similarly resentful expression.

Damn

The whole world was in love with Park Jimin and for good reason.

“Yeah, there is a hell of a lot more at stake,” Jungkook muttered.

“Look, Kook,” Yoongi said, “I’m not going to get-”

“Jimin’s a big boy,” the heir interrupted him, “He can choose who he wants for himself. Even if that person is you, let’s agree on one thing, yeah?”

“One thing?” Yoongi cocked his head.

“We’ll still be best friends, no matter what?” Jungkook’s eyes were glimmering, both a challenge and a submission.

“Always,” Yoongi said simply.

With a nod and a determined air, Jungkook made a beeline for Jimin, who was off to the side getting a sip of water while still chatting with the camera guy. The closer he got to the two, the clearer Jimin’s words became, giggles following something the other guy had said. Jimin was smiling softly at someone else, and that set Jungkook on fire.

“Jimin-hyung,” Jungkook called out as he approached. He flinched when the dancer’s lips pressed into a straight line and his eyes, once smiling, turned cold. “I need to talk to you.”

Jimin scowled at him, crossing his arms, the half-full water bottle clutched in his small hand. “I’m kind of busy right now, Jungkook. Jeonghan-ssi and I were going over important details that affect the entire production. Whatever excuses you are going to make can wait until after practice.”

Jungkook glared at Jeonghan, who was at least pretending to give them some privacy. The tall blond then turned to Jimin, pushing his heavy-framed glasses up on his nose.

“I have some things to take care of, so I’ll go first, Jimin-ssi,” the blond interjected with a saccharine, bow-shaped smile. Just looking at it gave Jungkook cavities.

With the third wheel gone, Jimin turned to Jungkook fully. The dancer looked indignant, like he’d ordered a regular coke but they gave him a diet one. He was diet coke mad.

“Look, you can’t just punch someone in the face, and call me a slut,” Jimin said straightforwardly, “then expect things to be fine the next day. You have some issues, and I think you should deal with them before you try to be with someone else. I really liked you. Maybe someday, but not now.”

A single teardrop. Jungkook felt it run down his face, spurned on by a mix of frustration and pity. But none of it was directed at Jimin, it was all at himself. The chaebol realized that Jimin was right. He was in no condition to be with someone else at the moment.

“God, I know,” Jungkook finally said.

Jimin couldn’t even begin to hide his surprise. The dancer’s anger waned considerably, evident in the softening of his eyes.

“You’re right, hyung. But, I don’t want to lose you. Can we try to be friends, or at least on civil terms? We still have this play and-” Jungkook whispered. “I’ll get help, I promise. Just... please.”

Jimin chewed on his lower lip, carefully considering Jungkook’s words

Another broken ‘please’ escaped Jungkook’s mouth.

“Well,” Jimin took an exceedingly long pause this time, before he said, “The show must go on.”

If his family hadn’t forced him to go back to school, Woozi would be home right now in bed. But for the sake of keeping up appearances during the legal shitstorm the company was going through, as his father so eloquently put it, he had to, at the very least, attend classes. Quite frankly, he would rather serve jail time than show his face at Sechs Kies. When Jung Hoseok had said he could expect further punishment… well, Woozi could only imagine that his life of ease was about to get less easy.

If Woozi was to go to battle. He’d at least look good doing it. He wore his most expensive clothes that day, his best bag, one-of-a-kind designer shoes. But it was all for naught.

Leave it to F4 to find an over-the-top way to make a statement. When Woozi walked through the doors, he was greeted by a life-size poster of himself, or the way he looked two years prior. He looked on in horror as students gathered around to replace various body parts with altered ones. Scattered along the edges of the poster were the options: his current nose, slimmer cheeks, a chiseled jawline, fuller lips, straighter whiter teeth, more defined brows, and less protruding ears. Above the poster read ‘Pin the Plastic on the Prick’ .

“Is that how he looked before?” Jackson Wang laughed. “What a monster. He’s hideous.”

“Did he do all of this just to look like Min Yoongi-sunbaenim?” Bambam sneered.

“Guess he didn’t pay enough for it to be convincing,” Yugyeom commented.

At that moment, Jimin walked in, Yoongi on his left, Namjoon to his right, Jungkook and Hoseok trailing behind. The poor kid from the streets was more popular than ever, despite what Woozi had done. He was smiling and joking around with F4, a place that Woozi desperately wanted to be in. Why Jimin? What the fuck is so special about him?

Jimin caught sight of him and the poster as well. So now what? Was the pauper going to have his fun? Pin something on Woozi’s face and gloat about his victory. The crowd parted for him, enthralled by the show.

“Jimin, that ps monster tried to make us think you were a cheater,” Jackson said in a whiny voice. “He’s a snake.”

Just a few days ago Jackson was all about calling Jimin a two-timing harlot. Now his tune was a complete one-eighty from before. Jimin must have known because he flashed the blonde a scathing look and Jackson backed off.

“What is this?” Jimin asked, his eyes sharp, mouth set in a pensive frown.

“It’s payback,” Hoseok smirked. “You should do the honors.”

Jimin’s eyes flickered between the F4 and the poster. He sighed, wiping his face with his hand. Then, in one fluid motion, he tore the game from its pins, letting the oaktag flop to the floor.

“There is no honor in this,” Jimin said with disgust, indicating the jumbled pile of paper body parts. “So what if he got plastic surgery? What’s so bad about that?”

Woozi’s heart started pounding in his chest. It would have been better if Jimin just ridiculed him with the rest. At least then, Woozi could hate him. But now… who was there left to hate besides himself?

Well, himself and Jeon Jungkook.

“He hurt us, hyung,” Jungkook addressed Jimin, “He deserves this.”

Jimin stared at the heir, leveling the boy with his gaze. Jungkook was all his, even if they were just ‘friends’ again. The chaebol looked so helpless, willing to do anything to make Jimin happy. Woozi felt something rancid bubbling in his stomach. How pathetic.

“No,” Jimin whispered. “Stop this. No one deserves to be humiliated in front of everyone. Are you really going to do to him what you did to me?”

Jungkook made a broken sound, eyes shining. “Okay, okay. It’s over. If you say it’s over, then it’s over.”

God, how fucking weak. Jeon Jungkook was a spineless worm and Woozi could finally see that. How long had he pined after the man? And all along he was like this, utterly worthless.

Jimin turned to the crowd, eyes sweeping over Woozi as if he wasn’t there. “So what if someone gets plastic surgery? Does that make them ugly? No, I don’t think so. What makes a person ugly is what they do. I could look at the people gathered here and point out any number of things that they have had worked on. And yet, those same people are talking bad about someone who has had the same things done. Isn’t that a bit hypocritical? Put yourself in someone else’s shoes before you throw stones, physically or metaphorically.”

Several students shifted uncomfortably, most notably were the members of F4 themselves.

“Sechs Kies is supposed to this great art school,” Jimin continued, “and as artists, we’re already on the fringe. What are we saying by infighting, tearing each other down like this? Society already does that to us… we don’t need to hate on ourselves too. Yoon Jaehan should have been the final straw. Haven’t you guys learned anything? A kid lost his dream because of you all. We’re artists. A dream is our whole life. We can’t live without it. So really, who’s the ugly one?”

Woozi started crying, silently. He swore he wouldn’t let Park Jimin see his tears, but there they were anyway, falling down the face that he bought. He simply couldn’t be here. It was a mistake, stepping through those doors. He did as all animals did when they were in danger...

