Chapter Text
[Cozy in the club — Rapper Jeon Jungkook spotted with mystery man in Itaewon]
Jimin stares at the headline on the website Taehyung has just sent him, underneath it two of the pictures taken of him and Jungkook at the club that Yoongi had shown him two weeks ago. If he scrolled down any further, he’d be able to read the article carefully constructed by the rapper's company, hinting at a possible new relationship as well as the singer’s rumoured comeback. An article, which has been approved by Jimin before publishing, and he doesn’t have any interest in reading again. He closes the tab, opening his contacts and calling his best friend’s number.
Taehyung picks up on the second ring.
“What’s the reaction like?” he asks before Taehyung has the chance to say hello, throwing himself on his bed as he chews on the beds of his nails. Jungkook’s company had warned that some of the fans might have very strong reactions to the news of the star’s dating life, so Jimin and Taehyung had made an agreement that the latter would act as Jimin’s social media filter, so that the man could avoid reading any possible nasty comments left about him.
“It’s mostly positive,” Taehyung says, though Jimin isn’t sure he quite trusts his best friend’s word.
“You can be honest.”
“I am!” the man assures with a whine. Jimin can practically hear his pout through the phone. “I’ve only seen like a few rude comments and they're being handled by the report accounts.”
“Report accounts?”
“Oh Jimin. You have so much to learn,” Taehyung says like he’s endeared, though doesn’t explain what the term means, Jimin forced to add it to the growing list of internet slang he has to look up. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting your man?”
“Yeah, I decided to be fashionably late. Give him a taste of his own medicine,” he says, checking his wrist watch which shows him he has about 10 minutes before his driver arrives. Yes, Jimin has a person to drive him everywhere now, which is objectively insane and in his opinion unnecessary, even if Jungkook’s company sees it as a regular safety precaution for anyone in the star’s inner circle.
It doesn’t mean Jimin didn’t feel bad about having someone do tasks for him that he is perfectly capable of doing himself, which is why he’d already let his driver know he wouldn’t be able to make the scheduled pick-up time today, not wanting to waste the man’s time.
In reality, he’s spent the last hour pacing around the house, anxiously awaiting what’s in store for today.
After their semi-failed dinner the other night, Yoongi had called Jimin asking whether he’d like to come and watch Jungkook rehearse for one of his upcoming performances. ‘He’ll be less tense when he’s in his element’ the manager had said, though Jimin really hopes that means he can just sit somewhere in a corner and be ignored by Jungkook and his team.
In fact, he’s counting on that to happen. It’s essentially the only reason he’d agreed to going. That, and having an excuse to get out of the house, the contract preventing him from attending classes and work during the time he’s fake-dating Jungkook.
“Good. I think he’ll benefit from that greatly,” Taehyung says with satisfaction, sensing that they should wrap up the conversation so that Jimin can get going. “Let me know when you get back, okay? And stay safe!”
—
“Take it from the top!”
The music is so loud when Jimin steps inside the rehearsal room, he barely hears the yell above it. He wouldn’t exactly call it a room either, the space the size of a large gym, a window lining the longer wall in front of which a group of dancers scurry to take their positions.
A man stands in front of them next to what looks like the sound system from which a song is playing, another staff member next to him holding a phone horizontally, ready to videofilm the performance that they are practising. The song then starts from the beginning, the dancers immediately moving to the smooth melody of the percussion.
It isn’t until he hears the voice that Jimin realizes Jungkook is smack in the middle of them, mic drawn close to his mouth which is barely visible behind his bucket hat as he raps over the instrumental of the song.
Everyone is understandably focused on the rehearsal, completely ignorant of his presence, and since there’s seemingly no one to greet him, Jimin figures it’s alright to go and sit in the corner where he won’t be a bother. So, he slides down against the wall, pulling his legs up so that his chin is resting on his knees, and watches.
Before coming, he thought the rehearsal would bring up unpleasant memories about his own short stint in the entertainment business. Watching Jungkook perform, however, makes him realize it was nothing compared to what the rapper does.
