♔ Skirting Around The Issue ♔
Title: Skirting Around The Issue
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Yoonmin
Genre: Romance, A vague attempt at comedy, Art School!AU, Boys in Skirts
Description: Jimin is offended by latex fabric, soda cans and Taehyung's very existence.
Based on this cute art by my pal/Jimin's Actual Mum aka Twitter User Emireeboard. [Art used with permission from the artist]
Incoming Call
♡~*Taehyung*~♡
From years of experience, Jimin has learnt that when Taehyun chooses to interact via phone call, rather than by the plethora of instant messaging systems he’s made Jimin download, is that things have either gone Very Wrong, or they’re about to.
Jimin thinks that it’s definitely going to be option B, considering the shrill noise of Taehyung’s personal ringtone caused him to jump, skewing the otherwise straight line of stitching on his uncompleted garment.
PVC is a bitch to unpick, and Jimin contemplates beating his head against his sewing machine instead of answering the call.
It’s not that Taehyung is a terrible person. Far from it, actually. It’s just that last time he called instead of sending identical messages on Wechat, Line and Katalk simultaneously, Jimin ended up covered in zombie makeup in the back of a police car, desperately trying to explain that yes, they’re film school students. Yes, they were doing an assignment and no, they’re not trying to break into the medical research centre. Honest.
Kyary Pamyu Pamyu’s Fashion Monster stops playing as the call rings out, only for it to start again almost immediately. Taehyung seems to be either desperate, trying his hardest to be annoying or quite possibly both, and it’s unlikely that he’ll stop calling until Jimin answers.
Sighing in defeat, Jimin swipes to accept the call.
“Do I say ‘no’ now, or do I wait for you to finish talking?” He asks, skipping formalities.
“None of the above.” Taehyun’s shouts from the other end of the line. He’s seems to be somewhere busy, noise pollution in the form of a heavy bassline and chattering voices interfering with their conversation. It’s awfully reminiscent of the midnight phone calls he receives every other Saturday, drunk Taehyung calling to ask for a lift, some money, extending an invitation to party with a ‘better late than never’ mentality.
Only it’s 3pm on a Tuesday, and through the music Jimin hears the whirring of power drills and the sharp tearing of gaffer tape being torn from the roll. If Taehyung has somehow managed to find a place to drink on a weekday afternoon, Jimin’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know what else is going on.
“I’ve got a situation here, and you are the only one who can un-situation it.” Taehyung yells, loud and shrill. Jimin pulls his phone away from his face to escape the noise.
“That’s not even a word---”
“I’m doing the makeup for a music video, and the backup dancer bailed last minute.” Taehyung cuts him off before he can finish complaining. Gaffer tape for marking positions on the floor, power drills assembling the set, track looping in the background to practice cues. Suddenly, it all makes sense. “I need you here like, ten minutes ago.”
“Again, that’s not---”
“Please. I’ll buy you dinner. Namjoon will buy you drinks. The guy we’re filming for will… I don’t know what he’ll do, but he’ll be very thankful.” Desperation and bargaining are hardly things Jimin would associate with Taehyung. He’s more rambunctious laughter, hangovers and bad ideas.
“Fine. You owe me food, though.” Jimin concedes, as per usual. Taehyung makes an honestly disconcerting noise in triumph, and for that, Jimin silently vows to order the most expensive item of the menu out of spite. “What do you need me to do?”
------
Jimin should really start spending less time with Taehyung and more time with Jungkook. The worst thing Jungkook can drag him into last minute is an all night study session, one where Jimin is more like the younger’s personal Red Bull dealer than study buddy.
Evidently, the worst thing Taehyung can drag him into last minute is a skirt.
“Are you kidding me?” He asks, holding the garment between two fingers, affronted. “A latex pencil skirt.”
“Your ass is going to look fantastic.” Taehyung replies, trying desperately to keep a straight face.
“Latex is the fabric of cheaters. You don’t even sew it, it’s glued together.” He wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“Trust you to be more offended by the fabric choice than the skirt itself.”
“This whole situation is offensive. I’m offended. Taehyung how could you?” Jimin whines, trying desperately to shove the skirt back into Taehyung’s hands.
“We were desperate, and you’re the only person I know who can twerk.” He rips the skirt from Jimin’s hands, opting to shove it in the waistband of his pants instead. A scuffle breaks out as he tries to pull Taehyung into a headlock, attempting to punish his friend and remove his fingers from down his pants at the same time.
“Wait, did you say twerk?” Jimin shrieks. This new piece of information is almost as offensive as the latex skirt.
“If it’s any consolation,” Comes a voice from the door, “You’ll be twerking ironically.” Jimin often finds himself in the strangest predicaments. Currently, his oldest and closest friend has his hand trapped in the waistband of his skinny jeans, while a stranger watches on with a mix of amusement and annoyance evident on his heavily made up face.
This person is wearing a skirt too, he notices. Black, knee length and pleated.
Jimin is starting to sense a trend, here.
He takes in the stranger’s makeup; as per usual, Taehyung’s done a fantastic job. But there’s something missing---
“I think one of your falsies fell off.” Jimin blurts out. It takes Taehyung’s whispered Oh my God and an eyebrow raise from the stranger for him to realise that single smoky, glittery, vaguely Clockwork Orange-y look was probably intentional. Jimin’s an idiot.
“I need him dressed, made up and oiled ASAP.” The stranger-- the very attractive stranger-- as Jimin finally notices once Taehyung’s fingers and his pants go their separate ways, doesn’t bother dignifying him with a response
“Yes sir!” Taehyung salutes him with the hand formerly touching Jimin’s underwear. He yelps in a sort of disbelieving and disgusted manner, wiping his face with his ‘clean’ hand, while frantically rubbing the contaminated appendage on his jeans.
“Oiled?” Jimin whimpers.
He really needs to start spending more time with Jungkook.
------
Jimin looks like his face and neck have been dipped in a vat of pink paint, allowing a canvas for a toddler to finger paint white smears onto his face and chest.
Taehyung says it’s art, and that he wouldn’t understand.
Jimin reminds Taehyung that he’s a fashion major, and that avant garde makeup isn’t all that new to him.
“It’s Suga’s vision.” Taehyung waves his hand flippantly. Jimin takes a moment to wonder just who Suga is, before noticing that the set guys are attaching a flashing neon sign to the backdrop. Hundreds of tiny white LEDs spark to life as the tech crew push the plug into the wall; it’s blinding, each individual light glimmers like a small crystal. S-U-G-A, the lights read, and Jimin wonders if the logo resembling a pile of spilt sugar was intentional. “Your face is supposed to blend in with the backdrop, so the audience can focus on your body.”
Taehyung looks Jimin’s made up, oil slathered and skirt-clad form up and down.
“You did tuck, right?” He asks, grinning, “Or is your dick that small?”
Suga seems to plan his entrances around the times when Jimin is attempting to punch Taehyung in the spleen.
“I was told that you’re a professional.” He says dryly, observing the scene in front of him with a raised eyebrow.
“I am.” Jimin straightens immediately, and catches Suga not-so-subtly checking him out. Or making sure that Taehyung captured his vision correctly. Either way, it makes him feel uncomfortable. “He just makes it hard, sometimes.”
Taehyung laughs, and Jimin realizes too late that he’s said something that can be misconstrued as a dick joke.
Suga stares at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Here,” He says, handing his phone and a pair of earphones to Jimin, “While they fix up the set, I’ll need you to listen to the track a few times, get a feel of things.”
“Is there anything in particular you want me to do?” He asks, inserting the buds into his ear and pressing play. A bass heavy hip hop track starts to play, and Jimin jumps in surprise. He never expected pink backdrops and boys in skirts to be associated with hip hop.
“Just shake your ass.” Suga replies.
------
Two weeks later, Jimin is still trying to get the sticky residue from sports tape off his left butt cheek.
“I hate you.” He says to Taehyung as they head towards the campus cafe. “I’m never doing anything for you ever again.”
“You say that now,” Taehyung waves one hand flippantly, “But you are physically incapable of saying no to me.”
He pushes the glass door to the cafe open, before lunging into a deep bow. “M’lady.” He cackles. Taehyung takes to mocking Jimin’s masculinity like he hasn’t crossdressed numerous times before.
“Fedorable.” He replies smugly, making his way through the door, pointedly ignoring Taehyung’s offended squawking.
They spot Seokjin easily, their friend sits at a large table, wire rim glasses sliding down his nose as he sketches the cafe’s patrons.
“Don’t you need permission for that?” He asks, sliding into his seat. Taehyung is finally making good on his offer to shout, so Jimin’s drink order is unnecessarily long, complicated and full of optional extras for Taehyung to pay for.
“What they don’t know won't hurt them.” Seokjin replies with a wink. He really shouldn’t wink. There’s only so much grease Jimin can handle. “Plus, who wouldn’t want to be my muse.”
“Me.” Taehyung replies, slamming their table number onto the wooden surface. “You’d make me look like that dude from The Scream.”
“No, I’d draw you normally, then draw everyone else looking like that.” Seokjin snarks. “It’s a rather accurate portrayal of real life events.”
“Hey---”
“When is Jungkook getting here?” Jimin cuts in before an argument can start. He’s been looking forward to this meet up all week. Finally. Sane friends.
“Whenever his marketing exam ends, apparently.” Taehyung replies, still eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. Their older friend ignores him, continuing to work on his sketches. “Honestly, how did we manage to find such a boring friend?”
“Inter-university Toga Party.” Seokjin replies, eyes still on his drawing. “You were crossdressing. He thought you were a girl. Good times.”
“Don’t remind me.” Jungkook’s says as he sits down next to Seokjin. He all but throws his backpack to the floor, the sheer amount of books within it make the table rattle as it collides with the leg. “I have no idea how I thought you were female.”
“Beer goggles.” Seokjin supplies helpfully. “How was your exam?”
“Kill me.” He replies, beating his head against the table. “Why did I pick Marketing of all things?”
“There there.” Seokjin pats his head absentmindedly. Taehyung looks like he’s trying not to laugh at his friend’s pain. He’s failing miserably.
Seokjin’s phone seems to sense the moment, and chooses to ding obnoxiously.
“Oh, it’s out.” He says, absentmindedly,
“What’s out?” Asks Jimin.
“Who gave birth?” Asks Taehyung.
“There are two kinds of people.” Jungkook says, throwing a disgusted look in Taehyung’s direction.
“My favourite rapper just released a music video.” Seokjin pointedly ignores Taehyung’s comments, hardly a rare occurrence.
“You… like…. rap?” Jungkook seems completely unable to wrap his head around the information. “No offense, but you struck me as a Kate Bush and Bjork kinda guy.”
Seokjin sniffs in mild offense. “He’s a queer rapper. Likes to fuck with gender norms whilst spitting fire.”
“Whilst spitting fire.” Jungkook parrots in disbelief. “That sentence sounded so unnatural. Don’t talk hip hop and fancy at the same time, it makes me uncomfortable.”
“You’re in no place to judge me. The first time we met, you were dancing to girl group songs in an attempt to seduce a crossdressing Taehyung.”
Jungkook falls silent. Evidently the score is Seokjin: 1, Jungkook: A loss of dignity.
Grinning smugly, he loads the video on his phone, cranking the volume. A bright pink background appears, and a neon sign reading ‘Suga’ flickers to life. The music starts and the video cuts to a closeup of Jimin’s skirt covered ass.
Taehyung starts laughing quietly into Jimin’s shoulder. He pushes him off, taking satisfaction in the loud grunt he lets out.
“Children, please.” Seokjin whispers. “I’m trying to watch.”
Jimin relives all four minutes and thirty two seconds of his ass shaking in glorious 1080p.
(“I have standards.” Seokjin said as he changed the resolution.)
Thankfully, not one of his friends had recognised him. Or his ass. And for some reason, Taehyung was keeping his mouth shut about everything. Jimin narrows his eyes suspiciously. It’s very unlike him to prevent the suffering of his friends.
“Hey, don’t you think that backup dancer looks a bit like Jimin?” Jungkook asks as the video fades out. The last frame is of Jimin performing a squat. The skirt had ridden up and despite the sticky residue, he’s suddenly glad he tucked.
No one wants to see ballsack poking out of the bottom of a skirt.
No one.
