Chapter Text
This meeting wasn’t going to go well.
No meeting held in the executive meeting room ever went well. It was whispered about like the principal’s office, existing only in hushed murmurs and looks of terror. HYBE’s executive meeting room was where trainees got cut, where idols got kicked out of their groups, where soloists got told they were “washed up.”
And it was where Jeon Jeongguk was heading now.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to figure out what was happening before he got there. It would do well to be prepared for something like this, and yet, he had no idea what he’d done wrong. He’d been a model idol for four years. Five, if you counted the singular year of training he’d gotten at the geriatric age of twenty-one. Jeongguk’s ratings were good, his fans held at least some sort of charting power, and he’d received two overseas awards. Two! That had to stand for something, right?
After four years as an idol, he’d managed something only veteran idols could dream of. He wasn’t massive, or anything, but he was definitely in the green. Right?
Two sets of shoes clicked on the tile. Jeongguk cast a glance over at his manager, gnawing on the inside of his lip. “Is this about the dating thing?”
It was the only thing he could possibly think of. Plucked off the street at twenty-one, Jeongguk had lived more of a life than just about any idol trainee would dream of living. He’d gone to public school, had drank and smoked and fucked around, had enrolled in the military and served his time. It was after those eighteen months that HYBE had found him—well, his manager had found him, to be exact.
Kim Namjoon had watched him, up on a karaoke stage with friends, half-drunk and belting out the lyrics to a song he knew by heart, and had recruited him that night. Drunk Jeongguk had agreed. What else was he doing with his life? Sober Jeongguk had succumbed to second thoughts, but after a meeting in that very same executive meeting room, he’d agreed. It was the dream, wasn’t it? It hadn’t been his dream, before, but now—
Now, he didn’t want to live any other life.
Except—
Except he’d asked Namjoon last week about the possibility of dating. He was twenty-six, now, and he’d barely had sex in five years. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he’d want a girlfriend. Plenty of idols had secret girlfriends. He could name ten off the top of his head.
Namjoon didn’t respond as they neared the meeting room.
Idols only went to this room for two reasons—to sign their contract, and to get cut from the label. And Jeongguk had already signed his contract.
Taking a deep breath and puffing out his cheeks as he blew the air out, he dipped his head into a bow as Namjoon held the door open for him. The two of them stepped into the room, bowing at the people sitting around the table and heading toward the two seats clearly left open for them. There were more people than he’d expected, easily twelve people circling the massive glass table.
Jeongguk did his best to place faces with names, his heart dropping when he noted the CEO at the head of the table. Had he done something that bad? He hadn’t even had a scandal yet! Well, if you weren’t counting the tattoos, and the piercings, and that one time he’d said that idols who didn’t have a hand in their own music were just pretty props. But that was years ago, and he’d done the whole apology thing the label had required of him, so that was supposedly swept under the rug. Right?
He continued to scan the table as silence loomed over the room, placing various executives with growing dread. Was that the head of media relations? Had his phone been hacked, or something? He definitely had a few dick-pics in his camera roll somewhere, but all of this for a few artfully-crafted pictures of his dick seemed excessive. And if the media had the photos already, well, at least his dick was pretty. The general public would have to admit that, at least.
The whole public relations team seemed to be present, actually, which really didn’t mean anything good. Something big had to be happening. There were thick stacks of paper pushed to the center of the table, big words written on the front and looking like—contracts?
Eventually, his gaze made it to the seats across from his own. The CEO, public relations, managers, and—
Jeongguk froze.
Completely deer in headlights. Stock-still, lips parted, eyes wide—the whole shebang. Sitting across from him, at the center of the table, was Park Jimin.
It was impossible not to recognize Park Jimin.
South Korea’s darling was sitting opposite him at the table. He was imposing, all-consuming, a black hole devouring all of the confidence Jeongguk had attempted to carry into this meeting. Those plush lips were pursed as he surveyed Jeongguk’s frame, looking at him from head to toe, and leaned over to the man beside him to whisper something in his ear.
Slowly, Jeongguk eased into his seat and tried not to make it obvious that he was fiddling with his sleeve.
Park Jimin was, in short, an enigma. A cryptid of HYBE, even of the entire idol industry. Yet, here he sat right now, across from Jeongguk in this god-forsaken executive meeting room.
His hair was white-blond, longer and parted in the middle, flowing around his ears. Silver dripped from his earlobes, the metal sparkling in a way that screamed money. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses sat on the perfect slope of his nose, those honey eyes unreadable as they met Jeongguk’s gaze once more. He was wearing a simple sweater, the neckline wide enough to display a teasing slip of his collarbone and the silver chain that disappeared beneath the navy stitching. Ringed fingers tapped at the table, as though he was bored.
Jeongguk wanted to vomit.
What the fuck was going on?
It was more than obvious that, in a simple pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, he was underdressed for—whatever this was. An intervention, maybe? With Jimin here, could it mean—a feature? A collaboration? That would be insane. Amazing. The dream. His stomach roiled again at the idea.
The CEO gestured to the stacks of paper at the center of the table. Everyone, Jeongguk and Jimin included, reached out to take one. The paper slid against the glass as Jeongguk tugged it closer, reading the words in a hurry to understand what was happening.
Proposal for the Contractual Relationship Between Idols Park Jimin and Jeon Jeongguk.
Jeongguk read the words twice over. Thrice. Four times. Then said, quite stupidly, “What?”
Across from him, Jimin snorted.