What he’s witnessing here is the product of a decade of practice, and it shows.
Every step, every turn, every look, is carefully planned out, the singer and his dancers moving in perfect synchronization, and it looks flawless each time. Yet, they go again and again, reviewing the footage in between and deciding on what they can do to be even better.
Jimin finds himself absolutely mesmerized, eyes glued to the mirrored reflection of Jungkook, carefully studying the way he moves with precision, ears honed in on the contrast of the sharpness in his voice when he raps to the soft assonance of his singing. At one point, Jungkook takes off the baggy hoodie he’d been wearing, revealing a very tight black top which clings to his sweaty chest.
There’s no denying he’s fit. Even from where he’s sitting, Jimin can see the defined muscle of Jungkook’s tattooed arm, what looks to be an eight pack shining through the fabric of his shirt.
Not that Jimin’s necessarily into that sort of thing.
It’s just a completely neutral observation he makes.
An hour passes by easily, until suddenly there’s a ringing coming from somewhere in the room, clashing with the beat of the song playing on the loudspeaker. It continues to ring, no one in the room caring to do anything about the disruption, until one by one, the dancers around Jungkook start turning around to look at Jimin — followed by the rapper himself, supporting an exasperated frown.
“Shit,” Jimin curses, hand frantically digging in his bag to locate the ringing phone — his ringing phone — whisper shouting a quick ’sorry!’ when he finally finds it.
He basically runs out of the room, completely mortified at having been the culprit to the rude interruption of the rehearsal and thus sounds rather stifled when he brings up the phone to his ear.
“Mom?”
“Hey honey! Am I calling you at a bad time?” his mother asks, though the curiosity in her tone of voice tells Jimin she isn’t really concerned about disturbing him. “I just wanted to check in with you.”
“You saw the news, didn’t you?”
“The pictures are everywhere, Jimin, it would have been hard to miss them. Do you know how many people called me and asked about them? My phone hasn’t stopped ringing!” his mother laughs, clearing her voice after. “You really make such a handsome couple, though, you and, uh, Jungkook? Was that his name?” she asks, as if she hasn’t already looked up everything there is to know about the man — he wouldn’t be surprised if she knew his boyfriend better than Jimin himself does. ”And I was wondering. Well, I know you were just here, but I would love to meet him.”
“I told you, he’s busy with the comeback…” Jimin says, biting his nails. He really hadn’t considered that his family would want to meet his boyfriend when agreeing to do this. Not only does the contract definitely not oblige the rapper to have anything to do with Jimin’s family, he’s pretty sure even if it did, Jimin would have no luck in getting Jungkook to meet his mother.
Luckily, the mere fact that he’s dating, a superstar nonetheless, is enough to distract Jimin’s mother from the fact that she’ll never get to meet her son’s boyfriend.
Jimin clears his voice, lowering it a little m, not yet used to speaking about Jungkook out in the open like this. “I’m actually watching him rehearse right now.”
“You are? How exciting! He must be very good, considering how popular he is.”
“Yeah, mom. He’s really talented,” Jimin says with a sigh, because it’s the truth. As much as he considers Jungkook to be a stuck-up snob, he can’t deny the man has stage presence. “Listen, I need to go.”
Jimin says goodbye to his mom with a promise to eat well and call her soon, and once he’s hung up, he turns around, hoping that enough time has passed since his phone call interrupting the rehearsal for everyone inside to have forgotten about his existence again.
What he doesn't expect is for someone to be standing behind him, phone almost falling out of his grip as Jimin bumps into the stranger with a surprised squeal.
“Already planning a meeting with the parents?” the man says with a wink after the initial shock on Jimin’s face settles. “Must be the real deal.”
“I-it’s not-”
“Don’t worry sweet peach, I know all about your arrangement.”
Jimin’s eyes widen, looking around to make sure no one else has heard them, then stepping a little closer to make sure the man can hear him whisper.
“H-how?”