“That dancer looks nothing like Jimin.” Seokjin says. “You’re seeing things.”
“He’s not.” Taehyung replies gleefully, fully prepared to destroy his friends dignity. “It is Jimin.”
Apparently the dark blush and sheepish look on his face was enough of a give away.
“No.” Jungkook says, shell shocked. “I was checking out Jimin’s ass? I feel unclean.”
“You were checking out my what---”
“How did you even pick up a gig like this?” Seokjin asks.
Taehyung raises his hand. “I was the makeup artist.”
“Good job, man. Nicely done.” Seokjin nods in approval and Taehyung preens with the praise.
“I thought the eyemakeup might be a little overkill, but I’m glad it worked on camera---”
“Is no one else freaking out about the fact that we nearly saw our friends dick? Like how did you not pop out of that thing?” Jungkook looks like he’s about to cry.
“He tucked.” Taehyung’s grin is salacious.
Jungkook’s hands fly to his crotch as he grimaces.
“Why?” He whispers.
Jimin really needs some new friends.
------
The worst thing about being a fashion major is the fabric.
Jimin really should have accounted for all the fabric he’d be using when he started his course, and he really really should have accounted for all the fabric he’d be using on this ballgown as he drew up the designs.
Alas, he’s made his bed and has to lie in it.
Or more accurately, hie’s designed this fucking dress, and now needs to transport the bolt of fabric from the store to the workroom on campus.
Preferably without hitting an unexpected commuter across the back of the head with thirty meters of emerald green Silk Dupioni.
(It’s a lot harder than it sounds)
“Fuck.” Comes a muffled voice next to Jimin. Apparently he’d been too concerned with the back of people’s heads, that he’d completely forgotten that there are people behind him. One of whom now has the cardboard bolt wedged firmly up his nostrils.
“Shit, sorry.” Jimin says, pulling the roll away quickly. He hits the businessman next to him on the back of the head, fumbling as the (very expensive) fabric begins to slip from his grasp.
Honestly. Fuck ballgowns. Fuck peak hour bus traffic. Fuck Seokjin for being suddenly unavailable to pick him up in his car.
The stranger from earlier catches the falling bolt with a grunt.
“Why do you need so much goddamn fabric?” He mutters, “And why do you need to take it with you on the bus.”
“Poor fashion student spends all his money on fabric, and therefore cannot afford a car.” Jimin replies.
“Fashion, eh. I was wondering how you knew Taehyung.” The stranger replies. Only his voice is suddenly familiar, and not so stranger-y. Jimin looks him up and down; the pink hair, the smirk, the skirt---
Skirt.
“Suga?” He asks, “Sorry man, I didn’t recognise you.”
“It’s okay. It took me a while to recognise you, too.” He shrugs, turning his attention out the window, evidently trying to figure out just how far the bus had travelled during the distraction.
“Yeah, last time I saw you, you had like,” Jimin puts his free hand on his eyelid, waggling his fingers in an attempt to emulate the ridiculous set of false lashes he wore. “You know, things. On your face.”
“Makeup.” Suga deadpans. “I was wearing makeup.”
“Yeah that. I’m gonna stop talking now.” Jimin mutters, choosing instead to hide behind his fabric, silently wishing for the traffic to miraculously clear, and the bus to magically arrive at campus.
Or for the ground to swallow him whole. Either way.
“So where are you taking this death trap?” Suga asks, breaking the silence.
“Campus. I need to embroider parts of the skirt pattern, and I can’t be fucked doing it by hand, so I’m gonna use one of the school machines to do it, instead.” He sighs, “I mean, I’d love to have an embroidery machine of my own, but I don’t really have the money lying around for a good one, you know?”
He looks up to see Suga’s amused face. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”
“You’re cute.” He replies. Jimin does not start hugging his fabric at the comment. He has still has some remaining shreds of dignity. His arms just… tighten, is all. Bumpy road. Lots of opportunities for the silk-based death trap to fly out of his arms and hit rappers who call him cute.
Wouldn’t want that to happen.
“And this is my stop.” Suga says, pressing the red button. The red button on the pole Jimin just so happens to be leaning on. The red button on the pole that requires Suga’s face to be in really close proximity to Jimin’s. The button as red as his face.
That button.
The bus halts as the ding rings through the air, motion causing Suga to lurch forward into Jimin’s personal space that liiiitle bit more.
There’s a warm hand on his hip.
“I’ll see you around, Jimin.” He says, before alighting. Jimin pointedly refuses to look out the window as the bus drives away.
He lets out a deep breath he couldn’t really remember taking.
Just when had he told Suga his name, anyway?
------
“You should thank me, you know.” Taehyung has somehow found his way onto Jimin’s bed. He should really tell Namjoon not to let him in when he’s not around. After the treacherous trek to and from campus, all Jimin wants to do is take a nap in a warm, quiet, Taehyung-free environment.
“Why should I be thanking you?” He asks, throwing his bag on the ground. “And more importantly, why are you on my bed.”
“I wanted to see your reaction.” Taehyung grins. Jimin is suddenly apprehensive. That kind grin is never a good thing. It’s the same kind of grin he had on his face when he mentioned they were shooting Jimin’s zombie makeup at a medical research centre. And well, look at how that turned out.
“Reaction to what?” As if on cue, Jimin’s phone buzzes in his pocket.
From: Unknown Number
Hey, it’s Yoongi. Taehyung gave me your number.
“Taehyung.” Jimin starts, “Who or what is a Yoongi.”
“It’s Suga’s real name.” Taehyung drawls. “He thinks you’re cute.”
Jimin chokes. “Why did you give him my number?”
“Because you need to get laid.” Taehyung replies as if it’s the most obvious thing on the planet.
“Why do I still talk to you?” Jimin mutters, flinging himself onto the bed next to Taehyung.
“Because deep down, you value my friendship.” Jimin stares at the message on his phone, before Taehyung plucks the phone out of his hand.
“Hey---”
“Don’t be a little bitch.”
“Don’t say anything I wouldn’t!” Jimin shrieks, trying to wrestle the phone from his hands.
“I would never!” Taehyung cackles, “See?”
To: SUGA DADDY 8===D
ayyy papi, lemme suck your dick
Despite his loud music, Namjoon still hears Taehyung’s pained screaming from the next room.
------
Despite earlier setbacks, friendship with Yoongi comes easily. Almost too easily, especially for someone who (according to Taehyung) desperately (very desperately) wants in Jimin’s pants.
Jimin’s starting to think that Taehyung’s just fucking with him, making things up in an attempt to embarrass him. They’ve been meeting up for weeks now, and not once has Yoongi even hinted that these little outings are dates, or that he has any sort of hidden motive.
“Thanks for meeting up with me, it means a lot.” Yoongi says quietly as they sit, Jimin ignores how pink Yoongi’s lips are and how nicely they wrap around the straw of his Iced Americano. “Not a lot of people are cool with being seen in public with me.”
A voice in Jimin’s head tells him that this is a segue into Relationship Talk territory. The voice then begins wailing in some sort of imitation of a warning bell. This voice sounds a lot like Taehyung, and Jimin shakes his head to try and get rid of it.
“It’s cool, man.” Jimin says. “I’d be an asshole of a friend if I judged what you wore.” Yoongi stiffens at the word friend, hands resting on the hem of his skirt and fiddling with a loose thread. It’s tartan today, and he’s wearing his customary tights and high tops with it. Jimin fights the urge to fish the thread scissors out of his bag to cut the thread he’s tugging on.
“Friend. Right.” Yoongi clears his throat awkwardly. “Look, man, thanks for meeting up, but I’ve gotta go.”
“What?” Jimin asks, genuinely surprised, “But we only just got here.”
“I got inspiration for a song. I’m gonna go work on it.” He loops his backpack over one shoulder and makes his way out of the cafe, the bell on the door tinkling faintly as he walks through it.
Yoongi still manages to look cool, even when he’s running away.
Jimin watches the condensation drip from Yoongi’s abandoned Iced Americano, and wonders what he did wrong.
------
“We’re spending an awful amount of time together.” Taehyung says, reclining on Jimin’s bed like he owns it. His socked feet rest on Jimin’s favourite pillow, and he knows that he’ll have to wash the covers before he uses it again.
“No more than usual.” He replies, throwing a can of soda at Taehyung’s head. It misses, landing instead on Jimin’s sheets, sinking softly into the mattress. It’s probably too shaken up to open, but Taehyung does it anyway, laughing gleefully as foam fizzes from the can.
Jimin will have to wash his bedding, too.
“Yeah, but that was like, pre-boyfriend era.” Taehyung says it so casually, lips pulled into a smirk around the bright red can, colour clashing awkwardly with the near fluorescent orange of his hair.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Jimin huffs, pushing Taehyung’s legs out of the way, before taking a seat on the bed.
“Aren’t you and Yoongi-” Taehyung says, trailing off. He looks confused, but then again, Taehyung looks perpetually bewildered. “You know.”
“No, I don’t know.” Jimin says. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You two were always going on dates, I just kinda assumed.” Taehyung shrugs. “Yoongi assumed, too.”
“What?” He nearly chokes. “We hung out as friends.”
“That’s er- not what Yoongi told me.” Taehyung says gently. “He would message me, low-key freaking out, every time you met up.”
“Freaking out about what?” Jimin says. “There was literally nothing to freak out about.”
“Where to take you, whether or not he should pay, what he should wear.” Taehyung ticks everything off on his fingers. “If he should kiss you or not.”
“Kiss me?” The noise Jimin makes is not human; a hoarse, strangled whisper. His voice breaking on the final syllable.
“Yeah, I finally convinced him to try. Like, last week?” Taehyung says thoughtfully. “I guess he didn’t get around to it.”
“I guess not.” Jimin replies meekly.
“Wait, so what happened, then?” Taehyung asks, sitting upwards. He pulls his knees beneath him, feverishly shuffling towards Jimin. His soda spills from the lip of the can and down the front of Jimin’s shirt. “You know, the day that he was gonna kiss you and everything?”
Jimin’s list of laundry is growing by the minute.
“I don’t know.” He groans, attempting to mop up the sticky mess with his hand, before wiping the excess on Taehyung’s face. His friend makes a distressed noise, shifting his head away from Jimin’s reach and spilling more of his soda in the process. “He said something about people not wanting to seen with him in public because of the whole skirt thing, and I told him I’d be a shitty friend if I judged his clothes?”
“You dropped the F-Bomb on him?” Taehyun cackles maniacally, expression alight with schadenfreude. “God, I knew you were dumb, but this is hilarious.”
“What.” Jimin huffs, folding his arms and pouting. It’s ridiculous, honestly. Yoongi never expressed any sort of interest, despite what Taehyung (repeatedly) told him. Plus, Jimin has known Taehyung long enough to take everything he says with a grain of salt.
Many grains of salt.
A line of salt and a Tequila shot.
“Didn’t you two hold hands and shit?” Taehyung asks, peering at Jimin curiously.
“Yeah, but we hold hands all the time, too.” Jimin points out. “Doesn’t mean we’re dating.”
“True.” Taehyung muses, “But I don’t want to suck your dick.”
Jimin chokes on air. Taehyung ignores his resulting coughing fit, brows furrowing as he scrolls through his phone. His eyes light up as he lets out a noise of triumph.
“Here.” Taehyung says, thrusting his phone into Jimin’s hands. “Read that.”
From: Jimin’s Boyfriend
He’s so cute, what do I do?
To: Jimin’s Boyfriend
Idk man whatever you want I guess
wait no
you’re gonna tell me about what you want to do to my best friend that’s gross please don’t
From: Jimin’s Boyfriend
well, i mean, i wanna take him on cute dates and kiss him when i drop him home, but i also want to suck his dick so…
To: Jimin’s Boyfriend
That’s gross
youre gross
fuck you man
“See,” Taehyung says smugly. “He wants to suck your dick.”
“No kidding.” Jimin mumbles weakly as he hands the phone back to its owner. Taehyung immediately opens Neko Atsume, the game’s cheerful soundtrack and intermittent meows drowning out Jimin’s internalized screams of anguish.
------
Light swims behind Jimin’s eyelids with every blink, there’s hands patting his back and arms slung across his shoulder. Adrenaline courses through his system, and while he can hardly recognise the people crowding around him, he’s still filled with such an overwhelming sense of joy.
