Chapter Text
The first time he laid eyes on Min Yoongi, Jeongguk fell in love.
The guy was sitting on a park bench with oversized (maybe it was Yoongi that was undersized, but no one would say that to his face) headphones, eyebrows scrunched to a little crease above his nose, long pale fingers deftly tapping over the keys of his frankly scary looking laptop -- black and deathly and outfitted with hip hop stickers and a clunky external battery. He looked ready for war. It was awe-inspiring, really, to see someone with eyes so focused they looked detached. Spartan, kind of. Jeongguk had seen that look on his dad when he was younger, before he learned it had nothing to do with him as long as his hyung is alive. A look that Jeongguk thought only people in suits could wear, now that Spartans aren’t around anymore.
The first time he laid eyes on Min Yoongi, Jeongguk was still young and naive and enrolled in some economics or management bullshit. He’d found his own way of wearing the Spartan face after that -- what Jimin called his “ass-pain smolder”. It probably meant something, that Min Yoongi kind of ignited Jeongguk’s first ever act of rebellion, sending Jeongguk's life spiraling off the golden maknae course and careening towards starving artist (graphic design, thanks, but there’s no difference to his parents). Fitting, then, that he eventually made up for Jeongguk’s dishonourment to the noble house of Jeon -- by marrying him.
They found out at a dinner that they “must attend”, muttered ominously by Jeongguk’s mother’s secretary and Yoongi’s father’s PA and reiterated personally by their parents when they both turned down the invitation the first time. The founders of Min Enterprises and Jeon group weren’t about to let their sons skip out on an engagement worth millions of won; it was unsaid, but they both got the message clearly enough -- study art, be gay, but be useful at least. Jeongguk had stared blankly at Min Yoongi all night. Yoongi had kept his eyes lowered, staring at the crisp white tablecloth, watching a single drop of wine soak into a light pink blotch.
“The spare to the heir, Joon-ah,” Yoongi drawled through the buzz of two glasses of whiskey he’s already admitted to having before Namjoon showed up. “That’s what I am. The spare. Married off.” Yoongi brought a fist down on the marble bar, and it made a pathetic sound of flesh on stone. Pain shot up in his fist, joining the growing headache behind his eyes.
“I get it, hyung,” Namjoon said, sounding, for all of his high ass IQ, like he didn’t get it.
“You’d think we’d be like Prince Harry or some shit, jetting off to Ibiza and clubbing every day. But no, we’re married --” Yoongi burped “-- like some fuckin--” Yoongi stops again to straighten his spine, eyes peering up as he contemplated his pressing need to puke.
“Hyung, maybe you should go home?” Namjoon suggested nervously.
“You’re telling me what to do too, huh?” Yoongi slurred. “How shall I go home? Should I pay for your drink first? Anything else? Suck you off in the backseat?”
“Hyung!” Namjoon hissed, looking frantically around at the half empty bar.
“I knew it was too good to be true,” Yoongi mused. “Go to art school. Fuck boys. We’re cutting you off, don’t talk to us. Wait, come back. Marry some poor fucker so your hyung can earn more money and make up for your useless--”
“Hyung,” Namjoon said again. “Elizabeth II was a spare, you know. Look at her now.”
“Fuck that,” Yoongi laughed bitterly. “I’m not touching that shit. Father would probably burn it before handing it to me.” Namjoon watched as Yoongi downed yet another shot, vodka this time. Maybe he should just wait for his hyung to fall asleep -- he always does, eventually -- and somehow carry him home and pray to not drop him. It’s not like Yoongi weighs anything anyway, all skin and thin bones.
“Poor fucker,” Yoongi was saying. “Kid looked scared out of his fucking mind. Imagine that, Joon-ah. Arranged marriage, okay, but arranged to marry me.” Yoongi let out another derisive snort. “God, the poor fucker.”
“Hyung, don’t say that,” Namjoon started to protest, but Yoongi’s already clunked his head on the bar, eyes fluttering shut.
Jimin was unimpressed.
“So you’re telling me,” the dancer said as he slowly eased his legs apart so his torso sank towards the ground, “you’re engaged?”
Jeongguk hissed. “Don’t say it so loud!”
“Chill,” Jimin laughed, and sobered. “But actually, what the hell?”
“My parents kind of need the support,” Jeongguk muttered.