He ran.

He pushed two people aside, making a break for the doors. He ran through the lawn, down the street, as far as his lungs and legs could carry him. He didn’t bother to look at where he was going, vision blurry from tears. Woozi was jarred back to reality when he hit something hard and unyielding. His butt slammed against the sidewalk. He furiously wiped his tears from his eyes, focusing on the person he’d collided with.

“Watch where you’re going,” Woozi shouted, before looking up.

He’d run smack into a tall, broad-shouldered, gorgeous blond boy. The boy didn’t answer him, lowering his body gracefully to pick up his glasses, which had fallen on the ground. The lenses were intact, so he simply wiped them and placed them back on his face. The effect was instantaneous. The cheap, dark frames hid how handsome he was.

People paid top dollar for looks like those. Woozi couldn’t even begin to understand why a person would want to disguise their beauty. It was unfathomable.

“It’s Woozi right?” the man asked, voice dangerously even.

Something about his tone sent a chill down the shorter boy’s spine. Despite his beauty, this was not someone to be underestimated, and right then, Woozi felt like he was a fly staring at a venomous spider. The pink-haired boy only nodded, but that was affirmation enough.

“I just watched Jeon Jungkook flush your life down the toilet,” the blonde stated, “Like it was some stinking turd.”

Woozi’s brain kept screaming at him, ‘Danger, Danger!’

“I wonder if you’re still in love with the guy-” the man continued.

“I fucking hate him,” Woozi cleared that up, despite his growing fear. “He means nothing to me.”

“Such a pretty boy deserves better,” the man smiled sweetly, bow-shaped with rows of beautiful, straight teeth. “I’m Jeonghan. I think we have a mutual interest.”

Jeonghan extended his hand, offering it to Woozi, to help him up. Woozi looked at the thing for a moment before accepting his offer.

“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly ~ The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt

Chapter Text

Jeonghan watched Jimin perform on stage. The boy could sing, hitting notes that others could only dream of. For a moment, Jeonghan felt a flicker of guilt. This boy playing Romeo had dreams too, just like his baby brother.

Yoon Jaehan, the gymnast who’d been bullied within an inch of his life, whose Olympic dreams had been stolen, was Jeonghan’s sweet, innocent little brother. But unlike most of life’s problems, there was someone to blame: Jeon Jungkook.

That pompous asshole had been the one to greenlight those vicious attacks, including the one that’d disabled him. Not only would Jaehan never do a floor routine again. He would never walk one more step as long as he lived.

“Jimin?” Jeonghan called up to the stage.

The man stopped singing, shooting him a soft, trusting smile. “What’s up?”

“You have any plans tonight?” Jeonghan asked.

Jimin scratched his chin for a moment. “Yeah, I’m meeting up with a fri- an acquaintance.”

Everything was going according to plan. He just needed Jimin’s phone for a second so he could take Jungkook’s digits off of the thing.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Jeonghan smiled up at Jimin. “I was hoping to take you out sometime.”

“Take me out? Why?” Jimin flushed a light pink. He was clearly taken aback.

“Isn’t it obvious,” Jeonghan said smoothly. “I like you.”

Jimin sighed, “I just broke up with my boyfriend. It’s not really fair to you. I’m not really looking for anything right now.”

Jeonghan frowned. He needed those digits. “How about we play a game? Rock-Paper-Scissors? If I win, you let me take you out. If you win, I’ll leave you alone.”

“I don’t think that-” Jimin began.

“It’s destiny,” Jeonghan pushed. “I feel like we might have something together.”

Jimin considered it for a long minute. “How about we hang out as friends?”

“I’d like that,” the cameraman smiled despite himself.

Jeonghan was a devil at Rock-Paper-Scissors. He knew exactly what Jimin would throw out first and he decided he’d mimic it.

Scissors. Stalemate.

They played a second round. Jeonghan was ready for this too. Humans subconsciously picked the choice that would have won in the previous round.

Rock. Stalemate.

“Oh,” Jimin flushed, “if we get the same thing again, we’ll have to exchange numbers.”

It was one of those old superstitions. Jeonghan was banking on it. He felt his skull buzzing. Jimin could either choose paper, the next logical choice or he’d go back to Scissors which was his comfort zone. Jeonghan could read people like a book. Jimin would pick something to his advantage. He wasn’t as afraid of change as a person might believe.

Paper. Stalemate.

Jeonghan laughed, feigning nervousness. “I guess that means we should exchange numbers.”

The cameraman was getting so good at lying these days. But this was not the time to worry over that. He’d worry about the state of his soul after Jungkook got his just-desserts.

Jimin bit his lip, hesitant about exchanging numbers, but he sighed. “Alright, I guess it’s okay.”

Jeonghan handed Jimin his ‘phone’ and Jimin did the same with his. It only took Jeonghan a moment to send Jungkook’s info over to his real phone, delete the evidence, and put in fake contact information.

“There,” Jimin said. “Don’t blow up my notifs.”

Jeonghan scratched the back of his head, trying to channel an apologetic look. “I won’t.”

After the actor left, Jeonghan gave Woozi a call. He needed to make sure all his pieces were in line. “Make sure to get a table on the side without CCTV.”

There was a momentary pause.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea anymore.”

Jeonghan sighed. Woozi was weak, but there needed to be a fall guy. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let it be himself.

“Don’t fail me,” Jeonghan hissed. “You want to get Jungkook back just as much as me. Just remember how much he humiliated you. How he chose that pauper over you.”

There’s a rush of static over the phone.

“Okay, I’ll be there at 6:30 PM. What’s the plan?” Woozi said resignedly.

Perfect.

Jimin was on his way to the cafe. He didn’t know why but he just had to give Woozi one more chance. It was stupid, but he had to see the good in people. If you couldn’t see the good in a person, it made life unlivable. So, against his better judgement, Jimin decided to go. He didn’t tell anyone since they would probably try to convince him to skip it.

“Fuck,” Jimin sighed. “Get a hold of yourself. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Woozi was already there. There was food on the table. He’d ordered without Jimin. Rude, but whatever.

“Jimin,” Woozi seemed oddly nervous. Well, this was an apology. Nervousness was a nice touch actually.

“Hey,” Jimin greeted the man, unable to keep the facade of a chipper attitude. Jimin was defensive, and no one in their right mind would blame him.

“I’m glad you came,” Woozi said. “To be honest, I’m surprised.”

“I’m willing to give you one last chance,” Jimin said, albeit coldly.

“Why?” Woozi asked, putting his glass down. His eyes were guarded. He started wringing his hands nervously.

“I-I just think it’s worth it,” Jimin shrugged, flagging a waitress down. He ordered a coffee and a biscotti.

“Worth it?” Woozi wasn’t sure what Jimin meant.

“We were friends once,” Jimin answered, “and I know at some point, before all this bullshit, that it was real.”

Woozi shifted uncomfortably. “It was. I was- I was really grateful when you took that red card in my place. But-”

The waitress appeared with Jimin’s coffee and cookies, placing them on the table with a bow.

“Thanks,” Jimin said quickly before turning back to Woozi. He wasn’t going to drop it. They were getting somewhere. “But?”

“I-I’d loved Jungkook for a long time,” Woozi spat, “and he fell in love with you. I was just so-”

Jimin’s cheeks felt warm. He wasn’t exactly ready to talk about Jungkook. That break up was still raw on his brain, and honestly-

“You think you broke us up,” Jimin sighed.

