Archive of Our Own ^beta

Yoongi’s going to be one-hundred percent honest, he’s not quite sure how he landed his ass in this situation, but you can bet that if he knew what was going to happen he wouldn’t have ever left his cramped dorm. 

It was originally a fairly innocent, albeit strange, text at 2am. Expecting it to be Jimin, either asking to have his back broken in or have a late night (morning?) gym session, he didn’t think too much about it. But to his surprise it wasn’t the ballerino, rather his other gym buddy, one that has a decent biological clock and doesn’t go to bed at ungodly hours of the day. One that has no business texting at ass o’ clock, especially to go sweat. 

From: joon
02:43

Wanna workout for a bit?

The text was completely unprompted, and should Yoongi have been just slightly more awake and less stressed as hell for an upcoming test, he would’ve passed. He would’ve been asleep, or eating some cheap ass noodles, or even calling Jimin just to talk. Well, more than just talk, considering that their last calls to each other included both exchanged nudes and heavy moaning into their speakers. Point is, he should have noticed that this text was more than a little suspicious.

To: joon
02:45

be at the gym in 10

Now? He’s getting much more than he thought he would in terms of working out. Because last time he remembered, a good gym session did not come with a free psychological consultation on his apparent feelings for someone he’s just supposed to stick his dick into on the regular. He’s been denying any type of confrontation with his emotions regarding the dancer quite well, apparently too well for Namjoon to deem healthy, and therefore has decided to take Yoongi’s clusterfuck into his own hands and shove it in his face in a way that he can’t ignore.

“So,” Namjoon purses his lips as he wipes his face with a towel, “Jimin.” He sounds casual, but he knows better than to think that. He’s nosy as all hell, and thinks that just because he has a shiny minor in psychology he can fuck around inside his head. 

Yoongi’s back freezes up, but pays him no mind as he goes for another press of the bar. He inhales deeply and keeps going through his rep, healthy ways of expressing emotions be damned. He squeezes the metal bar and blinks through the sweat, but the stuttering lights of the gym are blocked, and now all he sees is Namjoon above him, raising an eyebrow, incredibly unimpressed. With his annoying shadowy figure leaning down, he can’t raise the bar up all the way, and his “gym buddy” (soon to be ex-gym buddy if he keeps this shit up) knows that. With a scowl, Yoongi sets the bar back on the rest and heaves a few breaths to steady himself. 

“Move,” He pants, swatting at him as he sits up to grab his water bottle. He spends a couple minutes squirting water in his mouth and breathing deep as Namjoon hands him his towel to wipe off any sweat. He accepts it with an attitude, knowing that there was going to be one hell of a lecture following that he wants no part in.

“You do realize that at some point you’re going to have to acknowledge the giant elephant in the room, right?” Namjoon drops his own towel and water bottle near the squat rack before grabbing weights to put on the bar. He sets two 25 kilo weights on each side of the bar then adjusts his gloves, stretching his fingers and curling them into a fist a few times.

He should probably tell him to not touch that with a ten-foot pole, considering he ate Jimin’s ass like it went out of fashion on that very squat rack last week. 

Before he can get distracted by the memory of Jimin whining until he was all cute and wet, he wipes his neck with the towel roughly with a scowl. “Dunno what you’re talking about,” Yoongi huffs as he leans back on his hands. He watches as his friend ducks under the bar and reaches for it behind his head, puffing out a short burst of air before he inhales sharply and lifts it off the squat rack.

Namjoon’s no stranger to hard work and sweating through exhaustion, granting him the title of Yoongi’s official “Gym Buddy” before the whirlwind of Park Jimin came along and snatched it up. Still, it’s always a good opportunity to work out with him, since seeing this idiot squat 100 kilos no problem ignites a sense of competitiveness that usually isn’t easy to achieve. 

He supposes that the ease stems from the fact that Namjoon’s a stupidly decorated power-lifter, but it doesn’t stop the annoyance from seeing him show off his ridiculous strength. On the bright side, he knows if it were judo then Namjoon wouldn’t know his elbow from his prostate. 

“You mean your crush on Park Jimin that’s literally larger than his ass?” Namjoon scoffs unamused as he bends his knees to squat down. His knuckles are white and his calves are flexing with the weight, but his voice carries steadily as if he were walking.