“I cannot believe you won!” Taehyung screams, pulling Jimin into a hug that almost crushes his ribcage. From behind him, Jimin can hear Seulgi’s breathy giggles. He feels sorry for the poor girl, he’d designed the gown for looks, not comfort. She’s probably looking forward to taking the whole thing off.
“And I can’t believe you told an entire room of industry professionals that your inspiration for the makeup was Anna from Frozen.” Jimin glares at him, but there’s no malice to it, he’s too high the feeling of winning, the gold of the Best Design award glinting under the backstage lights.
“Hey, it looks great!” Seulgi replies, pulling Jimin into a hug as well. He can feel the boning from the corset digging into his arms as he returns it. “I’m going to get changed though. I miss oxygen.”
“Sorry!” Jimin calls out after her as she glides down the corridor. The dark green silk swishes around her ankles as she walks, giving the impression that she’s gliding along the floor. He’s so glad he convinced her to model his design; the sweet barista who makes his daily coffee looking more like a princess than universtiy student under the layers of silk and beading.
“Congratulations.” Jimin is startled by the voice, too busy staring at his design with a narcissistic sense of pride. “It looks great. Very pretty.”
“Yoongi, hey.” He says, looking around awkwardly. Jimin watches Taehyung sneak down the corridor after Seulgi, the traitor. “How did you get back stage.”
Yoongi points to the white lettering on his black polo. Staff, it reads and Jimin swallows. “I was working the audio booth.”
“I didn’t notice you.” Jimin says quietly. The look on Yoongi’s face is unreadable.
“You were pretty busy. It’s fine.” He says with a soft smile. “For real though, all that work was worth it.”
“I’m pretty proud of it, yeah.” Jimin says. The awkward tension bleeds from the atmosphere as they exchange small grins.
“And I’m proud of you.” Yoongi reaches out, tarking a hold of Jimin’s wrist and stroking the skin with his thumb.
Jimin freezes, and Yoongi takes a step forward, resting his hand on Jimin’s neck; his palm is clammy, it feels uncomfortable on Jimin’s skin. Yoongi’s eyelids flutter closed, leaning in as if to kiss him.
Jimin pulls away at the last second, wrenching his arm from Yoongi’s grip and jerking his head to the side.
“Fuck.” Yoongi says, taking several steps backwards. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Jimin replies, waving his hands frantically. “Honestly, it’s fine.”
Yoongi drags a hand through his hair in annoyance. “I just thought-- I mean, Taehyung told me--”
“You really shouldn’t believe everything Taehyung tells you.” Jimin says softly. Yoongi isn’t angry, in fact he seems ashamed; unable to meet Jimin’s eyes whilst desperately looking for a way out.
“I-- I’m gonna go. Yeah.” Yoongi says, pulling at the pink strands again. His hair is unbelievably messed up, and despite everything, Jimin still finds him adorable. His stomach drops, hadn’t he just rejected Yoongi’s advances?
Yoongi takes his silence as a dismissal, all but running out the door without so much as a goodbye.
“What did you do that for?” Seokjin hisses as the door swings closed behind Yoongi’s retreating figure. Jimin’s head snaps to the corridor, where Seokjin and Taehyung’s disapproving faces peek out from behind the brick wall.
“You’re an idiot.” Taehyung adds, frowning at him. In any other situation, the look on his face would be almost comical.
“I just panicked, okay?” Jimin says, “And I don’t--”
“Don’t tell me you aren’t into him.” Taehyun says, pointing an accusing finger at him.
“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t feel!” Jimin retorts, brandishing his trophy at Taehyung in retaliation.
“Please don’t fight in the hallway, kids.” Seokjin sighs. “Take it outside.”
“If we’re going outside, you may as well take us out for dinner.” Taehyung says, turning to Seokjin and fluttering his eyelashes. “I mean, Jimin just won an award. That calls for a celebration.”
“Buy your own food.” Seokjin says that, but he’ll end up paying for them all anyway.
“I’ll meet you outside.” Jimin calls over his shoulder, already making his way to the dressing rooms. “Gotta grab my stuff.”
Seulgi’s already gone, the dress she modeled already in the garment carrier and draped across Jimin’s duffle bag. There’s a bouquet of flowers sitting next to his things, Jimin instinctively checks the card, immediately assuming they’re from Seulgi’s never ending horde of admirers.
It’s not until he spots Yoongi’s name scrawled on the bottom, adorned with a tiny heart, that Jimin realises just how badly he’s fucked up.
------
Being Seokjin’s model sounds like an easy job, but it's far more difficult than it appears. His nose itches something awful, but if he shifts just an inch, he’ll ruin the lines of the pose, and therefore Seokjin’s entire drawing.
“I’m going to call this one The Monumental Fuck Up.” He says, pushing his customary pair of wire frame glasses up his nose. Charcoal transfers from his fingers and draws a stark black line through the shine of his skin. Jimin spitefully refuses to point it out.
“Stop going on about it.” He mumbles through clenched teeth. Jimin may be annoyed with his friend, but it doesn’t mean he wants to ruin his hard work by changing poses.
“I’ll stop going on about it when you stop moping.” Seokjin replies, eyes dropping to his sketchbook once more. The sound of charcoal scratching on paper fills the room.
“ ‘m not moping.” Jimin says, contradicting his own words by moping in an obvious manner.
“You’re moping.” Seokjin affirms.
“It’s just-- I don’t know.” Jimin wiggles his nose, trying to ease the never ending itch.
“You don’t want to date him, but you also want his constant attention?” Seokjin kicks him, having evidently noticed Jimin’s twitching nose. “Stop that.”
“Yes? No? I just want my friend back.” Jimin whines.
“You have friends.” Seokjin mutters.
“Yeah, but he was my sane friend.” Jimin supposes he deserves being hit with the stick of charcoal Seokjin throws at him. His friend snaps his sketchbook closed with a sigh. Later, he’ll mourn the smudged drawing, but for now, he settles with shooting Jimin a disbelieving look.
“Before all this happened,” Seokjin crosses one leg over the other, waving his hand flippantly. “Yoongi was courting you.”
“Do you have to use that word?” Jimin says, finally relieving the itch on his nose. “It makes me sound like some damsel in distress.”
“Do you miss him?” Seokjin asks, ignoring Jimin’s comments.
“Yes.” Jimin replies, not missing a beat. It’s true, while Yoongi replies to his messages they’re usually short, and he’ll never message first. Jimin hasn’t seen him face to face since the almost kiss, and that was nearly a month ago.
“Tell him.” Jimin is nearly hit in the head again, this time by his own phone as Seokjin throws it across the room.
“What if he takes it the wrong way?” Jimin frets, but he opens the messaging app anyway.
“He can’t. You were pretty clear with your intentions.” Seokjin nods sagely, “Plus, if he can’t handle being your friend without the promise of potential future blow jobs, he’s not worth your time.”
“I guess.” Jimin’s thumb hovers over the keyboard, unsure what to say.
“Just send him a message.” Seokjin prompts, “If he’s a dick, then you can go back to getting your daily dose of vague homoeroticism from Taehyung.”
Jimin blatantly ignores his quip.
To: Yoongi
Hey. I miss you. Can we hang out soon?
He types the message and presses send before he has any second thoughts.
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He gloats. “Thank you Seokjin, what would I ever do without you?”
Voice imitation is not Seokjin’s strong point, but it makes Jimin smile anyway.
“Considering the only other person I could get this kinda advice from is Taehyung, I’m going to say jail.” Seokjin bursts into a fit of hysterics, mumbling about police and zombies; evidently, his older friend remembers the incident at the medical research centre as well as Jimin does.
A sentimental kind of warmth spreads through his chest as he watches Seokjin laugh, collapsing to the floor as he struggles to breathe. He’s right; Jimin really doesn’t know what he’d do without him.
A loud Ding! cuts through the sound of Seokjin’s hysterics, and Jimin’s phone vibrates against his leg.
Yoongi has replied.
He smiles, because everything’s going to be alright.
-------
“I’ve got a gig tonight.” Jimin tries to ignore the way Yoongi’s tongue curls around his straw, drawing the plastic tube back into his mouth. They’re friends, Jimin made sure to reiterate that fact once they started talking again. It’s hardly inappropriate of him to have these kind of thoughts, now more than ever. “You should come.”
“Sure.” Jimin shrugs, he’s got nothing better to do anyway. Plus, in all the time they’ve known each other, he’s never actually seen Yoongi perform live. “May as well.”
“Really?” Yoongi’s eyes light up, before he schools his face into subtle indifference.
“You’re cute.” The words fly from his mouth before he can stop them.
Yoongi clears his throat, taking a sip of his drink. He can’t seem to meet Jimin’s eyes. “It’s me and a few others, showcasing some new tracks. Nothing too serious.”
Jimin’s face falls. He wanted to see Yoongi’s reaction to his compliment, see his pale cheeks flush, maybe flash a sweet smile in Jimin’s direction- but there was nothing.
“Pick me up?” Jimin says, looking at Yoongi through thick lashes.
Yoongi swallows thickly, looking away. “Sure.”
------
The air stinks of stale sweat and staler beer, bodies push against Jimin from all directions but he’s thrumming with excited energy. Someone jostles Jimin as they walk past and he trips, reaching out he curls his hands in the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt; fingers wrapping around his hipbones.
“Careful.” Yoongi yells over the noise; there’s no music as yet, but the chatter of other patrons is loud enough to drown out soft spoken words. Yoongi rests a hand over Jimin’s where it lies on his hip, earning a sharp breath from Jimin at the contact. He desperately hopes Yoongi didn’t hear it, or that he assumes that Jimin’s foot is being crushed by a pair of Timberlands if he did.
“I’m glad you came.” Yoongi says again, voice loud in Jimin’s ears.
“Me too!” Comes Jimin’s excited reply, sliding his fingers along Yoongi’s stomach. Soft fingertips trace over his knuckles, he shifts his hands, opening his palms so that Yoongi might hold them. He doesn’t, choosing instead to clutch at his chest, just over his heart.
“It’ll be a good opportunity to network.” Yoongi continues, breath hitting Jimin’s ear. “Most of these guys need stylists and dancers for their videos.”
“And here I was thinking that you just wanted me to watch you perform.” He says into Yoongi’s neck, lips dragging along skin as he speaks.
Yoongi rips Jimin’s hands from his waist. “Don’t.” His voice is cold, devoid of Yoongi’s usual playful and friendly tone. He grabs Jimin by the wrist, pushing his way through the crowd to where the edges thin and the air becomes breathable once more.
Somewhere along the way, another hand clamps onto his other wrist, Seokjin’s smiling face greets him as Jimin turns around to shake off the intruder.
Seokjin raises his vodka with a raised eyebrow, downing the entire glass as they weave through the crowd.
“What are you doing here?” Jimin yells, twisting uncomfortably in Yoongi’s grip.
Seokjin smiles wordlessly, pointing to his pastel pink t-shirt; in the dim lighting Jimin can only just make out the word Suga screenprinted across the front in silver glitter.
“Hey,” Seokjin yells, wrenching his hand free of Jimin’s grip, extending it instead to an unimpressed looking Yoongi. “Seokjin. Big fan. Friends with Jimin.”
“Oh.” Yoongi says, shaking Seokjin’s hand awkwardly. “Look after him. I’ve gotta go.”
Jimin watches Yoongi weave through the crowd, far more agile now that he’s not hindered by Jimin trailing behind him. Seokjin waves absentmindedly, choosing to stare at the hand that shook Yoongi’s instead.
“He’s got soft hands.” Seokjin comments.
Jimin finds himself dragged to the bar, downing a shot of something dark that doesn’t go down as smooth as Seokjin makes it seem. In the background, artists begin to take the stage, thumping hip hop basslines preventing any potential conversations.
Seokjin hugs him from behind, swaying awkwardly as the music plays, pausing every so often to down his drink before somehow obtaining a new one, making noises of recognition every time an artist walks on stage.
“Pretty sure Suga’s up next.” Seokjin yells, the current artist’s backing track fades into nothing, and the roar of conversation resumes.
He’s right, and in minutes, lights illuminate the stage with a florescent pink glow. Yoongi’s hair looks almost white against them, soft and glowing. Gone is the person Jimin knows, the guy he shares drinks with at cafes, the person who tried to kiss him backstage. This isn’t Yoongi, it’s Suga and he commands attention.