“Well, firstly, he’d never snatch a baddie like you in real life,” the man says, and Jimin can feel the blush creep up on his cheeks. Getting called pretty was definitely not on his rehearsal bingo card. He clears his voice again, realizing just how close he’s standing to the stranger, who laughs a little as Jimin takes a few hesitant steps back, the wall meeting his back. “And we happen to work with the same producer, who’s a bit of a loose lip.”
Oh. The man must be another artist under the same label as Jungkook. Jimin takes the silence which follows the stranger’s confession as an opportunity to study him more closely. He’s wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, long black hair falling just above his cheekbones and the nape in the back. Had he seen the man from afar, he might have mistaken him for just another staff member. But up close, there’s no denying that he’s anything but ordinary.
The first thing Jimin notes is that the man’s skin is quite literally flawless. Not a pore in sight, the skin so glassy and smooth it almost looks photoshopped. His brows are perfectly arched too, lashes thick and long, full lips pulling back in a charming smile to reveal perfectly straight, pearly teeth.
“Kim Seokjin,” the man says, extending his hand which Jimin takes, hoping his palm isn’t too sweaty.
“Park Jimin.”
Seokjin continues to shake his hand even after Jimin has introduced himself, a curious look on his face. When he finally stops, he does not let go of the hand, arching one brow.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?”
This is probably a good moment to admit he probably should have listened to Taehyung all those times he rambled on about celebrity gossip. Seokjin lets go of Jimin’s hand, and Jimin immediately brings it close to the other, nervously rubbing them together.
“Should I?”
It’s meant to be a joke, and luckily, Seokjin laughs, the sound full and delighted, echoing in the hallway they’re currently standing in.
“Oh, I get why they chose you,” he says once he’s done, wiping the corner of his eye from the tears pushing through. “It’s refreshing! I like it.”
Jimin hums, not sure what to say or where to even look, especially since Seokjin has no problem with maintaining eye contact. Initially, he’d been planning on returning to the rehearsal, but now he feels it’s been too long since he’d walked out to take the call, he’d probably just be another unnecessary distraction walking back in.
He’s just about to let Seokjin know he has to go, when the singer places a finger on his lips, face looking contemplative once again.
“Do you have any plans for tonight?”
The man doesn’t give Jimin the time to answer, taking his hand in a tight grip. Celebrities, Jimin has come to learn, are not very good with boundaries.
“Why don’t you come join us for drinks after Jungkook’s done rehearsing?”
Jimin chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his head with his free hand.
“I’m not so sure he’d want me there.”
Seoljin tsks, shaking his head.
“You know what happens with idols that move to Seoul when they’re 15, Jimin?” he asks rhetorically, patting Jimin’s hand which he’s still holding, then pulling him a little closer while speaking under his breath, like it’s some big secret. “They stay that age mentally. And teenagers need to learn to do things they’re uncomfortable with, right? Otherwise they’ll never make it in the real world.”
The singer pats Jimin once the back, finally letting go of the hand as he starts backing away, slowly walking backwards while still looking at Jimin.
“Just wear something casual, okay? And tell your driver to pick you up at nine. I’ll text you the address!”
Seokjin is already halfway down the corridor when he turns around, now picking up the pace as he starts whistling a tune Jimin vaguely recognizes. It isn’t until the man has disappeared behind the corner that Jimin realizes a very obvious flaw in the singer's plan.
“You don’t even have my number!”
He doesn’t expect a reply. If there’s anything Jimin has learned in the past fortnite, it’s that famous people will come and go as they please, not concerned with normal people’s grievances.
That’s why he’s pleasantly surprised to see Seokjin’s head pop out from behind the corner, a mischievous smile plastered on the man’s lips.
“I’ll get a hold of it,” the singer says with a wink, disappearing again, the sound of Seokjin’s whistling the only indication that he was ever even there.
—
The surprise on Jungkook’s face when Jimin walks in through the doors of the karaoke bar — which Seokjin had told him the company rents out for staff on a regular basis — tells him it was probably a bad idea to just show up without giving the rapper any warning.