“I did,” Woozi looked at Jimin confused. “It was me with the video and-”

“-but the truth is, Jungkook isn’t the one for me or you,” Jimin continued. “He’s not ready to be with anyone. If you didn’t break us up, someone else would have. I just wish you would have told me how you felt.”

“Would it have stopped you?” Woozi scoffed.

“Yes,” Jimin said. “Yes, it would have. I wouldn’t have said yes to him if I knew it was hurting you. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Woozi blinked. His face flickered between confused, angry, and several other powerful emotions. “I just- I didn’t think you cared that much about me.”

“I took a whole red tag for you,” Jimin stated. “You were my very first friend at the school.”

“I-” Woozi’s eyes started to tear up, “I fucked up.”

“You did,” Jimin nodded, sipping his coffee.

“I’m still fucking up,” Woozi said. “I’m sorry about the strawberry milk. I’m sorry about Jungkook. I’m sorry about everything. And- I’m sorry about this.”

“What?” Jimin set his drink down.

“Someone is after you,” Woozi said. “They told me to bring you here. This is a trap.”

“A trap?” Jimin shouted, standing up.

“It’s Jeonghan,” Woozi spilled.

What? Jeonghan? That nice boy?

“Are you-” Jimin began. He suddenly felt dizzy.

“Jimin?” Woozi stood up to help him. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good?”

“W-What’s s’going on?” Jimin slurred, brain shutting down.

It was then Jimin realized what had happened. The coffee had probably been drugged. Jimin had fallen right into a trap. But who set this trap? Jeonghan, the sweet AV kid? No, it couldn’t be.

It took Jimin a moment to realize that he was somewhere new. He was in the backseat of an expensive car. Woozi was in the front seat, looking nervous. Jimin tried to speak but ended up drooling on himself. He tried to lift his arm to wipe at it, only to find that the appendage was far too heavy to move.

“Hello, Jimin,” a saccharine voice called. It was strangely familiar.

Jimin used all the power in his body to turn his head to the left toward the source of the noise. Even seeing wasn’t believing. Jimin refused to believe.

“Why?” Jimin’s voice came out thick and sluggish, but it sounded intelligible into his own ears.

It was Jeonghan. Only it wasn’t the sweet, boy with the glasses, messy hair, and loose fitted clothing. This man in front of him, had his hair slicked into a neat ponytail. Gone were his endearing, thick frames. This man was dressed to kill, and maybe that’s what he was-

“I just want to say,” Jeonghan began, straightening out his suit, “I have nothing against you. You’re just a- an unfortunate circumstance. My target is Jungkook. And I just needed someone he cared about, enough to risk his life for.”

“Fuck you,” Jimin managed, but just barely.

Jeonghan chuckled. “I deserve that and more. I promise you won’t get hurt. I just need Jungkook where I want him.”

Jimin didn’t say it, or perhaps he couldn’t. Jungkook wouldn’t come for him? Would he?

“He loves you,” Jeonghan whispered. “At least, he loves you in whatever capacity a sick, fucked up, spoiled, rotten to the core, individual like him can. He’ll come for you.”

Jimin’s head was pounding. He could barely hear what Jeonghan is saying.

“When he does,” Jeonghan spat, “I’m going to kill him.”

Jungkook and Yoongi were rekindling their friendship over a healthy game of Mario Kart. That whole hoes before- hold on, Jimin wasn’t a hoe, he was also a bro. Whatever. That whole being in love with the same sexy, full-lipped Adonis had really taxed their best friendship.

Also, Yoongi was a cheating-ass motherfucker.

“Ah, hyung, I swear to god,” Jungkook hissed as his cart slipped on yet another banana peel.

The younger launched a missile right at Yoongi, once he’d caught up

Yoongi just laughed, maneuvering his kart out of the way so that one of the system-generated players ended up getting blasted. Jungkook damn near growled in frustration.

“My controller is busted,” the chaebol hissed. “Trade with me.”

“That’s what you said five minutes ago,” Yoongi hummed. “When we traded controllers the first time.”

Jungkook quietly fumed, trying to smile. Okay, so, this was fun. It was nice spending time with Yoongi without Hoseok, and Namjoon, and also Jimin. It was just the two of them, two large gut-busting sodas, and all the snacks two growing boys could eat. It was a lot of snacks.

“Best 13 out of 25,” Jungkook said without missing a beat.

“It’s your funeral,” Yoongi shrugged, cracking his neck, taking a sip of his soda, before adjusting back to level comfort in his lazy boy. “I have all day to keep kicking your ass.”

“Fuck this,” Jungkook sighed, “Let's play-”

A knock on the door interrupted them. “Sir?” Butler Lee’s voice sounded from the other side.

“What is it?” Jungkook answered.

“There’s-er- a package for you,” Butler Lee said. His voice sounded strange. Something was wrong.

Jungkook opened the door. Butler Lee was holding a red box with a skull on top of it. It was not unlike a red card, similar stylings, same color, same quality.

A red box? Who would send something like this?

“Is there an address or a-” Jungkook began.

“I’m afraid not,” Butler Lee said quickly. He’d never cut Jungkook off before like that. His face was pale and sweaty, “I-I think we should go to the police.”

Jungkook took the box and opened it. He was expecting a finger or something. It was worse. All the blood drained out the heir’s face. He’d never felt so utterly helpless, or angry, or sad.

It was the one-of-a-kind butterfly pin that he’d gotten for Jimin. This meant that someone had Jimin, his Jimin. Jungkook curled his fingers around the thing, gripping it hard, knuckles white.

“There’s a card in there, sir,” Butler Lee said timidly.

Jungkook fished out the card inside.

: )

“What the fuck is this?” Jungkook flipped the thing around, looking for more details. But there was nothing except the smiley face.

“I’m not sure, sir. I was hoping you might have an idea,” Butler Lee answered with a bow.

“What’s going on?” Yoongi asked, coming to the door. “Kook?”

“Hyung,” Jungkook’s voice wavered. “Someone has Jimin. I think he’s in trouble.”

Jungkook had thought he was panicking. But Yoongi looked devastated, completely broken. In that moment, Jungkook understood there was a difference between them. Yoongi loved Jimin, really loved him. The man crumpled up, hiding his face and breathing heavily into his hands.

Then, when he looked up, his eyes were like steel. “We’re getting him back, Jungkook.”

Yoongi’s words left no room for doubt. It was as if a fire burned in him, setting his spirit alight.

“Whoever this is,” Yoongi said, “he’s going to call you soon for a ransom. This is just the beginning, a scare tactic. We both need to stay calm.”

Jungkook nodded, heart thudding numbly in his chest. “Okay, hyung.”

“I’m sending out a text,” Yoongi said as he pulled out his phone. “We’re going to need everyone for this.”

Jungkook nodded again, feeling so useless. He needed to sit down before his legs gave way. They sat in silence for five minutes. It was so awkward.

“You love him, don’t you?” Jungkook whispered, his private thoughts so loud that they spilled out into reality. “And not in that stupid kid way. In that serious, spend the rest of your life with him kinda way.”

Yoongi’s eyes were wide with alarm. He braced his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and pressing his fingers together tentatively. “Yes.”

There was a vast difference between them then. Jungkook’s never felt so small. He looked at his feet, unable to meet the intensity of Yoongi’s eyes.

“This is my fault,” Jungkook whispered, tears spilling out his eyes.