Absentmindedly, Jimin registers the chatter of people around him. Why is that dude wearing a skirt? The novelty of Yoongi’s wardrobe has worn off, Jimin acknowledges the skirts as part of something intrinsically him.
The music starts, sweeping the crowd into a hush as the beat all but commands them to keep quiet. Jimin doesn’t even notice the reactions of the rest of the crowd; his eyes follow Yoongi’s every movement-- reaching into the crowd gathered at the front of the stage, grasping hands with those that reach out to him.
For a moment, Jimin contemplates pushing his way into the crowd, elbowing his way to the front. Reaching his hand out at Yoongi like the rest of the hoard. Only, if Yoongi held his hand, he’d find it awfully hard to let go.
“There it is!” Seokjin yells into his ear, pulling Jimin out of his daze. “The penny just dropped!”
“What?” Jimin replies, twisting in Seokjin’s hold. His friend is grinning widely, moving to the music in the most uncoordinated of ways.
“You finally realized that you’re into him.” Jimin freezes. Seokjin continues with his awkward grinding. “You just had that look on your face, you know?”
“I have no idea what you’re-- hey!” Jimin’s train of thought is cut off as the track changes, and he recognizes it as the song he danced to in the music video. Seokjin drags him by the wrist to a more open area of the venue, and somehow convinces Jimin to recreate the choreography.
A small crowd gathers around him, cheering as he swings his hips and caresses his thighs.
He’d blame the alcohol for his uncharacteristic inhibition, but the way Yoongi smiles when he catches Jimin dancing quells his worries.
If Seokjin notices the way he dances that little bit harder, a touch more seductive after the brief moment of eye contact, then he says nothing.
------
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in years.” Despite his complaints, Jungkook doesn’t bother looking up from his study notes.
“Same!” Taehyung pushes Jimin deeper into the booth with his hip, somehow managing not to spill their drinks with the momentum. “I feel like I need to fight Yoongi or something.”
“Don’t fight Yoongi.” Seokjin interjects. “That won’t end well.”
“You can’t complain,” Jimin says, snatching his drink from Taehyung’s outstretched hand. “You were the one who introduced us, remember?”
“Yeah, ‘cuz I thought you’d fuck once and never see each other again.” He sniffs, mildly affronted. “Not like, start planning your white picket fence futures together.”
“Oh gross, is it that bad?” Jungkook asks, chewing on the end of his pen. “I never thought Jimin’d be the type to want two point five kids and a labrador puppy.”
“Children? It’s too soon to be thinking about kids, Jimin.” Taehyung grabs the collar of Jimin’s shirt; he barely manages to put his drink back on the table before Taehyung starts shaking him. “Seokjin’s too young for grandchildren!”
“Alright kids, calm down.” Seokjin says, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Also I’m not that old. Fuck you.”
“We’re not planning kids or picket fences or puppies.” Jimin huffs. “And I second Seokjin’s notion: fuck you. We’re not dating.”
“But you will be soon.” Seokjin replies with a smirk. “If what I saw the other night is any indication.”
“I trusted you!” Jimin wails, bracing himself as Taehyung starts to shake him once more. His vision blurs as he’s jerked back and forth in rapid succession.
“Tell me everything.” Through his disorientation, Jimin isn’t sure who Taehyung is addressing.
“When I found this one at the gig,” Seokjin pokes a thumb in Jimin’s direction, “He was cuddling up to Yoongi as they walked through the crowd.”
“I was holding onto his shirt so I didn’t lose him!”
“No. I held your wrist and it did the same thing. You were rubbing yourself all over his back and sucking on his neck like an overgrown leech.” Seokjin smirks. Taehyung and Jungkook let out matching groans.
“In public?” Jungkook cries.
“You’re insatiable.” Taehyung’s grin is salacious.
“Fine. Tell them lies. Talk about me like I’m not here. See if I care.” Jimin sulks, folding his arms on the table top and burying his head into the crook of his elbow.
“I tease because I love you.” Seokjin says, reaching over the table to play with Jimin’s hair. “And because you need to stop with the Tsundere bullshit. It was cute at first, but now it’s just pathetic.”
“Thanks.” Comes Jimin’s muffled reply, “Way to make me feel better.”
“Look,” Seokjin sighs, “Imagine this: You’re walking home with Yoongi after one of your weird ass not date things--”
“But--” Jimin starts.
“No interrupting.” Seokjin reprimands. Taehyun reinforces his words with a light tap to the crown of his head. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. So you’re walking home, and you’re holding hands because you two are disgusting like that already.”
“I hold hands with Taehyung too--”
Taehyung bops him on the head once more, acting before Seokjin can even say a word. “Thank you, Taehyung.” He says, glaring at Jimin. He looks every part the mother that Taehyung teases him for being.
“Stop hitting me!” Jimin cries, trying to swat Taehyung’s hands away.
“Then stop interrupting!” Jungkook joins the squabble, attempting to get his own hits in amongst the flurry of hands.
“Yoongi pushes you against the wall, and leans in for a kiss. What do you do?” Seokjin all but yells, rubbing his temples in annoyance as the squabbling dies down.
What would Jimin do, if he were in that situation again? He closes his eyes, imagining the scenario in his head; Yoongi’s hands would be clammy as per usual, he’d stop-- smiling softly while playing with Jimin’s fingers. Slowly but surely, he’d back Jimin against the wall, one hand coming to rest on Jimin’s cheek, the other sliding along his hip. Would Yoongi drag his thumb along Jimin’s bottom lip, before slowly replacing it with his mouth, tugging Jimin’s bottom lip into his mouth as he---
“Yo. Earth to Jimin.” Taehyun clicks his fingers obnoxiously in front of Jimin’s face. “Ground control to Major Tom, you in there, buddy?”
“I’m fine.” Jimin mumbles. “Just thinking.”
“And the conclusion is?” Seokjin prompts. The three of them lean forward in anticipation.
“If he tried to kiss me again,” Jimin starts, “Then I’d kiss him back.”
“Finally!” Taehyung roars, the others letting out similar sounds of triumph, the noise startling other patrons of the cafe. Jimin makes eye contact with an elderly woman who glares at him over the rim of her mug. “Next time we hang out, you better have an epic limp.”
Jimin groans for what feels like the umpteenth time, ignoring Taehyung as he takes solace in his elbow crook once more.
------
From: ♡~*Taehyung*~♡
okay so hes at your house to ‘chill’ while you ‘watch movies’ and Namjoon isn’t at home.
right
remember what i said about that limp
Jimin locks his phone and all but throws it across the room when he sees the line of eggplant emojis Taehyung adds as a follow up message.
Thankfully, Yoongi is seated far enough away that he can’t read the messages over Jimin’s shoulder. But therein lies the problem; Jimin invited him over in order to commence Operation: Seduce Cute Boy, not to sit chastely beside each other on Jimin’s bed.
They fall into the cliche of picking a boring movie to watch, choosing instead to sneak glances at one another in between the cheesy lines and poorly executed jokes from the B-Rated romcom.
Tension lies thick in the air, amplified as Jimin slides his palm along Yoongi’s forearm, moving slowly to give him the time to pull back if he wants to, allowing Yoongi the option to pull away if he doesn’t want this anymore. He doesn’t, so Jimin laces their fingers, sliding clammy palms together.
The small amount of contact just isn’t enough for either of them, wordlessly shuffling closer together; Yoongi splays their entwined hands on top of his thigh, with Jimin’s head coming to rest on Yoongi’s shoulder. Jimin breathes out a stuttering breath as Yoongi’s hand tightens around his own, heart threatening to beat out of his chest.
He can’t help it, vision shaking with the overflowing surge of emotions; Jimin shifts his head to the side, dragging his lips across the skin of Yoongi’s neck. He grows bolder as he continues without resistance-- trailing a press of soft kisses to the spot beneath Yoongi’s ear, sucking gently on the skin and dragging his teeth along the mark as he draws away.
“Jimin.” Yoongi whispers softly, bringing his free hand to Jimin’s hair, twirling the strands around his finger. “What are you doing?”
“Right now?” Jimin bumps his nose against Yoongi’s with a soft laugh. “Right now I’m thinking about how much I want to kiss you.”
“So cheesy.” He replies, but he doesn’t pull away; fingers slipping from Jimin’s hair in order to slide along his cheek. “Are you sure?”
Jimin replies wordlessly, pushing their lips together in a soft kiss. He chases Yoongi’s lips as he pulls away, not satisfied with such a chaste press. Jimin loses himself in the moment, the feeling of Yoongi’s hands in his hair, the way their lips slide together, the overwhelming feeling of finally; it’s been so long coming, and Jimin doesn’t know why he didn’t give in sooner.
Kissing Yoongi is indescribably wonderful, and Jimin knows that he’ll never want to stop.
“I think you already know this, but I really like you.” Yoongi says, pulling away to kiss along Jimin’s jawline.
“What a coincidence,” He replies, pecking Yoongi’s cheek softly; they can’t keep their hands off each other -- sentences interrupted by chaste kisses, soft caresses. Two young men consumed by the feeling of a love returned. “I really like me, too.”
“Brat.” Yoongi chides, pulling Jimin into a headlock. He laughs anyway, peppering kisses on Jimin’s crown as he wriggles, trying to escape his hold.
“Your brat.” Jimin’s smile is blinds like sunshine, eyes crinkling into crescents as smile lines feather out from the creases.
“I’ve got you now,” Yoongi hums in agreement, slinging his arm over Jimin’s shoulder and settling back against the bed, trying to pick up what little of the movie he’d missed between Jimin’s kisses. “And I don’t think I’ll ever want to let go.”
Jimin presses his cheek against Yoongi’s chest, his thumping heartbeat like a lullaby as his eyelids flutter closed. Yoongi’s embrace is warm, safe, home-- he wraps his arms around Yoongi’s midsection. Jimin’s not letting go, either.
------
“I mean, Namjoon said you two were gross.” Taehyung eyes the pair with an air of disgust, “But this is just-- I don’t have words.”
“We’re not doing anything.” Jimin is confused, it’s not like he’s sucking face with his boyfriend-- they’re sitting beside each other, holding hands under the table as they wait for Seulgi to bring them their drinks.
“No, but you two look so in love it’s making me violently ill.” Taehyung pretends to dry heave. Seokjin hits him upside the head.
“Don’t worry, some day you’ll find someone dumb and blind enough to fall for you.” Jungkook pipes up, the space in front of him uncharacteristically devoid of study notes.
“You fell for me.” Taehyung replies, lips curling in childish mockery.
“More like he fell on you.” Seokjin interjects, squinting at Yoongi before looking back at his sketch pad. From his seat, Jimin can make out the familiar shape of his boyfriend’s eyes coming to life through the lines Seokjin scratches into thick paper.
“There’s context I’m missing here,” Says Yoongi, looking between Taehyung and Jungkook with a raised eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”
“You’re not the only one who looks good in skirts.” Jimin whispers, kissing his confused looking boyfriend softly.
“Don’t do that again.” Seokjin mumbles. “Some of us want to keep our lunch down.”
“Ooh, lunch.” Jimin says, standing. He brushes the wrinkles from his clothes as he climbs out of their usual booth. “I forgot to order food.”
“Are you wearing a skirt?” Taehyung shrieks, attracting the attention of several other patrons in the process.
“I wanted couple clothes, but someone wouldn’t agree.” He says, shooting a short glare at a sheepish Yoongi. “This was my solution.”
He skips towards the counter, smiling as Taehyung and Yoongi bicker playfully in the background. They get along so well, to Jimin’s relief; it’s not often that boyfriends and best friends form the kind of bond that Yoongi and Taehyung have achieved.
Jimin catches Yoongi’s eye as he waits in line, they exchange small smiles as Jimin plays with the hem of his skirt-- the heart thumping honeymoon stage of their relationship far from over.
Sometimes, Jimin wonders why he took so long to fall for Yoongi, why the precursors to their relationship was so unnecessarily complicated.
I love you, Yoongi mouths. Jimin forms a heart with his hands as he replies in kind.
Jimin learns to forget the past; he’s only spent a few months dealing with uncertain feelings, but he’s got the rest of his life to explore the perks of loving and being loved in return.