Even if Jimin is far away enough to not be able to hear their conversation, it isn’t hard to guess what Jungkook is saying, mouth in a tight line as he glares at the rest of the party, trying to figure out who it is that had invited the unwanted guest.
Seokjin exposes himself as he stands up, excitedly waving his hand in Jimin’s direction.
“Jimin!” he yells, signaling for him to quickly come to their table, pulling Jimin by the arm once he’s close enough, and shuffling to make room in between himself and Jungkook. “So glad you could make it!”
“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asks with a sneer as Jimin squeezes his butt into the small space between the two men, causing Seokjin to lean forward and smack the rapper on his thigh.
“I wanted to get to know your new boyfriend!”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“For the next few months he is,” Seokjin smirks, silently handing Jimin a glass of something to drink which Jimin suspects to be soju by the smell of it, then turning his attention to the two other men sitting around the table. “Everyone, meet Jimin. This is Namjoon, the producer I talked about, and Hoseok, choreographer at our company.”
Jimin leans forward a little to shake their hands, Hoseok’s face lighting up when it’s his turn.
“Oh yeah! You were at the rehearsal today. Your phone rang, right?”
Jimin’s cheeks flash red, heartbeat picking up.
“I’m really sorry about that-”
“Oh, don’t be! We needed a break anyway,” Hoseok assures, waving his hand dismissively. “I was actually hoping I’d get a chance to talk to you since Jungkook has barely told us anything about you!”
Jimin can tell the man means well, likely not aware of the less than amicable relation between him and Jungkook. The rest of the table, however, shift uncomfortably in their seats, the silence threatening to expose the truth before Nmajoon reacts, waving his index finger between Jimin and Seokjin.
“How do you two know each other?”
“Don’t be jealous, baby,” the singer says, Jimin not sure whether the pet name is meant to be another teasing joke or if he and the producer actually have an intimate relationship as well as a personal one. “I ran into Jimin when he was out talking to his mother. She can’t wait to meet you Jungkook, by the way.”
Jimin, who has just taken a sip of his drink, almost spits it all on the table in front of him, eyes burning as he barely manages to swallow without breaking out into a fit of coughs. Next to him, Jungkook doesn’t look as bothered, the rapper leaning back in his seat as he brings his own glass to his lips, muttering something into it before downing the whole thing.
“It’s a joke, Jungkook. You need to stop being such a downer,” Seokjin says in response to the rapper's sullen demeanor, Jungkook bringing up his now empty glass and letting it fall down on the table a little dramatically.
“Yeah, hilarious,” he says, all humour void in his voice as he stands up, not looking any of them in the eyes. “I need another drink.”
He leaves without saying a word, the rest of the table again rendered silent. This time even Hoseok is aware of the awkward tension, the man’s lips curled around the straw in his glass which makes a very loud slurping sound as he sucks through it.
Namjoon is the first to break the quiet, dimples popping up on his cheeks as he shoots Jimin an compassionate smile.
“It takes him some time to loosen up.”
As Jimin looks at Jungkook’s retreating back, he wonders whether two months will be too short of a time for the rapper to warm up to him, or whether he even wants him to. He takes a large gulp of the soju in his glass, muttering mostly to himself.
“That’s what people keep telling me.”
As if to prove Jimin’s point, Jungkook makes a disappearing act and does not return to their table for the next hour. His friends, however, make sure his missing presence isn’t even noticeable, asking Jimin questions about pretty much whatever they can think of in between shots of soju and cracking jokes.
Hoseok is just in the middle of a story about trying to teach Namjoon to breakdance when Seokjin returns from having put in his request for a song, excitedly jumping to sit next to Jimin on the couch while he throws an arm around him.
“Oh oh oh! Jimin! You need to come and sing this next one with me!”
Jimin laughs, doubling down on himself while clutching the half-empty bottle in his hands. He’s usually more timid around new people, but Jungkook’s friends are surprisingly easygoing and welcoming.