“Kook?” Yoongi tilted his head, voice laced with worry.

“Someone went after Jimin to get to me,” Jungkook wiped at his tears. “And I probably deserve it. I fucked over so many people, that I can’t even narrow it down. It could be anyone.”

Yoongi got up and draped himself over Jungkook, hugging the younger tight. Jungkook just sobbed into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, hyung.”

“It’s okay, Kook,” Yoongi’s voice was soothing and deep. “I should have been looking out for you. But I-I was too in my own head.”

“I want to be a better person,” Jungkook manages between cries. “I want to be someone who you’d be proud to call your friend.”

Yoongi gave him a gentle pat on the back. “I am proud to call you my friend. And I’m happy that you’re growing up.”

Jungkook’s phone started buzzing, startling them both. It was an unknown number.

“Hello,” Jungkook tentatively answered.

“It’s Woozi,” the voice answered.

Him? Again? He took Jimin?

“Jimin’s in trouble,” he continued

“If you hurt one hair on his-” Jungkook spat.

“We don’t have time for that,” Woozi hissed. “They’re taking him out of town. It’s a trap. They’re going to kill you.”

What was going on?

“His name is Yoon Jeonghan,” Woozi continued. “He says that you destroyed his brother’s life, Yoon-”

Yoon Jaehan, the gymnast. A shudder ran down Jungkook’s spine. He’d ended a boy’s Olympic dreams. Sure, he’d explained, that it wasn’t he who put the rocks in that mat. Yes, he loosened the bar as a joke. Yes, he’d given free reign to the student body to-

No, he needed to take responsibility. It was his fault. He had all the power to stop it. But he was just-

“Woozi,” Jungkook said into the phone.

“Y-yes?” Woozi had stopped mid-sentence.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Jungkook said. “Please don’t let anything happen to Jimin.”

“I’ll stall them,” Woozi whispered. “Bring back up, don’t come alone like he asks. Wait for his call though. Let him think he has the upper hand. I-I’ll make up for what I did to you all. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook whispered.

Dial tone.

Taehyung undid his tie for the third time with shaky fingers. He usually had no trouble with just about any type of knot, generally preferring the Half-Windsor because the Full-Windsor had always seemed a bit stifling. However, he had an overwhelming sense of dread pulling like weights at his typically nimble fingers, causing his dimple to be wrong each time. He let out a frustrated growl before adjusting the length and starting over.

Wide end over the small end to the left... and then behind to the right… He had gotten halfway through his knot when there was a knock at the door. His hands stilled. That would be one of two people, and he really hoped it wasn’t one of his father’s men come to fetch him to the meeting. He was nowhere near prepared to attend an actual Jopok business deal.

“Tae?” Hoseok’s muffled voice drifted from the other side of the closed door. “You about ready?”

Taehyung visibly relaxed. If anyone could understand his nervousness, it would be Hoseok. They were both in the same boat, neither of them having been directly involved in the business side of their respective groups before.

“I will be soon,” the younger called out. “You can come in if you want.”

He attempted to calm the tremors in his hands. The last thing he wanted was to appear weak in front of the older. He wanted to seem reliable, which was odd for him. He generally liked to be underestimated. It made it that much more amusing when he surpassed expectations. Hoseok was a special case.

“Hey,” Hoseok said as he closed the door behind him. Taehyung’s eyes followed his reflection as he walked over to the bed and took a seat, crossing his legs. “You nervous?”

“Me? Nervous? Psshh,” Taehyung scoffed as he went back to working on his tie. It ended up in a tangled mess. Growling in frustration, he went to pull the fabric from his neck but two hands covered his, stopping him. Hoseok’s face appeared over his shoulder in the mirror.  

“Here, let me help,” Hoseok offered. Taehyung dropped his hands to his sides, allowing the older boy to take over. His deft fingers worked the two ends into a perfect knot, exactly the way Taehyung liked it. “There. That should do it.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Taehyung croaked. He cleared his throat in embarrassment. There was so little distance between them, and Hoseok’s hands were resting on his shoulders, gently kneading away the tension. God, he smells good…

“Artisan Acqua,” Hoseok said.

“Huh?” Taehyung quirked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you liked my cologne,” the older explained. “It’s John Varvatos Artisan Acqua.”

Taehyung turned red. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. At least he hadn’t said anything risque, just embarrassing as hell.

“Good to know…” Taehyung said, filing the information away for later. Maybe he’d buy him some for his birthday. When was his birthday even? There was so much he didn’t know about Hoseok. He would definitely like to get to know the older better.

“Hey, Taehyung?” Hoseok began, letting his hands slide down the younger’s arms before removing them all together.

“Yeah?” Taehyung replied, swallowing as he turned toward the other man. “What is it, hyung?”

“Whatever happens in this meeting,” Hoseok continued, “I don’t want it to come between us. Even if the deal doesn’t go through, I want us to stay friends.”

“Sure,” Taehyung answered with a strained voice. Had he really just been friend-zoned before he’d even asked him out? However, he’d rather be friends than nothing. “Nothing has to change.”

*******************

“This marriage will unite our groups and give us the strength we need to protect our territories,” Taehyung’s father explained to the two boys. “The Kang Syndicate has been pushing the boundaries for a while now and it won’t be long before they start encroaching on our businesses.”

Taehyung was reeling. He had expected a merging between the two organizations. However, the fact that their fathers had actually been progressive enough to consider binding their sons together was surprising… and more than a little a bit awkward. He was afraid to look over at Hoseok to see how he was taking the news. What kind of face was he making? Was he disgusted? Was he even into guys?

“You’re really going to force this on us?” Hoseok’s voice cut through the silence. His voice was tense, as if holding back anger.

Taehyung’s heart sank. Of course he’s upset. They just ordered him to marry someone like me. Why would he want-

“Did you even think that maybe Taehyung might have someone he wants to be with already?” Hoseok continued.

Wait, what? Taehyung blinked a couple of times. Why wasn’t Hoseok sticking up for himself?

“I don’t,” Taehyung blurted out. All eyes turned toward him and he suddenly felt small. “I mean, um, I’m not seeing anyone, so I don’t have any objections… unless Hobi-hyung does…”

The attention was turned toward Hoseok, who looked flustered after taking his big stand. His eyes met Taehyung’s in a silent question, asking Are you sure you are ok with this? The younger gave a firm nod in affirmation.

“I guess not,” Hoseok stated, letting out a held breath. “But I have one condition.”

“And what is that?” his father inquired, leaning back in his chair. He looked relaxed, but Taehyung got the feeling that the man was just as on edge as he was.

“We finish school before the wedding,” Hoseok said, lacing his fingers together on the table in front of him, looking much more confident than Taehyung felt he could have in his position. “Also, Taehyung gets enrolled at Sechs Kies. He has an amazing voice and he’s a hell of an actor. I know you can pull some strings to get him an audition.”

“That’s two things,” Taehyung’s father smirked, clearly getting a kick out of the situation.

“Yeah, well, I’d like to have my fiance close,” Hoseok said with a smile. “He’s pretty and I don’t want some other guy trying to woo him away.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended that you think I’d let them,” Taehyung frowned. The older just winked at him, causing his face to flush.

“Then it’s settled,” the Jung Jopak’s leader announced, turning to the other father. “The two of them will wed after Taehyung graduates. We should start planning the engagement party.”

What the fuck just happened?