He’s got Yoongi now, and he’s never going to let go.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Yoonmin
Genre: Romance, A vague attempt at comedy, Art School!AU, Boys in Skirts
Description: Jimin is offended by latex fabric, soda cans and Taehyung's very existence.
Based on this cute art by my pal/Jimin's Actual Mum aka Twitter User Emireeboard. [Art used with permission from the artist]
Incoming Call
♡~*Taehyung*~♡
From years of experience, Jimin has learnt that when Taehyun chooses to interact via phone call, rather than by the plethora of instant messaging systems he’s made Jimin download, is that things have either gone Very Wrong, or they’re about to.
Jimin thinks that it’s definitely going to be option B, considering the shrill noise of Taehyung’s personal ringtone caused him to jump, skewing the otherwise straight line of stitching on his uncompleted garment.
PVC is a bitch to unpick, and Jimin contemplates beating his head against his sewing machine instead of answering the call.
It’s not that Taehyung is a terrible person. Far from it, actually. It’s just that last time he called instead of sending identical messages on Wechat, Line and Katalk simultaneously, Jimin ended up covered in zombie makeup in the back of a police car, desperately trying to explain that yes, they’re film school students. Yes, they were doing an assignment and no, they’re not trying to break into the medical research centre. Honest.
Kyary Pamyu Pamyu’s Fashion Monster stops playing as the call rings out, only for it to start again almost immediately. Taehyung seems to be either desperate, trying his hardest to be annoying or quite possibly both, and it’s unlikely that he’ll stop calling until Jimin answers.
Sighing in defeat, Jimin swipes to accept the call.
“Do I say ‘no’ now, or do I wait for you to finish talking?” He asks, skipping formalities.
“None of the above.” Taehyun’s shouts from the other end of the line. He’s seems to be somewhere busy, noise pollution in the form of a heavy bassline and chattering voices interfering with their conversation. It’s awfully reminiscent of the midnight phone calls he receives every other Saturday, drunk Taehyung calling to ask for a lift, some money, extending an invitation to party with a ‘better late than never’ mentality.
Only it’s 3pm on a Tuesday, and through the music Jimin hears the whirring of power drills and the sharp tearing of gaffer tape being torn from the roll. If Taehyung has somehow managed to find a place to drink on a weekday afternoon, Jimin’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know what else is going on.
“I’ve got a situation here, and you are the only one who can un-situation it.” Taehyung yells, loud and shrill. Jimin pulls his phone away from his face to escape the noise.
“That’s not even a word---”
“I’m doing the makeup for a music video, and the backup dancer bailed last minute.” Taehyung cuts him off before he can finish complaining. Gaffer tape for marking positions on the floor, power drills assembling the set, track looping in the background to practice cues. Suddenly, it all makes sense. “I need you here like, ten minutes ago.”
“Again, that’s not---”
“Please. I’ll buy you dinner. Namjoon will buy you drinks. The guy we’re filming for will… I don’t know what he’ll do, but he’ll be very thankful.” Desperation and bargaining are hardly things Jimin would associate with Taehyung. He’s more rambunctious laughter, hangovers and bad ideas.
“Fine. You owe me food, though.” Jimin concedes, as per usual. Taehyung makes an honestly disconcerting noise in triumph, and for that, Jimin silently vows to order the most expensive item of the menu out of spite. “What do you need me to do?”
------
Jimin should really start spending less time with Taehyung and more time with Jungkook. The worst thing Jungkook can drag him into last minute is an all night study session, one where Jimin is more like the younger’s personal Red Bull dealer than study buddy.
Evidently, the worst thing Taehyung can drag him into last minute is a skirt.
“Are you kidding me?” He asks, holding the garment between two fingers, affronted. “A latex pencil skirt.”
“Your ass is going to look fantastic.” Taehyung replies, trying desperately to keep a straight face.
“Latex is the fabric of cheaters. You don’t even sew it, it’s glued together.” He wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“Trust you to be more offended by the fabric choice than the skirt itself.”
“This whole situation is offensive. I’m offended. Taehyung how could you?” Jimin whines, trying desperately to shove the skirt back into Taehyung’s hands.
“We were desperate, and you’re the only person I know who can twerk.” He rips the skirt from Jimin’s hands, opting to shove it in the waistband of his pants instead. A scuffle breaks out as he tries to pull Taehyung into a headlock, attempting to punish his friend and remove his fingers from down his pants at the same time.
“Wait, did you say twerk?” Jimin shrieks. This new piece of information is almost as offensive as the latex skirt.
“If it’s any consolation,” Comes a voice from the door, “You’ll be twerking ironically.” Jimin often finds himself in the strangest predicaments. Currently, his oldest and closest friend has his hand trapped in the waistband of his skinny jeans, while a stranger watches on with a mix of amusement and annoyance evident on his heavily made up face.
This person is wearing a skirt too, he notices. Black, knee length and pleated.
Jimin is starting to sense a trend, here.
He takes in the stranger’s makeup; as per usual, Taehyung’s done a fantastic job. But there’s something missing---
“I think one of your falsies fell off.” Jimin blurts out. It takes Taehyung’s whispered Oh my God and an eyebrow raise from the stranger for him to realise that single smoky, glittery, vaguely Clockwork Orange-y look was probably intentional. Jimin’s an idiot.
“I need him dressed, made up and oiled ASAP.” The stranger-- the very attractive stranger-- as Jimin finally notices once Taehyung’s fingers and his pants go their separate ways, doesn’t bother dignifying him with a response
“Yes sir!” Taehyung salutes him with the hand formerly touching Jimin’s underwear. He yelps in a sort of disbelieving and disgusted manner, wiping his face with his ‘clean’ hand, while frantically rubbing the contaminated appendage on his jeans.
“Oiled?” Jimin whimpers.
He really needs to start spending more time with Jungkook.
------
Jimin looks like his face and neck have been dipped in a vat of pink paint, allowing a canvas for a toddler to finger paint white smears onto his face and chest.
Taehyung says it’s art, and that he wouldn’t understand.
Jimin reminds Taehyung that he’s a fashion major, and that avant garde makeup isn’t all that new to him.
“It’s Suga’s vision.” Taehyung waves his hand flippantly. Jimin takes a moment to wonder just who Suga is, before noticing that the set guys are attaching a flashing neon sign to the backdrop. Hundreds of tiny white LEDs spark to life as the tech crew push the plug into the wall; it’s blinding, each individual light glimmers like a small crystal. S-U-G-A, the lights read, and Jimin wonders if the logo resembling a pile of spilt sugar was intentional. “Your face is supposed to blend in with the backdrop, so the audience can focus on your body.”
Taehyung looks Jimin’s made up, oil slathered and skirt-clad form up and down.
“You did tuck, right?” He asks, grinning, “Or is your dick that small?”
Suga seems to plan his entrances around the times when Jimin is attempting to punch Taehyung in the spleen.
“I was told that you’re a professional.” He says dryly, observing the scene in front of him with a raised eyebrow.
“I am.” Jimin straightens immediately, and catches Suga not-so-subtly checking him out. Or making sure that Taehyung captured his vision correctly. Either way, it makes him feel uncomfortable. “He just makes it hard, sometimes.”
Taehyung laughs, and Jimin realizes too late that he’s said something that can be misconstrued as a dick joke.
Suga stares at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Here,” He says, handing his phone and a pair of earphones to Jimin, “While they fix up the set, I’ll need you to listen to the track a few times, get a feel of things.”
“Is there anything in particular you want me to do?” He asks, inserting the buds into his ear and pressing play. A bass heavy hip hop track starts to play, and Jimin jumps in surprise. He never expected pink backdrops and boys in skirts to be associated with hip hop.
“Just shake your ass.” Suga replies.
------
Two weeks later, Jimin is still trying to get the sticky residue from sports tape off his left butt cheek.
“I hate you.” He says to Taehyung as they head towards the campus cafe. “I’m never doing anything for you ever again.”
“You say that now,” Taehyung waves one hand flippantly, “But you are physically incapable of saying no to me.”
He pushes the glass door to the cafe open, before lunging into a deep bow. “M’lady.” He cackles. Taehyung takes to mocking Jimin’s masculinity like he hasn’t crossdressed numerous times before.
“Fedorable.” He replies smugly, making his way through the door, pointedly ignoring Taehyung’s offended squawking.
They spot Seokjin easily, their friend sits at a large table, wire rim glasses sliding down his nose as he sketches the cafe’s patrons.
“Don’t you need permission for that?” He asks, sliding into his seat. Taehyung is finally making good on his offer to shout, so Jimin’s drink order is unnecessarily long, complicated and full of optional extras for Taehyung to pay for.
“What they don’t know won't hurt them.” Seokjin replies with a wink. He really shouldn’t wink. There’s only so much grease Jimin can handle. “Plus, who wouldn’t want to be my muse.”
“Me.” Taehyung replies, slamming their table number onto the wooden surface. “You’d make me look like that dude from The Scream.”
“No, I’d draw you normally, then draw everyone else looking like that.” Seokjin snarks. “It’s a rather accurate portrayal of real life events.”
“Hey---”
“When is Jungkook getting here?” Jimin cuts in before an argument can start. He’s been looking forward to this meet up all week. Finally. Sane friends.
“Whenever his marketing exam ends, apparently.” Taehyung replies, still eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. Their older friend ignores him, continuing to work on his sketches. “Honestly, how did we manage to find such a boring friend?”
“Inter-university Toga Party.” Seokjin replies, eyes still on his drawing. “You were crossdressing. He thought you were a girl. Good times.”
“Don’t remind me.” Jungkook’s says as he sits down next to Seokjin. He all but throws his backpack to the floor, the sheer amount of books within it make the table rattle as it collides with the leg. “I have no idea how I thought you were female.”
“Beer goggles.” Seokjin supplies helpfully. “How was your exam?”
“Kill me.” He replies, beating his head against the table. “Why did I pick Marketing of all things?”
“There there.” Seokjin pats his head absentmindedly. Taehyung looks like he’s trying not to laugh at his friend’s pain. He’s failing miserably.
Seokjin’s phone seems to sense the moment, and chooses to ding obnoxiously.
“Oh, it’s out.” He says, absentmindedly,
“What’s out?” Asks Jimin.
“Who gave birth?” Asks Taehyung.
“There are two kinds of people.” Jungkook says, throwing a disgusted look in Taehyung’s direction.
“My favourite rapper just released a music video.” Seokjin pointedly ignores Taehyung’s comments, hardly a rare occurrence.
“You… like…. rap?” Jungkook seems completely unable to wrap his head around the information. “No offense, but you struck me as a Kate Bush and Bjork kinda guy.”
Seokjin sniffs in mild offense. “He’s a queer rapper. Likes to fuck with gender norms whilst spitting fire.”
“Whilst spitting fire.” Jungkook parrots in disbelief. “That sentence sounded so unnatural. Don’t talk hip hop and fancy at the same time, it makes me uncomfortable.”
“You’re in no place to judge me. The first time we met, you were dancing to girl group songs in an attempt to seduce a crossdressing Taehyung.”
Jungkook falls silent. Evidently the score is Seokjin: 1, Jungkook: A loss of dignity.
Grinning smugly, he loads the video on his phone, cranking the volume. A bright pink background appears, and a neon sign reading ‘Suga’ flickers to life. The music starts and the video cuts to a closeup of Jimin’s skirt covered ass.
Taehyung starts laughing quietly into Jimin’s shoulder. He pushes him off, taking satisfaction in the loud grunt he lets out.
“Children, please.” Seokjin whispers. “I’m trying to watch.”
Jimin relives all four minutes and thirty two seconds of his ass shaking in glorious 1080p.
(“I have standards.” Seokjin said as he changed the resolution.)
Thankfully, not one of his friends had recognised him. Or his ass. And for some reason, Taehyung was keeping his mouth shut about everything. Jimin narrows his eyes suspiciously. It’s very unlike him to prevent the suffering of his friends.
“Hey, don’t you think that backup dancer looks a bit like Jimin?” Jungkook asks as the video fades out. The last frame is of Jimin performing a squat. The skirt had ridden up and despite the sticky residue, he’s suddenly glad he tucked.
No one wants to see ballsack poking out of the bottom of a skirt.
No one.
“That dancer looks nothing like Jimin.” Seokjin says. “You’re seeing things.”