What a stupid fucking comparison. “Nothing’s bigger than that,” He bites heatedly under his breath like the true ass man he is. It surprises his friend just enough to make him sputter and grunt as his grip loosens on the bar. Yoongi knows he won’t drop it, but he hopes that it distracts him just enough to forget this whole shit show intervention.

When Namjoon recovers he grins something nasty and annoying. “Shut up before I throw this at you.”

“You lift for a reason, idiot; you can’t aim for shit. And I don’t appreciate this disrespect.” Yoongi spits with a smirk. 

He snorts. "Right, because getting you to realize that you look at Jimin like you wanna put a ring on it is disrespect."

"If the ring you're talking about is a cockring then you're absolutely right."

"You're an actual disease,” Namjoon rolls his eyes as he sucks in a breath before going down for another squat, exhaling when he straightens his legs. He repeats the motion a few times, the whole gym silent save for his breathing and the drone of the shitty air conditioner that goes in tandem with the flickering lights. 

As he’s taking another swig of water he purses his lips and feels the itch of irritation under his skin. Fuck him. He could’ve gone this entire session completely stress free and even though they’ve stopped talking about it, now he can’t stop thinking about the whole situation with Jimin. He bets Namjoon planned that, with the motherfucker always being ten steps ahead. 

His relationship with Jimin goes against everything he’s ever established with other people in the past. He allows things that he would’ve never agreed to, only because it’s Jimin who’s asking. It’s disgusting, really, how easily he finds himself saying “yes” when it comes to the dancer. To top it all off, they’re as exclusive as a real relationship can get, despite only being fuck buddies, which is hardly romantic. That’s the way it’s supposed to be after all.

What used to be something as simple as a “come over?” text turned into sleepless nights of quiet laughter, tangled up on Yoongi’s bed with the smell of pizza that they impulsively ordered, empty box laying on the floor as they mindlessly argue and gently run their fingers across skin. He would find himself staring at the way the city lights dotted Jimin’s skin as they laid there at 2:12am with a silence that was filled with something he didn’t want to label.

He wonders if he avoided it on purpose. 

All of these signs would’ve lit a fire under his ass yet they’re doing fine. His biggest concern was that Jimin would try to cross the line of being more than friends, but so far they’ve both never tried to do anything to step over that. Whatever they did together were things they were both comfortable doing.

“You know,” Yoongi looks up to see Namjoon’s eyes on his figure through the mirror, “you guys spend so much time together.” He stares at him. “Like a suspicious amount of time together.”

When Yoongi blinks in confusion he can see his grip on the bar tighten. “God, do I have to spell it out for you?” He groans. “Too much time for it all to be spent on fucking, you broken condom.”

Did he lose a brain cell? Is that what’s happening right now? “That’s where the “friends” in “friends with benefits” comes from, dumbass,” He deadpans. “And I’m almost insulted that you think I can’t spend that much time fucking.”

So what’s it to anyone that he enjoys working out or having lunch with Jimin? They’re not labeled as fuck buddies for nothing. Jimin gives great head and can ride the hell out of him, but they also happen to make each other laugh easily and have decent chemistry outside of sex. They do everything friends should do, fucking and dick sucking aside.

"Because Jimin walking around with your uni jacket is a part of being a friend," Namjoon raises an eyebrow. "You nearly snapped my neck when I borrowed it without permission."

"Exactly, without permission." He doesn't mention that he was the one who offered to give it to him in the first place. Namjoon would lose his shit if he found out, then he’d never hear the end of it. Yoongi can admit to himself that giving away his jacket is unusual, but he’d gotten probably the best sex of his life on top of the adrenaline from his workout just minutes before. So sue him if he wasn’t thinking the way he usually did that night.

"And to think you still haven't asked for it back. You know people are all over this."

He knows. He knows that people whisper and make up their own narrative, all because The Campus Sweetheart walks around with his name plastered on his back shamelessly. Lots of rumors have gone around about the two of them, especially when it’s hard for them to fathom that they’d be involved with each other at all.

Yoongi’s known for breaking peoples’ backs through judo and sex. Jimin is known for being the sweetest ballerino to walk the earth. They’ve got nothing in common as far as reputation goes, yet they’re only at this point because of a late gym session and a delirious “wanna fuck?” 