“You parents? Are you a chaebol or something?” Rare frown lines settled into Jimin’s forehead and around his lips -- in confusion or in pain, Jeongguk wasn’t sure.
“My parents are kind of done with me,” Jeongguk said, trying not to let the sadness show through. It has been a year, but not having dinner with his parents every month is still kind of lonely. Lonelier. “I was supposed to be in management.”
Jimin scoffed. “Golden heir Jeongguk goes into graphic design. Boohoo.”
“I’m not the heir anyway,” Jeongguk muttered. He sometimes wondered what would happen if he was. How different his life would be. Even more unhappy, probably.
“So this is why you always turn people down?” Jimin’s on his back, twisting like a pretzel to work out the kinks in his spine.
“What’s the point? I don’t want to get attached.”
“Have a boyfriend on the side! They all do.” Jimin’s laughter twinkled through the near empty studio and Jeongguk wondered if there was anyone on campus that would settle for being on the side. “Or do you actually like the guy?”
“I don’t really know him,” Jeongguk admitted. Jimin held out his arms, waving his tiny, chubby hands like a baby and Jeongguk couldn’t help but laugh at the fully grown man on the floor, asking to be picked up. He takes his hyung’s hands and pulls him to his feet with a grunt.
“Ramen?” Jimin asked.
“Don’t you have a shoot tomorrow?”
Jimin’s face fell. “Ah right. It’s a fashion shoot though! They won’t care about--”
“Hyung, last time you ate ramen at night you explicitly told me to stop you--”
“Okay, okay! I’m going home and putting on a damn mask,” Jimin half yelled, covering his ears and racing out of the studio.
Jeongguk stared at himself in the studio mirror, turning this way and that. Maybe if he was like Jimin, he thought wistfully. Then Min Yoongi would pay attention to him, maybe even be nice. Everyone liked Jimin, campus babe slash hot part-time model with the flexibility of a gymnast. Jeongguk sighed and threw himself into a handstand to de-stress.
The moment Jeongguk walked off the graduation stage -- with just Jimin and Hoseok cheering him from the audience, each carrying a ridiculous bouquet of sunflowers, because his parents were in Tokyo -- Jeongguk was whisked into a flurry of wedding planners hired to micromanage every detail of the day that marked the end of his freedom. It was disconcerting, that he’d job hunt and get measurements for the tux, and go to awkward cake-tastings during his internship, and go to fittings after work when his co-workers went for chicken and beer.
Jimin insisted on throwing a stag party -- more for his own sake, Jeongguk suspected, than for the groom. It was a summer wedding, which meant Jimin was eating like a rabbit for all the underwear and swimwear and other half-naked photoshoots, which also meant Jimin was all the more fidgety, whining for people to come take his mind off the hunger.
The whole dance crew was reunited, and everyone had a little too much because no one could believe that our little Kookie is going to be hitched tomorrow, and Jeongguk spent a little more time on the dance floor, goaded by a completely sober Jimin feeding him shots.
They ended up in the hotel bathroom at 1am, because Jimin has a face to maintain and Jeongguk has a wedding the next day -- even though it didn’t stop him from half-bawling against the toilet bowl with Jimin and Hoseok sprawled over the cold tiles.
“Kookie,” Hoseok muttered before he rolled over and fell asleep. “You sure you wanna do this?”
“I have to,” Jeongguk groaned, face half red from pressing against the side of the toilet.
“No, stupid,” Jimin muttered from his position on the floor. “Run away.”
“What’s the point? There’s even less for me out there.”
“This Yoongi guy better treat you well,” Hoseok said weakly. “I’ll kill him.”
“You’re weak,” Jimin snorted.
“Eat like a normal human then,” Hoseok retorted. “So you can do it.”
“I’ll be fine. I can keep doing my job, my parents even bought us an apartment. I just have to be lovey dovey for a few years--”
“But Kookie!” Jimin exclaimed. “What if you get lonely?”
“It’s okay.” Jeongguk’s head lolled to one side to lean against the edge of the bathtub. He remembered trying to say something else before blacking out.
The weather was perfect. Everything was shiny and beautiful and both grooms didn’t pay attention to the vows because they were too busy breaking out in cold sweat, saying “I do” when the priest prompted and zoning out again. Then priest stopped talking, and Jeongguk exhales because it’s over!! But then the whole hall seemed to be holding their breath, and the minister raised his eyes from his script, blinking expectantly and holy shit, it’s not like they’ve never seen a wedding before.