“He’s not.” Taehyung replies gleefully, fully prepared to destroy his friends dignity. “It is Jimin.”
Apparently the dark blush and sheepish look on his face was enough of a give away.
“No.” Jungkook says, shell shocked. “I was checking out Jimin’s ass? I feel unclean.”
“You were checking out my what---”
“How did you even pick up a gig like this?” Seokjin asks.
Taehyung raises his hand. “I was the makeup artist.”
“Good job, man. Nicely done.” Seokjin nods in approval and Taehyung preens with the praise.
“I thought the eyemakeup might be a little overkill, but I’m glad it worked on camera---”
“Is no one else freaking out about the fact that we nearly saw our friends dick? Like how did you not pop out of that thing?” Jungkook looks like he’s about to cry.
“He tucked.” Taehyung’s grin is salacious.
Jungkook’s hands fly to his crotch as he grimaces.
“Why?” He whispers.
Jimin really needs some new friends.
------
The worst thing about being a fashion major is the fabric.
Jimin really should have accounted for all the fabric he’d be using when he started his course, and he really really should have accounted for all the fabric he’d be using on this ballgown as he drew up the designs.
Alas, he’s made his bed and has to lie in it.
Or more accurately, hie’s designed this fucking dress, and now needs to transport the bolt of fabric from the store to the workroom on campus.
Preferably without hitting an unexpected commuter across the back of the head with thirty meters of emerald green Silk Dupioni.
(It’s a lot harder than it sounds)
“Fuck.” Comes a muffled voice next to Jimin. Apparently he’d been too concerned with the back of people’s heads, that he’d completely forgotten that there are people behind him. One of whom now has the cardboard bolt wedged firmly up his nostrils.
“Shit, sorry.” Jimin says, pulling the roll away quickly. He hits the businessman next to him on the back of the head, fumbling as the (very expensive) fabric begins to slip from his grasp.
Honestly. Fuck ballgowns. Fuck peak hour bus traffic. Fuck Seokjin for being suddenly unavailable to pick him up in his car.
The stranger from earlier catches the falling bolt with a grunt.
“Why do you need so much goddamn fabric?” He mutters, “And why do you need to take it with you on the bus.”
“Poor fashion student spends all his money on fabric, and therefore cannot afford a car.” Jimin replies.
“Fashion, eh. I was wondering how you knew Taehyung.” The stranger replies. Only his voice is suddenly familiar, and not so stranger-y. Jimin looks him up and down; the pink hair, the smirk, the skirt---
Skirt.
“Suga?” He asks, “Sorry man, I didn’t recognise you.”
“It’s okay. It took me a while to recognise you, too.” He shrugs, turning his attention out the window, evidently trying to figure out just how far the bus had travelled during the distraction.
“Yeah, last time I saw you, you had like,” Jimin puts his free hand on his eyelid, waggling his fingers in an attempt to emulate the ridiculous set of false lashes he wore. “You know, things. On your face.”
“Makeup.” Suga deadpans. “I was wearing makeup.”
“Yeah that. I’m gonna stop talking now.” Jimin mutters, choosing instead to hide behind his fabric, silently wishing for the traffic to miraculously clear, and the bus to magically arrive at campus.
Or for the ground to swallow him whole. Either way.
“So where are you taking this death trap?” Suga asks, breaking the silence.
“Campus. I need to embroider parts of the skirt pattern, and I can’t be fucked doing it by hand, so I’m gonna use one of the school machines to do it, instead.” He sighs, “I mean, I’d love to have an embroidery machine of my own, but I don’t really have the money lying around for a good one, you know?”
He looks up to see Suga’s amused face. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”
“You’re cute.” He replies. Jimin does not start hugging his fabric at the comment. He has still has some remaining shreds of dignity. His arms just… tighten, is all. Bumpy road. Lots of opportunities for the silk-based death trap to fly out of his arms and hit rappers who call him cute.
Wouldn’t want that to happen.
“And this is my stop.” Suga says, pressing the red button. The red button on the pole Jimin just so happens to be leaning on. The red button on the pole that requires Suga’s face to be in really close proximity to Jimin’s. The button as red as his face.
That button.
The bus halts as the ding rings through the air, motion causing Suga to lurch forward into Jimin’s personal space that liiiitle bit more.
There’s a warm hand on his hip.
“I’ll see you around, Jimin.” He says, before alighting. Jimin pointedly refuses to look out the window as the bus drives away.
He lets out a deep breath he couldn’t really remember taking.
Just when had he told Suga his name, anyway?
------
“You should thank me, you know.” Taehyung has somehow found his way onto Jimin’s bed. He should really tell Namjoon not to let him in when he’s not around. After the treacherous trek to and from campus, all Jimin wants to do is take a nap in a warm, quiet, Taehyung-free environment.
“Why should I be thanking you?” He asks, throwing his bag on the ground. “And more importantly, why are you on my bed.”
“I wanted to see your reaction.” Taehyung grins. Jimin is suddenly apprehensive. That kind grin is never a good thing. It’s the same kind of grin he had on his face when he mentioned they were shooting Jimin’s zombie makeup at a medical research centre. And well, look at how that turned out.
“Reaction to what?” As if on cue, Jimin’s phone buzzes in his pocket.
From: Unknown Number
Hey, it’s Yoongi. Taehyung gave me your number.
“Taehyung.” Jimin starts, “Who or what is a Yoongi.”
“It’s Suga’s real name.” Taehyung drawls. “He thinks you’re cute.”
Jimin chokes. “Why did you give him my number?”
“Because you need to get laid.” Taehyung replies as if it’s the most obvious thing on the planet.
“Why do I still talk to you?” Jimin mutters, flinging himself onto the bed next to Taehyung.
“Because deep down, you value my friendship.” Jimin stares at the message on his phone, before Taehyung plucks the phone out of his hand.
“Hey---”
“Don’t be a little bitch.”
“Don’t say anything I wouldn’t!” Jimin shrieks, trying to wrestle the phone from his hands.
“I would never!” Taehyung cackles, “See?”
To: SUGA DADDY 8===D
ayyy papi, lemme suck your dick
Despite his loud music, Namjoon still hears Taehyung’s pained screaming from the next room.
------
Despite earlier setbacks, friendship with Yoongi comes easily. Almost too easily, especially for someone who (according to Taehyung) desperately (very desperately) wants in Jimin’s pants.
Jimin’s starting to think that Taehyung’s just fucking with him, making things up in an attempt to embarrass him. They’ve been meeting up for weeks now, and not once has Yoongi even hinted that these little outings are dates, or that he has any sort of hidden motive.
“Thanks for meeting up with me, it means a lot.” Yoongi says quietly as they sit, Jimin ignores how pink Yoongi’s lips are and how nicely they wrap around the straw of his Iced Americano. “Not a lot of people are cool with being seen in public with me.”
A voice in Jimin’s head tells him that this is a segue into Relationship Talk territory. The voice then begins wailing in some sort of imitation of a warning bell. This voice sounds a lot like Taehyung, and Jimin shakes his head to try and get rid of it.
“It’s cool, man.” Jimin says. “I’d be an asshole of a friend if I judged what you wore.” Yoongi stiffens at the word friend, hands resting on the hem of his skirt and fiddling with a loose thread. It’s tartan today, and he’s wearing his customary tights and high tops with it. Jimin fights the urge to fish the thread scissors out of his bag to cut the thread he’s tugging on.
“Friend. Right.” Yoongi clears his throat awkwardly. “Look, man, thanks for meeting up, but I’ve gotta go.”
“What?” Jimin asks, genuinely surprised, “But we only just got here.”
“I got inspiration for a song. I’m gonna go work on it.” He loops his backpack over one shoulder and makes his way out of the cafe, the bell on the door tinkling faintly as he walks through it.
Yoongi still manages to look cool, even when he’s running away.
Jimin watches the condensation drip from Yoongi’s abandoned Iced Americano, and wonders what he did wrong.
------
“We’re spending an awful amount of time together.” Taehyung says, reclining on Jimin’s bed like he owns it. His socked feet rest on Jimin’s favourite pillow, and he knows that he’ll have to wash the covers before he uses it again.
“No more than usual.” He replies, throwing a can of soda at Taehyung’s head. It misses, landing instead on Jimin’s sheets, sinking softly into the mattress. It’s probably too shaken up to open, but Taehyung does it anyway, laughing gleefully as foam fizzes from the can.
Jimin will have to wash his bedding, too.
“Yeah, but that was like, pre-boyfriend era.” Taehyung says it so casually, lips pulled into a smirk around the bright red can, colour clashing awkwardly with the near fluorescent orange of his hair.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Jimin huffs, pushing Taehyung’s legs out of the way, before taking a seat on the bed.
“Aren’t you and Yoongi-” Taehyung says, trailing off. He looks confused, but then again, Taehyung looks perpetually bewildered. “You know.”
“No, I don’t know.” Jimin says. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You two were always going on dates, I just kinda assumed.” Taehyung shrugs. “Yoongi assumed, too.”
“What?” He nearly chokes. “We hung out as friends.”
“That’s er- not what Yoongi told me.” Taehyung says gently. “He would message me, low-key freaking out, every time you met up.”
“Freaking out about what?” Jimin says. “There was literally nothing to freak out about.”
“Where to take you, whether or not he should pay, what he should wear.” Taehyung ticks everything off on his fingers. “If he should kiss you or not.”
“Kiss me?” The noise Jimin makes is not human; a hoarse, strangled whisper. His voice breaking on the final syllable.
“Yeah, I finally convinced him to try. Like, last week?” Taehyung says thoughtfully. “I guess he didn’t get around to it.”
“I guess not.” Jimin replies meekly.
“Wait, so what happened, then?” Taehyung asks, sitting upwards. He pulls his knees beneath him, feverishly shuffling towards Jimin. His soda spills from the lip of the can and down the front of Jimin’s shirt. “You know, the day that he was gonna kiss you and everything?”
Jimin’s list of laundry is growing by the minute.
“I don’t know.” He groans, attempting to mop up the sticky mess with his hand, before wiping the excess on Taehyung’s face. His friend makes a distressed noise, shifting his head away from Jimin’s reach and spilling more of his soda in the process. “He said something about people not wanting to seen with him in public because of the whole skirt thing, and I told him I’d be a shitty friend if I judged his clothes?”
“You dropped the F-Bomb on him?” Taehyun cackles maniacally, expression alight with schadenfreude. “God, I knew you were dumb, but this is hilarious.”
“What.” Jimin huffs, folding his arms and pouting. It’s ridiculous, honestly. Yoongi never expressed any sort of interest, despite what Taehyung (repeatedly) told him. Plus, Jimin has known Taehyung long enough to take everything he says with a grain of salt.
Many grains of salt.
A line of salt and a Tequila shot.
“Didn’t you two hold hands and shit?” Taehyung asks, peering at Jimin curiously.
“Yeah, but we hold hands all the time, too.” Jimin points out. “Doesn’t mean we’re dating.”
“True.” Taehyung muses, “But I don’t want to suck your dick.”
Jimin chokes on air. Taehyung ignores his resulting coughing fit, brows furrowing as he scrolls through his phone. His eyes light up as he lets out a noise of triumph.
“Here.” Taehyung says, thrusting his phone into Jimin’s hands. “Read that.”
From: Jimin’s Boyfriend
He’s so cute, what do I do?
To: Jimin’s Boyfriend
Idk man whatever you want I guess
wait no
you’re gonna tell me about what you want to do to my best friend that’s gross please don’t
From: Jimin’s Boyfriend
well, i mean, i wanna take him on cute dates and kiss him when i drop him home, but i also want to suck his dick so…
To: Jimin’s Boyfriend
That’s gross
youre gross
fuck you man
“See,” Taehyung says smugly. “He wants to suck your dick.”
“No kidding.” Jimin mumbles weakly as he hands the phone back to its owner. Taehyung immediately opens Neko Atsume, the game’s cheerful soundtrack and intermittent meows drowning out Jimin’s internalized screams of anguish.
------
Light swims behind Jimin’s eyelids with every blink, there’s hands patting his back and arms slung across his shoulder. Adrenaline courses through his system, and while he can hardly recognise the people crowding around him, he’s still filled with such an overwhelming sense of joy.