All around him, there was movement. One second the deal was made and the next, the room was filled with people. It seemed that their fathers hadn't even considered that they might refuse. There were planners, tailors, and caterers, all of whom had been on standby for the moment the meeting was over. Taehyung couldn't imagine how long the plan had been decided on, but he got the feeling that it had been in place before he came to live with the Jungs.

As usual, his eyes were drawn to Hoseok. The man was standing, allowing one of the tailors to get his measurements. Was he really going to be marrying this man in just a couple of years? The thought made him giddy.

Taehyung felt vibration in his pocket and pulled his phone out, catching a glimpse of Hoseok doing the same. He glanced down at his phone to read the text message and felt sick. Judging from the pallor taking over the older’s face, Hoseok had gotten the same message.

“I’m sorry, but we have to go,” Hoseok announced to the room, as he shook the tailor off and took Taehyung by the arm. “Important business.”

“This is your fault. If anything happens to Jimin, I’m-” Jin looked worried, arms folded, tapping his foot.

“I know,” Jungkook answered. “But we can point fingers later. Right now, saving Jimin is priority one. That’s why we are going to do exactly what Jeonghan said.”

“You can’t go alone,” Namjoon remarked. “You don’t know anything about the place. What if it’s a trap?”

“Of course it’s a trap,” Taehyung quipped. “It’s always a trap. You don’t have to see the future to know that.”

“If I have the address, I can pull up the blueprints from the planning commission,” CodeMaster2000 stated from a video chat window on Taehyung’s laptop.

“Woozi sent it,” Hoseok replied, pulling up the text and forwarding it to the hacker.

“Isn’t that the kid who did that blackmail video?” CodeMaster2000 asked.

“It seems he had a change of heart,” Jungkook replied. “Guilt has a way of doing that to a person, I guess.”

Yoongi had been quiet, the gears in his head turning. If Jungkook went alone, he was dead. No matter how many muscles the kid had, he was still vulnerable to an attack. But if he didn’t, Jimin would pay the ultimate price for Yoongi’s lack of guidance. It was a catch 22, damned if you do and damned if you don’t. There had to be a way around it, a cheat…

The eldest had been eyeing the back of the laptop since ‘CodeMaster2000’ had joined the party, but it wasn’t until he started pacing and caught a glimpse of the screen that everything had fallen into place.

“Park Jihyun, you little shit!” Jin exclaimed, causing everyone to jump. That was, everyone except for Taehyung, who didn’t flinch. “Is this what you have been doing with your spare time instead of studying?”

“J-Jin-hyung?” the boy stuttered, obviously flustered. “I-I can explain…”

“Now really isn’t the time,” Yoongi interjected. “The meeting time is only an hour and a half away and I’d like to get both Jimin and Jungkook home safely. The boy is good at what he does and we need him.”

“Ok, ok,” Jin frowned, turning back to the screen, “but the second everyone is safe, you and I are going to have a little talk.”

“Got it. So,” Jihyun began, switching back to his professional demeanor as if he hadn’t just been called out in front of everyone, “the address belongs to a fairground that has been shut down for the past fifteen years. According to satellite pictures, there are only a couple of buildings still standing.”

“Please tell me all clowns have vacated,” Yoongi groaned. He hated clowns. Especially balloon-carrying clowns. They were the stuff nightmares were made of.

“Hyung, it’s abandoned,” Jungkook assured him.

“Anyway…,” Jihyun continued, “there isn’t much as far as cover goes, so if anyone tries to go with Jungkook, they’ll be spotted right away.”

“Fuck,” Namjoon cursed in frustration. A dark glare from Jin had him back-tracking. “I mean, fudge.”

“Don’t take the food’s name in vain,” Jin reprimanded. “It’s blasphemous.”

“Is there no other way in?” Hoseok sat on the couch beside his fiance.

Yoongi could feel the beginning of panic edging its way into the atmosphere in the room. It was slowly wrapping tendrils around each of their necks, giving them just enough slack to strangle themselves if they weren’t careful.

“There is one,” Jihyun replied, the room going silent as everyone held their breath, “but you aren’t going to like it…”

When Jimin came to, he was looking at the ground. However, the ground was a good twenty or more feet below him. He felt the strain of ropes against his skin, cutting into him. He couldn’t move and could barely breathe. The only thing he could do was move his eyes to try to seek an out.

There was nothing useful, no ledges, no levers, nothing he could manipulate to let himself free. It was hopeless.

Jimin’s heart felt drained of blood in his chest, pushing around emptiness. He prayed that Jungkook wouldn’t come for him. Jimin was hurt, a sensation that was half drug-induced, and half just the fear that someone might die for his stupidity.

Where was he?

The room was dimly lit by red lights, and he could just make out a doorway and what looked like glass shards littering the floor. Mirrors shaped like card suits lined the walls. But all of the hearts were missing. It seemed the broken heart mirrors were the source of the glass on the floor. How fitting...

There was movement from the doorway and Jeonghan appeared, along with several tough-looking guys, who’d probably seen their fair share of bar fights. It didn’t bode well for anyone who tried to stage a rescue.

Jeonghan was the picture of ease, dressing in his Sunday best, brandishing a lead pipe. This was bad. The man looked like Satan in exorbitantly expensive shoes. He was chatting playfully with the troop of thugs, who contrasted him so violently: A plethora of teardrop tattoos and shaved heads.

“...dead… Jungkook… final blow...” Jeonghan instructed. Jimin could only make out a few words as they drifted up to him, but they still chilled him to the bone.

One thug broke off from the rest. Jimin felt a sudden lurch as he was lowered toward a thin strip of concrete. He felt the solid material under his toes, but then the rope went taut and he was left with just enough purchase to take some of the strain off of where the bindings were cutting into him.

“I see you’re awake, Jimin,” Jeonghan said from below.

“You said no one would get hurt,” Jimin frowned.

“I said you wouldn’t get hurt,” Jeonghan replied, his eyes were dancing with a twisted light.

“You’re fucked up, you know that?” Jimin said bitterly.

“Jungkook is getting what he deserves. I’m sorry that you had to be involved. I truly am.” He did look apologetic. But it could have been an act. The man had fooled him for weeks, after all.

“Let me go,” Jimin demanded.

“That would defeat the purpose of all this,” the other man said. “If I let you go, then Jungkook won’t come. And then I’d have to come up with another elaborate plan to get my brother justice.”

“Hey boss,” a scarred thug with a walkie-talkie called from across the room, “we’ve got eyes on him. Looks like he’s alone.”

“Places everyone!” Jeonghan clapped his hands loudly like a director. A dark chuckle sent tremors down Jimin’s spine. “And remember to break a leg… or a back. Just don’t kill him. Leave that part to me.”

The thugs dispersed, fleeing to the edges of the room, leaving Jeonghan to take center. He sat down on a folding chair, crossing his legs and whistling to the tune of Itsy Bitsy Spider, banging the lead pipe on the ground like a dance teacher's cane to keep time.

There was a loud slam as the door flew open. In the doorway, Jungkook stood soaking wet, chest heaving in breaths as if he had run through the rain to get there, which he probably had. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead and his clothes clung to him. His face was full of determination, visible even from the distance.

Jimin’s heart sank in his chest. Jungkook really did come for him, knowing full well he could die. He cursed his own naivety. He should have never agreed to meet Woozi in the first place. He should have trusted his gut. Why did he have to be so goddamn nice? He needed to warn Jungkook.