Yoongi let out a soft huff and finally turned to see the kid that’s been shaking in his dress shoes beside him and found the doe-eyed kid staring back at him.
“So, um,” Yoongi said, loud enough just for the both of them to hear. “Sorry.”
“No,” Jeongguk tried to assure. “Ah.” And then he was staring at pink lips, soft and inviting with an elegant, pointy M-shaped arch at the top, coming closer to his own and his heart was beating like when Jeongguk first jumped off the big diving board at the pool so he held his breath and tried not to clench his eyes too much. It was over in a heartbeat, leaving warmth and care and the taste of an apology instead of the splash and splutter of water.
Jimin enjoyed the wedding. It would have been beautiful and touching, sure, if there wasn’t media outside every entrance and if Jeongguk didn’t look at Min Yoongi like he was going to be eaten. Even so, it’s all a good distraction -- the wedding planning, the stag night, the not tasting the cake at the cake-tasting months ago and not tasting it now. A better distraction than watching dramas and being pathetic on his couch. So Jimin enjoyed the wedding.
The best distraction, though, was from the deep voice that emerged from behind Jimin’s left ear at reception, warm breath tickling the nape of his neck, soft and husky and wonderfully distracting.
“Great wedding, don’t you think?”
Jimin turned around to see Min Yoongi’s best man, grinning like he was during the whole ceremony like a friendly Joker. If that even exists. The guy’s cute, Jimin acknowledged, as if he didn’t spend half the ceremony staring at his profile and how warm chocolate hair trapped the sunlight to glow on its own. But though Jeongguk said Min Yoongi was a good guy -- the kid practically idolizes him, probably because he’s the only other gay, art-school graduate that understands growing up like he did -- Jimin still didn’t trust that half of the wedding party. So he narrowed his eyes and wondered how far he can go until he was fraternizing with the enemy.
“You’re not fraternizing with the enemy,” the guy said and Jimin’s eyeballs threatened to pop out. “Because there is no enemy. Not here, anyway; the old people left already.”
The guy’s smile was rectangular and full of shiny teeth and pretty stretched lips. It alone was probably a week’s worth of distractions.
Jimin loves, loves distractions.
“What do you want?”
“A dance.” Teeth guy said easily. “I’m Taehyung, by the way.”
And why not? Jimin puts down the wine he’s been holding for the last few hours and holds out a hand. “Jimin.”
“Great,” Taehyung grinned, and whisked Jimin off into the light crowd, swaying to some generic acoustic love song.
“So what do you do, Jimin?”
“I model.” Jimin shrugged. “Dance sometimes.”
“Wow. I knew I could recognize art when I see it,” Taehyung said, still smiling warmly. “I’m Yoongi-hyung’s business partner.”
Jimin was still reeling from Taehyung’s first comment, his brain running off, wondering if Taehyung means it, if he was trying to be nice, or get laid, or—
It was always the offhand compliments that throws him off. Especially when the guy was still smiling like that.
“He’s a good guy, really,” Taehyung was saying. “I saw you worry all night. You didn’t even touch the wine, and we’ve had that for hours. Jeongguk will be fine.” He squeezed the hand that was wrapped over JImin’s and the long fingers covered most of Jimin’s rings.
“He better be,” Jimin muttered.
“He will,” Taehyung insisted. “If not I’ll throw Yoongi out of his precious office. We’re on the 30th floor.”
Jimin wondered if Taehyung could see through the cold stare he usually puts on when all he wants is a hug. It was what little self preservation he had left, because models are spiteful probably out for blood.
The small giggle is out before Jimin can school his expression and Taehyung’s eyes lit up even more. “Awe, you’re a cutie when you smile!” And the guy has the audacity to pinch Jimin’s cheeks.
“Stop,” he muttered, but they both know the front is gone, blown away so easily. “You’ll stretch them more.”
“I like them,” Taehyung declared, but stops pinching them and pokes an index finger into Jimin’s left cheek instead. “They’re cute.”
“You’re cute,” Jimin retorted. Creative.
“You’re cuter,” Taehyung replied happily and leans in.