He adjusts his sweaty wristbands with a scoff. “Let them think whatever the hell they want. I don’t need to explain myself to strangers.” He’s had his fun with other people, but it was only a matter of time before they wanted more from him, more than what he was willing to give. At that point he’s never been one to hold back just how blunt his tongue is and would break their hearts without blinking. To him, it didn’t really matter what they did or how they reacted; once he was done he was done.

Luckily, Jimin knew that about Yoongi. Despite being the greediest brat he’s ever had the trouble of keeping up with, he never wanted them to become something beyond friends that occasionally touch each other’s dicks. 

By the time he looks up from his hands Namjoon’s no longer squatting. He’s clearly done with his rep, water bottle in one hand and towel in the other. The bar is back on the squat rack as he takes his break to terrorize Yoongi some more, this time without anything to distract him. “Fine, then explain to me— someone who isn’t a stranger— what the fuck is going on between you two.”

Yoongi furrows his brows. “Nothing. We’re still doing the same shit we’ve been doing.” Of course, with spending so much time together they've gotten better as friends. Even if half of their time together is spent fucking, the one or two hours of sleepy pillowtalk afterwards is what helped Yoongi really get to know the ballerino.

From knowing which k-dramas made him ugly cry to the hilariously nauseating saga of Jimin’s diet, personally managed by his best friend Kim Taehyung, he’s learned so much about his friend, things he wouldn’t ever know if they didn’t happen to cross paths in the gym under the flickering lights.

“You weren’t driving over to Jimin’s dorm to just take a nap with him four months ago. You would never waste gas on shit like that.” His eyes widen before he glowers, surprised Namjoon remembers that. He only told him when he got back to his dorm late at night, when he thought the power lifter was too tired to really understand what he was talking about. Turns out this bastard listens more than he lets on. “Is it really that hard to admit that you may like him? This could be good for you.”

There he goes again. “You know that I don’t date,” Yoongi sighs, leaning back on his hand. Namjoon knows better than anyone that he’s never found the appeal in dating to even try it. Nobody’s ever made him want to stay loyal enough to only have eyes for them, and relationships are full of complications. Just the fact that it’s a commitment he can’t leave so easily is off-putting enough.

Love is a certain type of vulnerability that he finds fucking atrocious. He’s never tried to understand why people worshipped this feeling endlessly. Call it asshole behavior, but he won’t spend his time thinking about something he has no interest in indulging. 

“He makes you happy though,” His words are firm as they force him out of his reprieve. 

Yoongi can feel the starting pulse of a migraine, all because his friend doesn't know how to mind his own fucking business. Despite knowing that this is just how Namjoon is, it’s really starting to get on his fucking nerves. Still, he tries to tolerate it and try not to get angry, but—

“Your ass is great, but I like Jimin’s more and there’s no chance in hell we’d get together, so how about you hop off my dick?” He spits.

—is what comes out of his mouth instead. 

Maybe it’s because he’s got a test biting at his ass and he’s running on the last bits of caffeine from gunning down two RedBulls, but his patience is running thin no matter how much he tries those shitty breathing exercises to calm down. He’s not keen on getting into a fight with Namjoon over this fake crush he thinks he has, but how the hell can anyone tell him what he’s feeling? The absolute audacity of this fucker is almost impressive enough to make him laugh. 

Namjoon frowns. “I wouldn’t be on it in the first place if you stopped denying that he matters more to you than you’re trying to convince yourself.” Yoongi’s three insults away from tying this asshole’s sweaty leotard around his dick like a tourniquet. He doesn’t know why he’s so stubborn about this when he’s hardly involved in the situation. All he does is listen to Yoongi, and now he’s starting to think that even letting the power lifter do that is too much. Give this guy an inch, and he’ll take all your fucking property.

“Leave it alone.” He feels the irritation start to bubble. He doesn’t want this gym session to be fucking pointless and leave with a sour ass attitude and no sweat. “He’s not nearly as special as you think he is.” 

He feels his stomach twist as the words leave his mouth. Something about that doesn’t sound right, but he doesn’t want to think about what that could mean.