The soju also helps.
“You really think I want to embarrass myself by singing karaoke with someone they call ’the silver voice of Korea’?”
“So you do know me.”
He does. It would be hard to find anyone in Korea who hasn’t at least heard of Kim Seokjin. In fact, Taehyung had had some very poignant words for Jimin when he’d told his best friend he hadn’t initially recognized the singer. Jimin had simply been too flustered by the sudden phone call from his mother to put two and two together, not paying enough attention to the singer’s name when he’d introduced himself.
“I blame it on not having any social media. I’m bad at putting names to faces,” Jimin explains, expecting some laughs of disbelief which is the usual reaction to him revealing the fact that he’s mentally an eighty-year-old man. Instead, the three other men stare back at him, mouths open in various degrees of perplexity, which in turn, makes Jimin confused. “What?”
“I never thought I’d meet another 20-something with absolutely no interest in having an online presence,” Hoseok says, looking at Jimin like he’s a rare artifact. “I honestly think if Jungkook could choose not to have a phone, he would.”
“I swear, sometimes he doesn't answer my texts just to spite me,” Seokjin says, the way he crosses his arms making him look a little like a disapproving mother. “This is what I told Jimin. Jungkook is literally a 15-year-old moody dweeb stuck in a very good-looking, very buff 23-year-old’s body.”
Jimin gulps at the mention of the rapper’s physique, the image of Jungkook’s ripped arms and torso forcing themselves on him rather abruptly. He doesn’t have to dwell in the memory for too long before Seokjin eagerly starts tapping him on the thigh.
“Oh! It’s our turn, Jimin!”
The singer is pointing to the screen across the room in front of a miniature stage which flashes JINMIN in bold letters, Jimin barely able to make out the name since he’s left his contacts at home.
“What if I don’t know the song?” Jimin squeaks as Seokjin pulls him up from his seat, the two walking in the direction of the microphone stand across the room.
When Seokjin turns back to look at him, he grins.
“Don’t worry. I chose a classic.”
The classic in question is Spice Girls’ Wannabe, which Jimin does sort of know. Seokjin luckily handles the rap portions, and all Jimin can think in between the laughs which joyously bubble up his chest at the sight of the singer’s red face is that the man has incredible breath control.
They somehow manage to perform their way through the song, the crowd erupting in ecstatic cheers as the duo strike an ending pose and stumble back to their seats still high on the adrenaline after their passionate performance.
Hoseok is still clapping when Jimin sits down, while Namjoon scoots a little forward to be heard better, the bar definitely more lively now than when Jimin first arrived.
“You actually have a really nice voice,” he says, Jimin feeling tipsy enough not to get totally self-conscious after the compliment.
“Oh, thanks.”
“Ever thought about giving singing a try?”
Jimin laughs a little, though only he knows the real reason why.
Been there, done that.
He shakes his head, giving Namjoon a polite smile.
“I don’t think that’s for me.”
“You sure? I’d love to have you come and sing something at the studio. Just for fun, no strings attached. ”
Both Hoseok and Seokjin are nodding eagerly, encouraging Namjoon’s suggestion.
“I-I don’t know guys,” Jimin says, feeling a little lightheaded all of a sudden, whether it be because of the topic of discussion or the fact that he’s had way more soju tonight than he intended to. “I think I’ve had too much to drink to make that sort of decision right now.”
The thought of drinking another sip suddenly nauseates him, Jimin hastily putting his glass down on the table. He stands up quickly, the blood rushing to his head making him a little unsteady on his feet.
“Actually, I need to use the bathroom.”
Behind him, Jimin can hear Seokjin and Hoseok raising concern about whether he’s alright, but Jimin ignores them, beelining for the bathrooms he’d seen next to the bar. There’s a small queue of people gathered in front, so Jimin tries his best to politely push through, vision starting to swim as he realizes just how drunk he is.
He lets out a sigh of relief when he finally makes it past the crowd, almost making a run for it now that he sees the sign for the lavatory at the end of a long hallway.