“Run! Get out of here!” Jimin yelled. The thugs were poised to pounce as Jungkook’s eyes found Jimin. No, no! You’re going the wrong way! “It’s a trap!”

But Jungkook had already left the door frame. The thugs closed in on him, grabbing him and cutting off his chance to escape. They dragged him to stand in front of Jeonghan.

“Do you know how hard it is to qualify for the Olympics?” Jeonghan asked casually.

“No,” Jungkook answered, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. “Look, I’m sorry about your-”

“Shut up,” Jeonghan said, not raising his voice, which was even more frightening than if he shouted.

Jimin heard the punch from his perch atop the wall. The one with the bandana had struck the boy. Jungkook groaned but kept quiet otherwise.

“My brother was a phenomenal gymnast,” Jeonghan continued. “I knew he was going to medal. That was his whole life. He started training when he was seven. All he ever did was gymnastics.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said, brokenly.

“No, you don’t get to apologize,” Jeonghan said coldly. “You have to pay.”

“I will,” Jungkook answered. “Check my shirt pocket. I opened a fund before I came here. The receipt is-”

“You think you can just throw money us and it will all go away?” Jeonghan’s voice had raised in pitch, his calm facade starting to crack. “Jaehan’s dream can’t be bought so cheaply! Fuck you and your money!”

Jeonghan kicked Jungkook in the gut, sending the man flying back. It hurt Jimin to watch. Why wasn’t Jungkook fighting back? Jimin blinked burning tears from his eyes. Fucking, fight back, damn it.

“No, what you did, it can only be paid with blood, with your life,” Jeonghan spat.

“Let Jimin go,” Jungkook croaked, coughing from the kick. “You can do what you want with me, just let him go first.”

“Oh, no,” Jeonghan replied, a Cheshire grin distorting angelic features as he ran the end of the pipe along Jungkook’s jaw, “he’ll just try to intervene and then I’ll have to kill him too.”

The slightest nod from Jeonghan set the goons in motion. Two of them pulled Jungkook up from the floor and held his arms as the others worked him over, the punches and kicks causing him to wince in pain. He took the beating without an attempt at defense.

Jimin couldn’t stand to just stand there, watching someone he cared about getting pummelled. He squirmed in his bindings attempting to loosen them, but it was all to no avail. They were tied tight and he was balancing precariously on his tiptoes. One wrong move and he would be swinging in midair.

“My turn,” Jeonghan took a step toward Jungkook, who was already bleeding and bruised. All but the thugs holding him up cleared the way, giving him a wide berth. “Time to pay the piper.”

Jeonghan held the pipe like a batter about to hit a home run. He swung. There was a sickening crack as it connected with Jungkook’s side. The chaebol cried out in pain, crumpling to the ground.

“NO!” Jimin screamed. He felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

Jungkook was a writhing mess on the floor, gasping for air. This was it. He was a dead man. Jeonghan looked like had had his fill of torture. He swung the lead pipe high above his head, “See you in hell.”

Jimin screwed his eyes shut, a sob escaping his lips.

The door burst open, nearly falling from its hinges. “What the fu-”

“I OBJECT!” Taehyung screamed at the top of his lungs.

It happened so fast that Jimin could barely follow the movement down below. Jeonghan’s lackeys blinked stupidly for a moment taking in the scene. There were several guys standing there, all dripping wet from the rainwater. “Hey-”

Taehyung wasted no time, spinning in the air and kicking a man in the face. It was going to be an all-out brawl. Even though Jimin’s mind was panic addled, he almost instinctively looked for someone among the crowd.

Yoongi, he was there, a fire in his eye. He slammed his fist right into a man’s face with a furious abandon, and something resembling a war cry.

“Get them,” Jeonghan shouted. His ponytail was coming loose and he was becoming increasingly more disheveled. He grabbed Jungkook by the arm and began to drag him toward a closed door.

“Not today, asshole,” Hoseok said, tackling the man down. He wrestled with Jeonghan, who looked like he’d lost his mind.

It was chaos. Fists were flying. The air was filled with curses and discordant grunts. Jimin kept his eye on Yoongi, who was savagely fighting his way through the crowd. Someone cracked him in the face, and he reeled back. Jimin could almost physically feel it. But Yoongi just flipped back up onto his feet.

“That all you got?” the man slurred, wiping the blood off his jaw with his sleeve.

Jimin sobbed. They came for him. They all came to save him. He’d never felt so unworthy or so grateful. He’d thought Jungkook was going to die, for him. That only made him cry more.

Jin and Namjoon were back to back, fighting off a couple of ruffians. Jin got punched in the face and lost it. He threw a shoulder into the guy’s gut, tackling him the ground. Namjoon used his destructive powers for good and broke his guy’s nose with his head.

And then, it was over. Hoseok had wrestled Jeonghan into a chokehold and kept him pinned until he passed out from the disruption of his blood flow. Jin had his phone to his ear, calling for an ambulance and the police to come collect the unconscious crooks. Namjoon had retrieved Jungkook and was checking him over.

And Yoongi was moving, looking for a way to get to Jimin. He disappeared at the far end of the room for several minutes before reappearing at the top of the wall opposite from Jimin. He seemed so far away, even though it was less than thirty feet. The wall was narrow, only the width of a cement block. On either side, broken glass had been swept into piles, threatening pain for anyone with bad balance.

Jimin met the older’s eyes across the distance. Yoongi was determined, but Jimin could still see the fear as the peach-haired man gulped. The room had gone quiet, or maybe Jimin’s hearing had tunneled the way his vision had. He held his breath as Yoongi put one foot in front of the other, his arms out to the sides for added balance.

A squeak escaped Jimin’s lips when about halfway, Yoongi’s foot faltered and he stepped slightly off center. The edge crumbled slightly, sending small chunks raining down on the glass. The older’s eyes were wide, but he continued on his trek toward the bound boy.

At last, after what seemed like a lifetime, Yoongi made it to him. Jimin couldn’t help the tears streaming down his cheeks as relief took the place of fear. “Yoongi…”

“Shh, I got you, baby,” Yoongi soothed, looking for a way to untie him without making him fall to his death.

“Uh, hyung,” Taehyung called from the wall behind them, “There is a wheel here with a rope attached… You didn’t have to climb all the way up there.”

“Now you fucking tell me,” Yoongi groaned.

“And,” Taehyung continued, stopping Yoongi before he tried to retrace his steps. “There is a ladder on this side too…”

Once everyone was on ground level, Yoongi made short work of untying Jimin’s bindings. The boy slumped into Yoongi’s arms, his legs feeling more like limp noodles than dependable appendages. Jimin took a deep breath against Yoongi’s shoulder, only to pull back.

“Why do you smell like a sewer?” Jimin inquired, his nose wrinkled.

“You really don’t want to know, and I’d rather not relive it,” Yoongi frowned.

“Ask your brother,” Jin said, walking over to the couple. “Maybe he can tell you that and more.”

Jimin laughed, even as the blackness ate at his vision. Now that he was safe, the adrenaline was wearing off. His eyes slid shut. Yoongi kissing the top of his head was the last thing Jimin registered.

Two weeks after the kidnapping incident, things had more or less returned to what passed for normal. The aftermath had been a big mess, but luckily for him, he had friends who could keep everything quiet. Jimin had been given the option to press charges for the kidnapping, but he had told the police that he didn’t want to. What he wanted was for Jeonghan to get the help he clearly needed.