“If Jimin isn’t special then why haven’t you hooked up with anyone else?” It seems that Namjoon’s finally had enough in the way he crosses his arms and almost raises his voice. The guy hardly yells, so he must have a bigger stick up the ass about this than he thought. Not that it’s his problem. 

Yet, Yoongi feels something tight curl in his chest as he shifts in his seat. He’s uncomfortable, but there’s no way in hell he’d let Namjoon know that he’d successfully gotten under his skin. 

He can admit that it is unusual for Yoongi to stick with one person for this long considering all of the hookups he's gone through in just his freshman year. That's where the whispers started and the reputation bouncing between the "Play Boy" and “Bad Boy” titles he now walks around with constantly. He didn't get it by being loyal to one fuck buddy at a time— it wasn't exactly rare of him to get his dick swallowed by someone on Monday then fuck another on Thursday.

“I just haven’t found anyone prettier,” He ends up shrugging, and it’s true. He has working eyes; Jimin’s the prettiest fucking thing to grace his presence. Nobody else has caught his attention quite like the ballerino, then again the dancer seems to attract attention wherever he goes, so he knows he’s not the only one.

“Right,” Namjoon scoffs sarcastically as he looks off to the side. 

He can feel the throb of the migraine start to spread with dread. He’s making sure that he buys him dinner for this shitty attempt of an intervention he has to put up with. Hell, he might even make the guy buy him some new muscle rub and ibuprofen if he’s really keen on sucking the life out of his bank account. Not that it’s hard to do, considering he has about 40 dollars in his bank account more often than not, though he supposes he can’t talk since he's teetering on the point of going broke. “Joon, I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” He says tiredly.

Forget the whole “stick up the ass” analogy, Namjoon probably has his whole dumbbell set lodged up there— probably lost at this point— with how unrelenting of a fuckass he’s being.

All Yoongi can say is that he’s not the whipped person he thinks he is. Jimin’s gorgeous and kind, but that’s where it ends. They’re both aware of what is too much and what could lead to disaster, and if that makes his friend throw a hissy fit, there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Then how about you stop avoiding my questions and tell me exactly what you mean. I’m just trying to understand why you’re being like this when you clearly like him more than a friend.”

“I don’t want to date him and I don’t like him that way. Romance isn’t my thing.” They’ve been recycling the same points and arguments for the past 30 minutes and it says a lot when he thinks he’d rather be doing ten grueling reps of pull ups instead of this shit. At least that will do something for him. 

“Yet you remember his favorite shows and songs. For fuck’s sake you bought a front row ticket to his showcase.”

Yoongi glares harshly at him. He’s starting to see a pattern where Namjoon pretends like he isn’t paying attention when in reality he’s hanging onto every detail. Sneaky bitch; if he knew his words would be used against him like this he would’ve called someone else instead. God knows he needs a best friend that won’t quote him on everything he did with Jimin and compose it into a powerpoint presentation with a 6,000 word essay introduction.

Jimin’s an otherworldly talent, so yeah he’s gonna go to his showcase to support him. They nearly sold out before he was able to buy a ticket and it made a hell of a dent in his wallet that wasn’t easy to recover from, but it was an easy decision to make. Especially when he saw the recognition in the ballerino’s eyes when they met his, only to light up as he smiled before twirling and doing his pretty ballerino thing to the other side of the stage.

And he was fucking breathtaking up there, sweet and entrancing under the blinding lights.

Only after he gave Jimin his own personal congratulations and when they were both laying down on his bed did he admit that he was hoping that Jimin would wear a tutu for the performance. He got a pillow to the face for it as the dancer whined and called him an annoying hyung, but he also laughed until he nearly fell off the bed, so it’s a clear win in his book.

“I’ll wear one for you some time,” Jimin giggled with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, littered with hickies and bite marks as he smiled bright, blonde hair messy and tangled. He remembers staring at him and feeling warmth. 

That night is oddly unforgettable.

He wonders if Namjoon’s stupid minor in psychology taught him how to pick up on when Yoongi was thinking a bit too much, because when he speaks again he tries something softer, but no less tense. “You know that you could have something with him that’s more than just sex, right? You guys could have something more permanent.” 

He laughs in disbelief. “You really think I’d fucking do that?” He doesn’t really want to smile, but he does it anyway. He feels fucking sick.