And then he suddenly doesn’t.
Just as he’s broken into a light sprint, out of nowhere, someone steps in front of him, Jimin barely avoiding crashing into the figure.
“Oh, sorry,” he mumbles as he pivots to the side, wanting nothing but to hurry past the last person standing in his way of the bathrooms. Unfortunately, though, his foot gets caught in something, and Jimin takes a tumble, his body too lax from all the soju to do anything to prepare for the fall.
Just as he expects to fall face first to the floor, he instead feels someone pull him up and then twist him around so that he’s looking at the ceiling while laying in his savior’s arms.
His fake-boyfriend’s arms.
When Jungkook hadn’t returned to their table, Jimin had assumed he’d left the bar entirely, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. They stare at each other for what feels like several minutes, Jungkook’s lips in a tight line before he finally breaks the silence.
“You should watch where you’re going.”
A condescending remark is exactly what he’d expect coming from the rapper’s mouth. But what surprises Jimin is that Jungkook’s tone of voice also holds something resembling concern.
That, or Jimin is way drunker than he thought.
“Maybe you need to watch where you’re going.”
The reply would probably have more of an impact if Jimin wasn’t slurring his words, and from the way one corner of Jungkook’s mouth lifts in a smirk, Jimin can tell the rapper finds his attempt at being stern amusing, which only makes him more agitated. Jimin shimmies his way out of the man’s grip, feeling how Jungkook uses his hand to guide him in an upright position, not letting go until he’s sure Jimin is stable on his own two feet.
“Maybe it's time you head home,” Jungkoon says, taking out his phone, not even glimpsing in Jimin’s direction. He starts tapping the device nonchalantly, any sign of worry completely evaporating which only confirms that any concern he might have had for his fake boyfriend was simply a result of Jimin’s drunk imagination.
“Way ahead of you,” Jimin grumbles, the need to use a bathroom replaced by a burning want to get the hell out of this karaoke bar as soon as possible. Jimin turns on his heels, irritation fueling his power walk down the corridor.
He doesn't know what it is about Jungkook that brings this side out of him. Jimin usually doesn’t let people’s opinions affect him in this way, the stale relations with his stepfather and siblings a perfect example.
It’s why he’d agreed to signing the contract in the first place. Jimin had no qualms about faking the relationship because he’s already spent more than half of his life pretending he has one with his mother’s new family.
But maybe what this agreement has made him realize is he’s actually quite sick of pretending. Of always having to be the one to accommodate his needs in favor of other’s. It must be a fucking long hallway or he’s moving slower than he thinks, because by the time he’s reached the end of it, Jimin has had time to question just about everything.
Why he’d said yes to fake-dating Jungkook.
Why he’d even said yes to coming tonight.
In his earlier conversation with Taehyung, Jimin had told his best friend he wanted to give Jungkook a taste of his own medicine. To himself, he’d tried to justify it as some sort of retaliation for being ignored by the rapper time and time again. A big “fuck-you-here-I-am” type of moment. But the truth is, Jimin has never been the one to rub anything in anyone’s face.
So maybe, he should stop pretending about that too. Maybe, killing Jungkook with kindness isn’t a total recipe for disaster.
The only way to find out is by trying.
Jimin turns around, looking at Jungkook who’s leaning against the wall, eyes still glued to his phone.
“I had a lovely evening,” he says, forcing the rapper to shift his focus to his fake-boyfriend. Unlike earlier, he’s gentle with the way he speaks, nothing but sincerity in his words. “Your friends are great. I’m glad I came.”
The hallway is dark, and they’re standing so far away from each other, Jimin can barely see the rapper’s face. Still, he thinks he sees Jungkook's mouth open ajar just slightly, his hand falling defenselessly to his side, phone in hand.
“Shame you missed out on it.”
Jimin might not exactly understand what kind of game he and Jungkook are playing. All he knows is that moving forward, he’ll play it by his own rules.
And tonight, it feels like he’s won.
—
—
—