“I cannot believe you won!” Taehyung screams, pulling Jimin into a hug that almost crushes his ribcage. From behind him, Jimin can hear Seulgi’s breathy giggles. He feels sorry for the poor girl, he’d designed the gown for looks, not comfort. She’s probably looking forward to taking the whole thing off.
“And I can’t believe you told an entire room of industry professionals that your inspiration for the makeup was Anna from Frozen.” Jimin glares at him, but there’s no malice to it, he’s too high the feeling of winning, the gold of the Best Design award glinting under the backstage lights.
“Hey, it looks great!” Seulgi replies, pulling Jimin into a hug as well. He can feel the boning from the corset digging into his arms as he returns it. “I’m going to get changed though. I miss oxygen.”
“Sorry!” Jimin calls out after her as she glides down the corridor. The dark green silk swishes around her ankles as she walks, giving the impression that she’s gliding along the floor. He’s so glad he convinced her to model his design; the sweet barista who makes his daily coffee looking more like a princess than universtiy student under the layers of silk and beading.
“Congratulations.” Jimin is startled by the voice, too busy staring at his design with a narcissistic sense of pride. “It looks great. Very pretty.”
“Yoongi, hey.” He says, looking around awkwardly. Jimin watches Taehyung sneak down the corridor after Seulgi, the traitor. “How did you get back stage.”
Yoongi points to the white lettering on his black polo. Staff, it reads and Jimin swallows. “I was working the audio booth.”
“I didn’t notice you.” Jimin says quietly. The look on Yoongi’s face is unreadable.
“You were pretty busy. It’s fine.” He says with a soft smile. “For real though, all that work was worth it.”
“I’m pretty proud of it, yeah.” Jimin says. The awkward tension bleeds from the atmosphere as they exchange small grins.
“And I’m proud of you.” Yoongi reaches out, tarking a hold of Jimin’s wrist and stroking the skin with his thumb.
Jimin freezes, and Yoongi takes a step forward, resting his hand on Jimin’s neck; his palm is clammy, it feels uncomfortable on Jimin’s skin. Yoongi’s eyelids flutter closed, leaning in as if to kiss him.
Jimin pulls away at the last second, wrenching his arm from Yoongi’s grip and jerking his head to the side.
“Fuck.” Yoongi says, taking several steps backwards. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Jimin replies, waving his hands frantically. “Honestly, it’s fine.”
Yoongi drags a hand through his hair in annoyance. “I just thought-- I mean, Taehyung told me--”
“You really shouldn’t believe everything Taehyung tells you.” Jimin says softly. Yoongi isn’t angry, in fact he seems ashamed; unable to meet Jimin’s eyes whilst desperately looking for a way out.
“I-- I’m gonna go. Yeah.” Yoongi says, pulling at the pink strands again. His hair is unbelievably messed up, and despite everything, Jimin still finds him adorable. His stomach drops, hadn’t he just rejected Yoongi’s advances?
Yoongi takes his silence as a dismissal, all but running out the door without so much as a goodbye.
“What did you do that for?” Seokjin hisses as the door swings closed behind Yoongi’s retreating figure. Jimin’s head snaps to the corridor, where Seokjin and Taehyung’s disapproving faces peek out from behind the brick wall.
“You’re an idiot.” Taehyung adds, frowning at him. In any other situation, the look on his face would be almost comical.
“I just panicked, okay?” Jimin says, “And I don’t--”
“Don’t tell me you aren’t into him.” Taehyun says, pointing an accusing finger at him.
“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t feel!” Jimin retorts, brandishing his trophy at Taehyung in retaliation.
“Please don’t fight in the hallway, kids.” Seokjin sighs. “Take it outside.”
“If we’re going outside, you may as well take us out for dinner.” Taehyung says, turning to Seokjin and fluttering his eyelashes. “I mean, Jimin just won an award. That calls for a celebration.”
“Buy your own food.” Seokjin says that, but he’ll end up paying for them all anyway.
“I’ll meet you outside.” Jimin calls over his shoulder, already making his way to the dressing rooms. “Gotta grab my stuff.”
Seulgi’s already gone, the dress she modeled already in the garment carrier and draped across Jimin’s duffle bag. There’s a bouquet of flowers sitting next to his things, Jimin instinctively checks the card, immediately assuming they’re from Seulgi’s never ending horde of admirers.
It’s not until he spots Yoongi’s name scrawled on the bottom, adorned with a tiny heart, that Jimin realises just how badly he’s fucked up.
------
Being Seokjin’s model sounds like an easy job, but it's far more difficult than it appears. His nose itches something awful, but if he shifts just an inch, he’ll ruin the lines of the pose, and therefore Seokjin’s entire drawing.
“I’m going to call this one The Monumental Fuck Up.” He says, pushing his customary pair of wire frame glasses up his nose. Charcoal transfers from his fingers and draws a stark black line through the shine of his skin. Jimin spitefully refuses to point it out.
“Stop going on about it.” He mumbles through clenched teeth. Jimin may be annoyed with his friend, but it doesn’t mean he wants to ruin his hard work by changing poses.
“I’ll stop going on about it when you stop moping.” Seokjin replies, eyes dropping to his sketchbook once more. The sound of charcoal scratching on paper fills the room.
“ ‘m not moping.” Jimin says, contradicting his own words by moping in an obvious manner.
“You’re moping.” Seokjin affirms.
“It’s just-- I don’t know.” Jimin wiggles his nose, trying to ease the never ending itch.
“You don’t want to date him, but you also want his constant attention?” Seokjin kicks him, having evidently noticed Jimin’s twitching nose. “Stop that.”
“Yes? No? I just want my friend back.” Jimin whines.
“You have friends.” Seokjin mutters.
“Yeah, but he was my sane friend.” Jimin supposes he deserves being hit with the stick of charcoal Seokjin throws at him. His friend snaps his sketchbook closed with a sigh. Later, he’ll mourn the smudged drawing, but for now, he settles with shooting Jimin a disbelieving look.
“Before all this happened,” Seokjin crosses one leg over the other, waving his hand flippantly. “Yoongi was courting you.”
“Do you have to use that word?” Jimin says, finally relieving the itch on his nose. “It makes me sound like some damsel in distress.”
“Do you miss him?” Seokjin asks, ignoring Jimin’s comments.
“Yes.” Jimin replies, not missing a beat. It’s true, while Yoongi replies to his messages they’re usually short, and he’ll never message first. Jimin hasn’t seen him face to face since the almost kiss, and that was nearly a month ago.
“Tell him.” Jimin is nearly hit in the head again, this time by his own phone as Seokjin throws it across the room.
“What if he takes it the wrong way?” Jimin frets, but he opens the messaging app anyway.
“He can’t. You were pretty clear with your intentions.” Seokjin nods sagely, “Plus, if he can’t handle being your friend without the promise of potential future blow jobs, he’s not worth your time.”
“I guess.” Jimin’s thumb hovers over the keyboard, unsure what to say.
“Just send him a message.” Seokjin prompts, “If he’s a dick, then you can go back to getting your daily dose of vague homoeroticism from Taehyung.”
Jimin blatantly ignores his quip.
To: Yoongi
Hey. I miss you. Can we hang out soon?
He types the message and presses send before he has any second thoughts.
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He gloats. “Thank you Seokjin, what would I ever do without you?”
Voice imitation is not Seokjin’s strong point, but it makes Jimin smile anyway.
“Considering the only other person I could get this kinda advice from is Taehyung, I’m going to say jail.” Seokjin bursts into a fit of hysterics, mumbling about police and zombies; evidently, his older friend remembers the incident at the medical research centre as well as Jimin does.
A sentimental kind of warmth spreads through his chest as he watches Seokjin laugh, collapsing to the floor as he struggles to breathe. He’s right; Jimin really doesn’t know what he’d do without him.
A loud Ding! cuts through the sound of Seokjin’s hysterics, and Jimin’s phone vibrates against his leg.
Yoongi has replied.
He smiles, because everything’s going to be alright.
-------
“I’ve got a gig tonight.” Jimin tries to ignore the way Yoongi’s tongue curls around his straw, drawing the plastic tube back into his mouth. They’re friends, Jimin made sure to reiterate that fact once they started talking again. It’s hardly inappropriate of him to have these kind of thoughts, now more than ever. “You should come.”
“Sure.” Jimin shrugs, he’s got nothing better to do anyway. Plus, in all the time they’ve known each other, he’s never actually seen Yoongi perform live. “May as well.”
“Really?” Yoongi’s eyes light up, before he schools his face into subtle indifference.
“You’re cute.” The words fly from his mouth before he can stop them.
Yoongi clears his throat, taking a sip of his drink. He can’t seem to meet Jimin’s eyes. “It’s me and a few others, showcasing some new tracks. Nothing too serious.”
Jimin’s face falls. He wanted to see Yoongi’s reaction to his compliment, see his pale cheeks flush, maybe flash a sweet smile in Jimin’s direction- but there was nothing.
“Pick me up?” Jimin says, looking at Yoongi through thick lashes.
Yoongi swallows thickly, looking away. “Sure.”
------
The air stinks of stale sweat and staler beer, bodies push against Jimin from all directions but he’s thrumming with excited energy. Someone jostles Jimin as they walk past and he trips, reaching out he curls his hands in the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt; fingers wrapping around his hipbones.
“Careful.” Yoongi yells over the noise; there’s no music as yet, but the chatter of other patrons is loud enough to drown out soft spoken words. Yoongi rests a hand over Jimin’s where it lies on his hip, earning a sharp breath from Jimin at the contact. He desperately hopes Yoongi didn’t hear it, or that he assumes that Jimin’s foot is being crushed by a pair of Timberlands if he did.
“I’m glad you came.” Yoongi says again, voice loud in Jimin’s ears.
“Me too!” Comes Jimin’s excited reply, sliding his fingers along Yoongi’s stomach. Soft fingertips trace over his knuckles, he shifts his hands, opening his palms so that Yoongi might hold them. He doesn’t, choosing instead to clutch at his chest, just over his heart.
“It’ll be a good opportunity to network.” Yoongi continues, breath hitting Jimin’s ear. “Most of these guys need stylists and dancers for their videos.”
“And here I was thinking that you just wanted me to watch you perform.” He says into Yoongi’s neck, lips dragging along skin as he speaks.
Yoongi rips Jimin’s hands from his waist. “Don’t.” His voice is cold, devoid of Yoongi’s usual playful and friendly tone. He grabs Jimin by the wrist, pushing his way through the crowd to where the edges thin and the air becomes breathable once more.
Somewhere along the way, another hand clamps onto his other wrist, Seokjin’s smiling face greets him as Jimin turns around to shake off the intruder.
Seokjin raises his vodka with a raised eyebrow, downing the entire glass as they weave through the crowd.
“What are you doing here?” Jimin yells, twisting uncomfortably in Yoongi’s grip.
Seokjin smiles wordlessly, pointing to his pastel pink t-shirt; in the dim lighting Jimin can only just make out the word Suga screenprinted across the front in silver glitter.
“Hey,” Seokjin yells, wrenching his hand free of Jimin’s grip, extending it instead to an unimpressed looking Yoongi. “Seokjin. Big fan. Friends with Jimin.”
“Oh.” Yoongi says, shaking Seokjin’s hand awkwardly. “Look after him. I’ve gotta go.”
Jimin watches Yoongi weave through the crowd, far more agile now that he’s not hindered by Jimin trailing behind him. Seokjin waves absentmindedly, choosing to stare at the hand that shook Yoongi’s instead.
“He’s got soft hands.” Seokjin comments.
Jimin finds himself dragged to the bar, downing a shot of something dark that doesn’t go down as smooth as Seokjin makes it seem. In the background, artists begin to take the stage, thumping hip hop basslines preventing any potential conversations.
Seokjin hugs him from behind, swaying awkwardly as the music plays, pausing every so often to down his drink before somehow obtaining a new one, making noises of recognition every time an artist walks on stage.
“Pretty sure Suga’s up next.” Seokjin yells, the current artist’s backing track fades into nothing, and the roar of conversation resumes.
He’s right, and in minutes, lights illuminate the stage with a florescent pink glow. Yoongi’s hair looks almost white against them, soft and glowing. Gone is the person Jimin knows, the guy he shares drinks with at cafes, the person who tried to kiss him backstage. This isn’t Yoongi, it’s Suga and he commands attention.