If there was a murder this very moment, Jimin thought wildly, all he could give on the witness stand was that Taehyung leaned in, very very close, and everything else blurred. His lips may have touched Jimin’s nose. Just barely. A ripple in a pond. Nothing really. Except somehow Taehyung became the only thing he could see, Your Honour, it’s not his fault—
“Sorry,” Taehyung said sheepishly, but sounding not that sorry. “It was cute so I--”
Eyes flashed, and they’re pulled flush against each other, totally not appropriate for the generic acoustic love song still playing. Jimin gripped at Taehyung’s neck and felt the large hand slide to the small of his back.
“You were sad, but you seem happier now,” Taehyung whispered into Jimin’s right ear.
“Because you’re a dork,” Jimin whispered back in a breathy voice, not to be sexy, but because it’s getting hard to breathe. Their feet are still shuffling around in some pretense of dancing and it’s a disgrace to Jimin’s entire dance career.
There were sharp breaths of air against his ear so Jimin assumed Taehyung was laughing. “Come out with me? I’ll still be a dork.”
Jimin did, because he loves distractions.
Jeongguk didn’t know what to expect after everyone is herded to the reception, so he just stared around and waited for someone -- who exactly, he has no idea -- to help. Yoongi took one look at him and put a hand on the small of his back, and they stay around the altar, guests flocking around them. Most of them stare like they’ve never seen a gay couple before, and few are actual well-wishers. Jeongguk swore he heard an update on stocks every few minutes.
He must’ve looked more bewildered than he felt, because Yoongi kept a hand on Jeongguk the rest of the night, smiling at the gushing old ladies and nodding coldly at the scrutinizers. Jeongguk breathed a sigh of relief when there’s a lull in the crowd around them -- bless Yoongi’s father for that open bar -- and they disappear through a side entrance where Yoongi managed to hail a cab.
“Won’t they--”
“We’re done today,” Yoongi interrupted after giving the driver their new address. “They can deal without parading us around for a night.”
So maybe that stung a little, but Jeongguk holds onto what little warmth offered to him today -- the apology in that kiss, the grounding hand during the reception. It could be worse.
“Let’s set some ground rules,” Yoongi said in their new apartment. “For this to work.” Jeongguk stared at their strangely colourful socks side by side in the living room. Everything still smelled like fresh paint.
“Just housekeeping. So, you have a boyfriend?”
“No,” Jeongguk said, wishing with all his might that he can just go to sleep and deal with it all later. You? He wanted to ask, but who is he to ask, anyway?
“I don’t either, if you were interested,” Yoongi said, some sort of grim amusement in his voice. “No girlfriend either.” Jeongguk’s eyebrows shot up before he could help himself.
“You’re not…”
“I’m bi.” Yoongi dismissed Jeongguk’s look of horror with a wave of his hand. “Not that there’s a difference to my parents. The fact that we both like dudes basically sealed the deal.” Yoongi looked tired up close like this, not the warrior fighting for perfection or the chaebol rebel in a leather jacket, just a man with sleepy eyes and dry hair. He fiddled with his cufflinks as he hummed, continuing with the ‘housekeeping.’
“I hope it’ll stay this way. At least to the media. Because hell will break loose one of us starts dating. Also--”
Jeongguk’s fingers had flown to Yoongi’s sleeve of their own accord, knuckles brushing against warm skin as he deftly twisted the cufflinks apart and offered them in his palm.
“Thanks.” Yoongi eyed Jeongguk’s heated face with a curious glance and cleared his throat. “The other thing is, if you want any staff hired?”
“I’d prefer to do my own laundry,” Jeongguk mutters shyly. “And least staff as possible.”
“Fine with me.” Yoongi cracked his neck, sniffled a bit, and stood up. “Also, start calling me hyung. We can’t be awkward for the media. They already think it’s all arranged.” There was a snort.
“Yes, hyung.”
“If you don’t mind I’ll take the study -- I think there’s a pull out bed in there.” Yoongi stood up and stretched, hands on his narrow hips as he curved his back.
Jeongguk sat up. “Oh, I can --”
“I prefer it,” Yoongi interrupted sharply, but not unkindly.
“Right,” Jeongguk deflated back into the cushions.
“I’m sorry about all this,” Yoongi said after a pause. “For what it’s worth. I know it probably means shit, but...let’s stick it out best we can, all right?” Jeongguk had started staring at their socks again until he sees a pale hand in his field of vision.
“Right,” Jeongguk mumbled, and gripped at the only other source of warmth in the apartment for a few seconds. Then Yoongi turned around and walked and disappeared into the study, leaving Jeongguk alone in the dark. They hadn’t even bothered turning the lights on in the hallway.