However, because of the severity of the beating he had given Jungkook and the testimonies of his hired goons, the police had no choice but to pursue attempted murder charges. Last Jimin heard, Jungkook had insisted on paying his legal fees and Jeonghan was entering a plea of insanity.

Woozi had not been brought up on charges since the kidnapping was the only part he’d had any part in. Jimin hadn’t felt the need to mention his involvement since he’d ultimately played a part in the rescue. Yoongi hadn’t been so forgiving and had punched him in the face when he’d come to visit Jimin in the hospital. He’d disappeared after that, but rumor had it that he had moved overseas to work with Unicef on their anti-violence campaign.

Jimin had spent the night in the hospital for observation. Yoongi had stayed with him the whole time he was there, even insisting that his own cuts, bruises, and busted knuckles be treated where he could still see Jimin. Jimin had been so tired that he hadn’t even gotten to enjoy his company. But it was nice falling asleep to the feel of fingers running through his hair.

Jungkook, however, hadn’t been so lucky. He had been hospitalized for a whole week and put on bedrest for another. He’d had a couple of broken ribs, internal bruising, a concussion, and several external bruises and cuts. He’d looked terrible when Jimin visited him the day after, all bandaged up and high on pain medication. Jungkook had cried, lamenting every horrible thing he had ever done. Jimin had listened, feeling like a priest in confession, and holding his hand until he fell back asleep. He’d looked so small and young asleep in that hospital bed. Jimin hoped that one day he could learn to forgive himself.

Jimin walked the hallways of Sechs Kies with a new, less naive outlook. And also, wearing his Romeo costume. It was the day of the performance and he had nerves of steel. A show was not scary when compared to getting tied up, kidnapped, and watching someone nearly die.

Yoongi was sitting with the orchestra, which was set on a lowered platform below the seating area. The man was dressed to the nines and already at the piano. He caught Jimin looking, and returned his gaze with a shy smile. Okay, Jimin was a little nervous.

Whenever Jimin looked at Yoongi now, he was filled with a warm feeling mingled with an intense confusion. Here were the facts. Yoongi had saved his life. Yes, the others had participated, but it was Yoongi who’d called everyone together, and Yoongi who’d walked the fine line of a death by freefall to get to Jimin.

And that puts things in perspective.

If Jimin couldn’t even deny his feelings now, like he had been since the very first night he’d watched Min Yoongi play the piano. Now they were just staring him right in the face all day long. He was in l-

“Jimin?” a stagehand called.

“Hmmm?” Jimin didn’t even bother to take his eyes off Yoongi.

“Show is starting,” the stagehand said urgently.

“Oh,” Jimin shook himself out of his stupor. “Okay.”

The lights lowered at his back, and a booming voice came on overhead, “Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene-”

Performing was a rush. It’d been mostly a blur, except his soliloquy. He’d remember his lines perfectly, if only how much they spoke to his true feelings. Yoongi was like his Juliet. A beautiful person who’d gradually become an important part of his life, his moon, the very complement of his existence.

After the show, Jimin and the other players took a bow, only to be cascaded in roses. Jimin had never felt more at home in the school. His year of struggle had overturned into something sweet. His friends were in the front row, cheering him own, some dressed a little risque, and some very good with wolf whistles.

Backstage, Taehyung and Hoseok greeted him first, after a word of congratulations, they were off to the after party. Namjoon and Jin came next, as if they’d planned this. Jin spent a little time showing Jimin the pictures he’d taken before they hightailed it out of there.

Jimin had fleeting feel that they’d been paid to leave. But for what reason, Jimin could only guess. Jungkook rolled up next, in a gold finished wheelchair. Even in his kicked-dog state, he managed to showcase his Jeon wealth. Jihyun was behind him, rolling him along.

That was the one thing, the very worrying thing, that had come out of the whole situation that Jimin just couldn’t wrap his head around. Jungkook and Jihyun had really hit it off. They’d found out that they’d been gaming buddies, anonymously, for over two years. Jimin wasn’t exactly sure how that was going to work out. But the two of them looked happy and thick as thieves.

“It’s too bad you couldn’t play Mercutio,” Jimin noted, a light sheen of performance sweat on his forehead, “and they had to give it to the understudy.”

“Hyung, I thought you were going to start with how douchey his gold wheelchair is,” Jihyun said. Jungkook flushed but didn’t say anything back.

“I was going to get to that,” Jimin said. The fact that Jungkook didn’t defend himself was a bit disconcerting.

“It’s what my parents got me,” Jungkook sighed. “They’re trying to make me look like a national hero here. But I wasn’t even the one who planned the operation.”

Jihyun beamed. “I’m comforted by the fact that you acknowledge it. S’okay Kook, as long as you know it was all me.”

Jungkook smiled good-naturedly, “Roll me to the snack bar, you goof.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Jihyun saluted him. “See ya, hyung. Good show.”

“Wait, where are you guys going so fast,” Jimin frowned. He got no answer, as the two disappeared. Okay, now, Jimin was eighty percent sure that someone had paid them off to leave early. Before he could think about it more, he was met with a beautiful bouquet of pink roses, and an equally beautiful man holding them.

“Hey, sunshine,” Yoongi said softly. He was smiling, but Jimin could see the nervousness in his eyes. “You were amazing up there.”

“Thank you, hyung,” Jimin blushed. He could feel the butterflies going nuts in his stomach. “You were good too.”

Jimin could have kicked himself for how lame he sounded. But, if the sudden appearance of his gums was any indication, Yoongi didn’t mind at all.

“Thanks, Jiminie. Um,” Yoongi bit his lower lip, that nervousness coming back through as his hand found the hair behind his ear, “so, here’s the thing… I like you, a lot, and when you were in danger, it felt like, like the world would stop existing without you in it.”

“Hyung,” Jimin began but stopped when Yoongi shook his head.

“Please let me finish,” Yoongi said, his face matching the pink of the roses. “If I don’t say all of this at once, I might die from embarrassment.”

Jimin smiled, finding Yoongi’s shy awkwardness absolutely endearing. “Ok, go ahead.”

“So, I’ve been thinking for a while now, even before you got kidnapped, that you have come to mean so much to me,” Yoongi said, reaching out to take Jimin’s free hand. “And I realized that I want to be the one who protects you, and makes you smile so hard your eyes turn into those cute crescents. I want to make you happy, and I want to love you the way you deserve to be loved. Will you let me love you?”

Jimin had frozen when their hands had met. Yoongi’s hand was sweaty, but he didn’t even mind. The older’s words washed over him, bathing him with a warm, gooey feeling. Is this real life? Jimin pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t still at home asleep. A sharp sting resonated from where he’d squeezed the skin. Definitely not a dream.

Yoongi was shuffling from one foot to the other when Jimin realized he’d been silent for several minutes. Jimin couldn’t hold back the feelings that had been growing any longer and he did what he had wanted to do for the last two weeks. He dropped the roses and threw his arms around Yoongi’s neck, pressing his lips against the older’s.

Yoongi’s lips were softer than he’d imagined and tasted of strawberry chapstick. After the initial shock wore off, Yoongi wrapped his arms around the younger’s waist and remembered to move his mouth. It was Jimin’s first kiss, and it was everything he’d hoped for.

The sound of whistles and whooping reminded them that they were still backstage, surrounded by the other actors and stage crew. They broke apart, both embarrassed and rosy-cheeked.