Absentmindedly, Jimin registers the chatter of people around him. Why is that dude wearing a skirt? The novelty of Yoongi’s wardrobe has worn off, Jimin acknowledges the skirts as part of something intrinsically him.
The music starts, sweeping the crowd into a hush as the beat all but commands them to keep quiet. Jimin doesn’t even notice the reactions of the rest of the crowd; his eyes follow Yoongi’s every movement-- reaching into the crowd gathered at the front of the stage, grasping hands with those that reach out to him.
For a moment, Jimin contemplates pushing his way into the crowd, elbowing his way to the front. Reaching his hand out at Yoongi like the rest of the hoard. Only, if Yoongi held his hand, he’d find it awfully hard to let go.
“There it is!” Seokjin yells into his ear, pulling Jimin out of his daze. “The penny just dropped!”
“What?” Jimin replies, twisting in Seokjin’s hold. His friend is grinning widely, moving to the music in the most uncoordinated of ways.
“You finally realized that you’re into him.” Jimin freezes. Seokjin continues with his awkward grinding. “You just had that look on your face, you know?”
“I have no idea what you’re-- hey!” Jimin’s train of thought is cut off as the track changes, and he recognizes it as the song he danced to in the music video. Seokjin drags him by the wrist to a more open area of the venue, and somehow convinces Jimin to recreate the choreography.
A small crowd gathers around him, cheering as he swings his hips and caresses his thighs.
He’d blame the alcohol for his uncharacteristic inhibition, but the way Yoongi smiles when he catches Jimin dancing quells his worries.
If Seokjin notices the way he dances that little bit harder, a touch more seductive after the brief moment of eye contact, then he says nothing.
------
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in years.” Despite his complaints, Jungkook doesn’t bother looking up from his study notes.
“Same!” Taehyung pushes Jimin deeper into the booth with his hip, somehow managing not to spill their drinks with the momentum. “I feel like I need to fight Yoongi or something.”
“Don’t fight Yoongi.” Seokjin interjects. “That won’t end well.”
“You can’t complain,” Jimin says, snatching his drink from Taehyung’s outstretched hand. “You were the one who introduced us, remember?”
“Yeah, ‘cuz I thought you’d fuck once and never see each other again.” He sniffs, mildly affronted. “Not like, start planning your white picket fence futures together.”
“Oh gross, is it that bad?” Jungkook asks, chewing on the end of his pen. “I never thought Jimin’d be the type to want two point five kids and a labrador puppy.”
“Children? It’s too soon to be thinking about kids, Jimin.” Taehyung grabs the collar of Jimin’s shirt; he barely manages to put his drink back on the table before Taehyung starts shaking him. “Seokjin’s too young for grandchildren!”
“Alright kids, calm down.” Seokjin says, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Also I’m not that old. Fuck you.”
“We’re not planning kids or picket fences or puppies.” Jimin huffs. “And I second Seokjin’s notion: fuck you. We’re not dating.”
“But you will be soon.” Seokjin replies with a smirk. “If what I saw the other night is any indication.”
“I trusted you!” Jimin wails, bracing himself as Taehyung starts to shake him once more. His vision blurs as he’s jerked back and forth in rapid succession.
“Tell me everything.” Through his disorientation, Jimin isn’t sure who Taehyung is addressing.
“When I found this one at the gig,” Seokjin pokes a thumb in Jimin’s direction, “He was cuddling up to Yoongi as they walked through the crowd.”
“I was holding onto his shirt so I didn’t lose him!”
“No. I held your wrist and it did the same thing. You were rubbing yourself all over his back and sucking on his neck like an overgrown leech.” Seokjin smirks. Taehyung and Jungkook let out matching groans.
“In public?” Jungkook cries.
“You’re insatiable.” Taehyung’s grin is salacious.
“Fine. Tell them lies. Talk about me like I’m not here. See if I care.” Jimin sulks, folding his arms on the table top and burying his head into the crook of his elbow.
“I tease because I love you.” Seokjin says, reaching over the table to play with Jimin’s hair. “And because you need to stop with the Tsundere bullshit. It was cute at first, but now it’s just pathetic.”
“Thanks.” Comes Jimin’s muffled reply, “Way to make me feel better.”
“Look,” Seokjin sighs, “Imagine this: You’re walking home with Yoongi after one of your weird ass not date things--”
“But--” Jimin starts.
“No interrupting.” Seokjin reprimands. Taehyun reinforces his words with a light tap to the crown of his head. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. So you’re walking home, and you’re holding hands because you two are disgusting like that already.”
“I hold hands with Taehyung too--”
Taehyung bops him on the head once more, acting before Seokjin can even say a word. “Thank you, Taehyung.” He says, glaring at Jimin. He looks every part the mother that Taehyung teases him for being.
“Stop hitting me!” Jimin cries, trying to swat Taehyung’s hands away.
“Then stop interrupting!” Jungkook joins the squabble, attempting to get his own hits in amongst the flurry of hands.
“Yoongi pushes you against the wall, and leans in for a kiss. What do you do?” Seokjin all but yells, rubbing his temples in annoyance as the squabbling dies down.
What would Jimin do, if he were in that situation again? He closes his eyes, imagining the scenario in his head; Yoongi’s hands would be clammy as per usual, he’d stop-- smiling softly while playing with Jimin’s fingers. Slowly but surely, he’d back Jimin against the wall, one hand coming to rest on Jimin’s cheek, the other sliding along his hip. Would Yoongi drag his thumb along Jimin’s bottom lip, before slowly replacing it with his mouth, tugging Jimin’s bottom lip into his mouth as he---
“Yo. Earth to Jimin.” Taehyun clicks his fingers obnoxiously in front of Jimin’s face. “Ground control to Major Tom, you in there, buddy?”
“I’m fine.” Jimin mumbles. “Just thinking.”
“And the conclusion is?” Seokjin prompts. The three of them lean forward in anticipation.
“If he tried to kiss me again,” Jimin starts, “Then I’d kiss him back.”
“Finally!” Taehyung roars, the others letting out similar sounds of triumph, the noise startling other patrons of the cafe. Jimin makes eye contact with an elderly woman who glares at him over the rim of her mug. “Next time we hang out, you better have an epic limp.”
Jimin groans for what feels like the umpteenth time, ignoring Taehyung as he takes solace in his elbow crook once more.
------
From: ♡~*Taehyung*~♡
okay so hes at your house to ‘chill’ while you ‘watch movies’ and Namjoon isn’t at home.
right
remember what i said about that limp
Jimin locks his phone and all but throws it across the room when he sees the line of eggplant emojis Taehyung adds as a follow up message.
Thankfully, Yoongi is seated far enough away that he can’t read the messages over Jimin’s shoulder. But therein lies the problem; Jimin invited him over in order to commence Operation: Seduce Cute Boy, not to sit chastely beside each other on Jimin’s bed.
They fall into the cliche of picking a boring movie to watch, choosing instead to sneak glances at one another in between the cheesy lines and poorly executed jokes from the B-Rated romcom.
Tension lies thick in the air, amplified as Jimin slides his palm along Yoongi’s forearm, moving slowly to give him the time to pull back if he wants to, allowing Yoongi the option to pull away if he doesn’t want this anymore. He doesn’t, so Jimin laces their fingers, sliding clammy palms together.
The small amount of contact just isn’t enough for either of them, wordlessly shuffling closer together; Yoongi splays their entwined hands on top of his thigh, with Jimin’s head coming to rest on Yoongi’s shoulder. Jimin breathes out a stuttering breath as Yoongi’s hand tightens around his own, heart threatening to beat out of his chest.
He can’t help it, vision shaking with the overflowing surge of emotions; Jimin shifts his head to the side, dragging his lips across the skin of Yoongi’s neck. He grows bolder as he continues without resistance-- trailing a press of soft kisses to the spot beneath Yoongi’s ear, sucking gently on the skin and dragging his teeth along the mark as he draws away.
“Jimin.” Yoongi whispers softly, bringing his free hand to Jimin’s hair, twirling the strands around his finger. “What are you doing?”
“Right now?” Jimin bumps his nose against Yoongi’s with a soft laugh. “Right now I’m thinking about how much I want to kiss you.”
“So cheesy.” He replies, but he doesn’t pull away; fingers slipping from Jimin’s hair in order to slide along his cheek. “Are you sure?”
Jimin replies wordlessly, pushing their lips together in a soft kiss. He chases Yoongi’s lips as he pulls away, not satisfied with such a chaste press. Jimin loses himself in the moment, the feeling of Yoongi’s hands in his hair, the way their lips slide together, the overwhelming feeling of finally; it’s been so long coming, and Jimin doesn’t know why he didn’t give in sooner.
Kissing Yoongi is indescribably wonderful, and Jimin knows that he’ll never want to stop.
“I think you already know this, but I really like you.” Yoongi says, pulling away to kiss along Jimin’s jawline.
“What a coincidence,” He replies, pecking Yoongi’s cheek softly; they can’t keep their hands off each other -- sentences interrupted by chaste kisses, soft caresses. Two young men consumed by the feeling of a love returned. “I really like me, too.”
“Brat.” Yoongi chides, pulling Jimin into a headlock. He laughs anyway, peppering kisses on Jimin’s crown as he wriggles, trying to escape his hold.
“Your brat.” Jimin’s smile is blinds like sunshine, eyes crinkling into crescents as smile lines feather out from the creases.
“I’ve got you now,” Yoongi hums in agreement, slinging his arm over Jimin’s shoulder and settling back against the bed, trying to pick up what little of the movie he’d missed between Jimin’s kisses. “And I don’t think I’ll ever want to let go.”
Jimin presses his cheek against Yoongi’s chest, his thumping heartbeat like a lullaby as his eyelids flutter closed. Yoongi’s embrace is warm, safe, home-- he wraps his arms around Yoongi’s midsection. Jimin’s not letting go, either.
------
“I mean, Namjoon said you two were gross.” Taehyung eyes the pair with an air of disgust, “But this is just-- I don’t have words.”
“We’re not doing anything.” Jimin is confused, it’s not like he’s sucking face with his boyfriend-- they’re sitting beside each other, holding hands under the table as they wait for Seulgi to bring them their drinks.
“No, but you two look so in love it’s making me violently ill.” Taehyung pretends to dry heave. Seokjin hits him upside the head.
“Don’t worry, some day you’ll find someone dumb and blind enough to fall for you.” Jungkook pipes up, the space in front of him uncharacteristically devoid of study notes.
“You fell for me.” Taehyung replies, lips curling in childish mockery.
“More like he fell on you.” Seokjin interjects, squinting at Yoongi before looking back at his sketch pad. From his seat, Jimin can make out the familiar shape of his boyfriend’s eyes coming to life through the lines Seokjin scratches into thick paper.
“There’s context I’m missing here,” Says Yoongi, looking between Taehyung and Jungkook with a raised eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”
“You’re not the only one who looks good in skirts.” Jimin whispers, kissing his confused looking boyfriend softly.
“Don’t do that again.” Seokjin mumbles. “Some of us want to keep our lunch down.”
“Ooh, lunch.” Jimin says, standing. He brushes the wrinkles from his clothes as he climbs out of their usual booth. “I forgot to order food.”
“Are you wearing a skirt?” Taehyung shrieks, attracting the attention of several other patrons in the process.
“I wanted couple clothes, but someone wouldn’t agree.” He says, shooting a short glare at a sheepish Yoongi. “This was my solution.”
He skips towards the counter, smiling as Taehyung and Yoongi bicker playfully in the background. They get along so well, to Jimin’s relief; it’s not often that boyfriends and best friends form the kind of bond that Yoongi and Taehyung have achieved.
Jimin catches Yoongi’s eye as he waits in line, they exchange small smiles as Jimin plays with the hem of his skirt-- the heart thumping honeymoon stage of their relationship far from over.
Sometimes, Jimin wonders why he took so long to fall for Yoongi, why the precursors to their relationship was so unnecessarily complicated.
I love you, Yoongi mouths. Jimin forms a heart with his hands as he replies in kind.
Jimin learns to forget the past; he’s only spent a few months dealing with uncertain feelings, but he’s got the rest of his life to explore the perks of loving and being loved in return.
He’s got Yoongi now, and he’s never going to let go.