Namjoon purses his lips. “Do you realize how flimsy your relationship with him is? There’s nothing stopping Jimin from finding someone better. And if he does, what will you do? Because talking about him like all he has to offer is entertainment and amazing sex doesn’t sit right with me.”

Yoongi’s chest tightens, because he knows. He fucking knows that he’ll have to let go of Jimin and watch him be with someone else that makes him happier. They’re not meant to last; never were in the first place. It doesn’t stop his heart from dropping down to his ass. Still, he’ll never tell Namjoon. That’ll only confirm his accusations.

“What is there for me to do? I won’t stop him.”

“Because you’re afraid? Finally we can agree on something.” 

He’s right. He’s alarmed as hell. He can admit that to himself.

Instead, he grits his teeth. “Are you done? I don’t need to tell you what he is to me, so say whatever you want while I’m allowing you.”

Maybe he’s being so pissy with him because he’s been waiting for this, waiting for when Namjoon slams his water bottle down and flexes his jaw in frustration. “You don’t even know who he is to you,” He spits bitterly. "What is he to you? A friend? Your favorite flavor for now?" 

The title makes his eye twitch and his fingers clench. It doesn’t go unnoticed, Namjoon raising an eyebrow and stepping closer. "Oh? Does that make you uncomfortable?" 

"Do you not like hearing that? You don't wanna hear how Jimin's your newest toy? Your—”

“Don’t fucking call him that,” He snaps. What the fuck? He’s not a fucking genius or anything, but he knows that this “technique” of shitting on one of his closest friends just to force a fake crush on him can’t be what Namjoon’s psych professor is teaching. And if it is, he’ll have to think twice before going to another sports psychologist after an injury.

He’ll let him say whatever he wants about him, but Jimin? They don’t even know each other. The audacity of this fucker to say this without any shame is going to get his teeth knocked out and end his fucking bloodline. 

Jimin isn’t Yoongi’s favorite plaything, no matter how much they joke about it. He’s just Park Jimin. Not Yoongi’s boyfriend; not his walking fleshlight. Park Jimin isn’t his.

He feels so fucking sick.

“Isn’t that what he is? That’s how you’re fucking treating him.” When Yoongi stays silent, Namjoon takes another step. “Why are you pissed, huh?”

Oh he’s real fucking brave for that (or stupid, and considering the entirety of this whole shitshow, he inclined to pick the latter.) 

"I’m really not liking your fucking tone with me, so get the fuck out my face,” Yoongi growls. He prides himself on self-control, but Namjoon’s really pushing every fucking button he’s got, and a tired ass senior functioning on two dollar gas station sushi and three energy drinks can only have so much patience.

"You wouldn't give a shit if I called anyone that." He hisses, completely ignoring his words, and, well, he’s only gonna give this bastard a second chance before he might actually do something. “You don’t like reading between the lines because you’re scared of what you’ll find.”

He grits his teeth, but speaks carefully. “Joon, I’m not joking when I say you need to get the fuck away from me and leave.” He’s not trying to start anything, but he’s not going to stand in the same room as someone who said all of those things about Jimin and not attempt to shove a pencil up their ass and out their nose.

Finally, fucking finally he seems to get the message that Yoongi’s done and isn’t going to budge. With a muttered string of insults and curses, the power lifter picks up his things with a fixed furrow in his brow and tense shoulders. He stays glued to his spot as Namjoon passes by him to head towards the doors. He can hear the metal creak open, and inhales deeply in relief, but freezes up when his friend says one last thing.

“I wonder if you’d change all the shit you’ve said for the past hour if Jimin was in here with us.” 

Brat, always wanting to have the last word. 

Yoongi sits in silence, alone in the gym with Namjoon’s words itching at his thoughts. He knows they’ll be okay in a couple of days, a week at most if he’s really keen on staying mad at him. He knows that he was just trying to help, but it’s pointless if there’s nothing to help. They won’t be more than what they are, regardless of whether or not he dives into the thick of his feelings.

He thinks back to what Namjoon said earlier and grins wryly.

As usual, he’s mostly right. Yoongi isn’t scared of what he’ll find, but he’s fucking terrified of what he’ll have to acknowledge.