“So, was that a yes?” Yoongi asked, clearing his throat.

Jimin just laughed and picked up his fallen roses. “You know.”

Yoongi smiled brightly, his gums on full display and his eyes full of love. “I know.”

Chapter Text

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Jimin smiled as they made their way toward the reception area. “I still can’t believe Tae had that engraved on Hobi’s ring.”

“He always was one to put that little something extra in,” Yoongi replied.

Hoseok and Taehyung, being the hopeless romantics that they were, had scheduled their wedding for Valentine’s Day. Their friends had stood beside them in support as they said their vows. The only hiccup occurred when Taehyung went to put Hoseok’s ring on him and something caught the older’s attention.

‘My ass is yours’ had been engraved on the inside of his ring. Hoseok had turned red trying to hold in his laughter. He’d ultimately failed and it had taken him five minutes to stop laughing so Taehyung could finish his vows. The rest of the guests were still confused if the chatter as they neared the reception was any indication.

“We didn’t really get to talk to the others much before the wedding,” Jimin stated, worrying his lower lip. “It’ll be nice to see them and catch up.”

It had been a year since school ended for Jimin and, unfortunately, though they had all promised to keep in touch, it was hard finding time to meet up with everyone. Yoongi and Jin had both graduated the semester after the incident, Hobi and Namjoon the year after, and Jungkook would be graduating the following week.

“Adulting takes up a lot of time,” Yoongi agreed. “If we didn’t work together, we’d never see each other either.”

“Aww, hyung,” Jimin cooed, “I’d always make time to see you. Wouldn’t matter if I had to go without sleep.”

Yoongi slipped an arm around Jimin’s waist, pulling him closer and kissing his temple. “You know I wouldn’t let you lose sleep over me, Park Jimin.”

“Liar,” Jimin giggled, thinking back to their many sleepless nights.

Yoongi just smirked and led the now pink-haired man to their place settings. There were a few people already sitting at the table, chatting amongst themselves. The wedding party was assigned to sit with the grooms, who had not arrived at the reception yet. Knowing them, they were probably taking a makeout break.

“Hyung! Yoongi-hyung!” Jihyun waved them over from his seat next to Jungkook, who was smiling his bunny-toothed grin. “Kookie was just pouting about how he never gets to see you guys.”

“I was not pouting,” Jungkook blushed. Jihyun laughed and swatted at his shoulder.

Jimin couldn’t help but smile as he took his seat beside Jihyun. Sure, it was a little weird that his brother was dating his ex, but over the last three years, Jungkook had shown that he truly had grown as a person, devoting his time outside of school to volunteer work and philanthropic pursuits. His maturity was also evidenced by how well he had been treating Jihyun in the six months they’d officially been together. If he hadn’t, then there was no way Jimin would have ever let him think of wooing his baby brother.

“After you graduate next week, you should stop by the studio,” Yoongi commented. “I’m sure Jimin would love for you to show his students some moves.”

Jimin nodded exuberantly. “Yes! Definitely come by. My Little Angel class would love you!”

“Little Angel class?” Jungkook quirked an eyebrow.

“They are my primary school age students,” Jimin explains excitedly. He loved talking about his students, especially the little ones. “They are so cute! There is one girl in particular, Chunja, who says she wants to be a prima ballerina when she grows up.”

“What about you, Jihyun?” Yoongi turned his attention to the youngest. “You are graduating this year also. Do you have any plans for afterward?”

“Ah, Jihyun got full scholarships to KAIST and SNU,” Jungkook beamed proudly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “They were super impressed by Hyunnie’s computer skills.”

“Stooop,” Jihyun whined, blushing brightly at the pet name. “Kookie and I are going to be roomies at SNU. I’m going to major in Computer Science and Engineering and he is taking the Social Welfare course.”

“Well, double major because my mom insists that I get a business degree, but I really want to be able to make a difference,” Jungkook said. “Maybe one day I can keep someone else from making the same kind of mistakes I did.”

“I am so proud of you both,” Jimin smiled, but then the previous statement registered. “Wait, rooming together?”

“Hyung, don’t say it like that,” Jihyun grinned devilishly.

“Don’t you ‘hyung’ me,” Jimin scolded. He knew what that smirk meant and he wouldn’t stand for it. He turned a disapproving eye toward Jungkook, who flinched. “Jeon Jungkook, if you think for one second I’m going allow you to take my baby brother’s innocence…”

“What?!” Jungkook’s eyes got big and he leaned as far back in his seat as he could without falling on the ground. “You think I- that that’s why we’re-”

“Minnie, if Jihyun is anything like his hyung,” Yoongi said, draping his arm across Jimin’s back and rubbing the younger’s shoulder to ease some of the tension. He cast a meaningful look toward Jungkook, “it isn’t his innocence you should be worried for.”

“Ewww, I could have gone my whole life without that mental image!” Jihyun groaned as Jimin sputtered next to him.

“Ok, who’s traumatizing my Park babies?” Jin asked, appearing behind Jungkook with Namjoon in tow. No one answered, but Jin’s eyes landed on Yoongi. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Me?” Yoongi looked around, his eyes comically wide. When no one jumped in to bail him out, he crossed his arms with a ‘hmph’ and had the audacity to look insulted. “I was just serving tea. I thought you two, of all people, could appreciate that.”

“Hey, don’t dirty tea like that,” Namjoon groaned.

“You don’t even know what I said,” Yoongi scoffed.

“I don’t need to know what was said when everyone but you looks scandalized,” Namjoon replied, shaking his head.

“Speaking of tea, how is your shop doing?” Jimin asked the oldest in an attempt at redirecting the conversation to more comfortable subjects.

Jin and Namjoon had combined their interests into a business that they could both get behind: a music cafe where their customers could sit down to enjoy a relaxing cup of tea and listen to music. They had a small shop section where they had CDs, records, and Namjoon’s teacups available for purchase.

“It is starting to turn a pretty good profit,” Jin stated, sitting down with a smile in the chair Namjoon pulled out for him. “For a while, it was more of a break-even venture since we decided that we didn’t want help getting started.”

“I wanted our business to be just that: our business, not something my parents funded,” Namjoon added as he took the seat next to Jin. “They’d have tried to micromanage it, and we wanted to run things our way.”

A commotion near the entrance of the reception area drew the boys’ attention toward the flowered arch. The guests parted as the grooms swept into the area to cheers and whistles. Jimin couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face as the newlyweds approached the table.

“There they are!” Jin exclaimed, pulling the two into a huge hug. “What took so long? You couldn’t wait a few more hours to get your hands on each other?”

“I wish,” Taehyung chuckled, “but we had a few more papers to sign for our fathers.”

“Do I even want to ask?” Jimin inquired.

“Well, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Hoseok joked.

“And then I’d have to kill you,” Yoongi said, frowning as he propped his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’d prefer not to be short a boyfriend AND a best friend.”

“Yeah, just being short is bad enough,” Jungkook teased, dodging Yoongi’s hand as it swatted at him.

“Aish, this brat,” Yoongi groused, huffing as he settled back into his seat.

Jimin placed a chaste kiss on his boyfriend’s pouted lips, ignoring the exaggerated gagging and insistence that they ‘get a room’ coming from his brother. His heart swelled with affection as he looked around the table. The gang was all together again. Each of them had grown into better people for having known each other. He didn’t know what the future held for them, but he was sure that as long as they had each other, they could face anything.