He still had no idea if he was in trouble. It didn’t seem like it, but he wasn’t going to feel relieved until he knew for sure. The CEO began to speak, and he did his best to absorb the words, even as he stared down at the cover of the contract. “Your managers have proposed a merging, of sorts. Both of you have expressed your desire for romantic relationships, and your managers are under the impression that it would be beneficial to both of you if the company were to—how should we say—control how the can of worms is opened.”
Jeongguk wasn’t sure he was following. “So, you want us to, what? Support each other’s relationships?”
There was something like pity in Jimin’s eyes. Jeongguk didn’t like that look.
“No,” the CEO said, folding his hands together and resting them on the table. “You’ll date each other.”
“But—” Jeongguk’s voice faltered, quieted, broke. He turned to Namjoon, looking for help, a lifeboat, anything to help him understand what was happening. Why this was happening. “But I’m straight.”
The man next to Jimin—his manager?—took the opportunity to speak. “Here’re the facts, Jeongguk-ssi. Do you mind?” He asked this to Jimin, who waved his hand in a gesture for his manager to continue. “Jimin-ah is, well, not straight. You know how the public could take these things, so Namjoon-ssi and I have decided it could be beneficial to you both to construct a relationship. Purely contractual, but with benefits on both sides.”
He didn’t think anyone was understanding him. Jeongguk glanced around the table. “But I’m not gay, so I don’t—”
“Jeongguk-ah,” this was Namjoon, now. His voice was quiet, placating. He pulled out a separate bundle of papers and slid them over. Jeongguk looked around for a moment, before flipping through them, brows furrowing at the numbers and charts. This was—this was him? His music, his ratings, his life? He shot a pleading glance at his manager. “You’re dropping,” Namjoon said with all the kindness one could possibly have within this situation. “You’ve taken, well, an unconventional approach to being an idol. It’s been good for you, but things are only novel for so long. You need a new hook.”
Jeongguk couldn’t believe this was happening. Not in front of Park Jimin. The one who’d been in the industry for sixteen years, who had topped the charts with a group and as a soloist, who idols looked up to and desired to emulate. Jimin had never dropped, had never sat in his room and heard his manager tell him that he was boring to fans.
The numbers blurred on the page. Jeongguk tried not to focus on the prickling behind his eyes, the itch of his nose, the tightening of his skin, all to no avail. “I don’t get it. I’m straight, I don’t even like men, I—” His eyes flicked to Jimin with a wince. “No offense.”
And there it was. That voice, breathy and silken and laden with the sweetest honey, dripping with faint amusement as Jimin murmured, “None taken.”
Jimin’s manager spoke up again. “Here’s the basics of the agreement, Jeongguk-ssi. Jimin-ah wants to control how he comes out. By dating you, manufactured or not, he can come out on his terms and without collateral damage, then go on to date whoever he likes after the contract ends. That’s all we’re looking for, here. According to Namjoon-ssi—” He waved his hand in their direction. “You’re interested in dating, as well. So, you’ll ‘come out’ as bisexual, pretend to be in a relationship with Jimin-ah for a while, then go on to date whatever women you’d like once the time allotted in the contract is up.”
Namjoon jumped in again before Jeongguk could speak. “You’ll have renewed interest, now that you’ve ‘come out,’” he began, putting figurative quotes around the words just like the other man had. “You’ll seem inclusive, not to mention be more appealing overseas. Your fans in the States will love it, and Jimin-ssi’s popularity could widen your audience here. It’s a good deal, Gguk,” he said, lowering his voice. His eyes were wide, earnest, conveying everything Jeongguk dreaded most. “Please, take it.”
This was the meeting where he was cut. Or, it could be, at least.
He knew in his heart that Namjoon was doing everything in his power to keep Jeongguk at HYBE. He knew, objectively, that this was a good deal. A thinly-veiled ultimatum, for sure, but there were benefits to this. Some, at least.
Jimin was, of course, quite attractive. Jeongguk liked women, but Jimin had that type of universal, androgynous allure that had kept him at the top of the charts for over a decade. He had power, had prestige, had the country in the palm of his hand. Jeongguk could have a piece of that for just the small price of denying his identity.
It was a good deal. And he had other things to think about—his fans, his family, his passion. With his mother being sick and his brother in the military, his family was practically living off of the money he sent them each month. Aside from that, his fans were his biggest motivator, and he was sure he spent more time talking to them than most other idols. Would they still be there if he left the label? It was so much harder to release music independently—it would take selling his soul for another company to pick him up after being dropped.
Resting his elbows on the table, Jeongguk dropped his head into his hands. This was utterly insane. He knew he could say no, knew he could try something else until that, too, failed. The numbers had never bothered him, but he’d never seen them, either. Not like this. And no one had told him that he’d been dipping, that he’d been losing favor for God-knows-how-long.
Slowly, he raised his gaze to meet Jimin’s eyes. It was Park Jimin. He’d looked up to the man for years, just like every other idol. Maybe, if he did this, they could train together. He could get some pointers, maybe make a song together, and then he wouldn’t have to be in this position anymore. If he were actually bisexual, this situation would be the dream. This was an opportunity, even if it was a bit barbaric, and Jeongguk had lived outside of this sheltered idol world enough to know that opportunities like this were once-in-a-lifetime.
Across the table, Jimin shot him a look. It wasn’t a look from one man to another, between two strangers, or connecting two possible business partners. No, this was a look from a seasoned idol to a trainee. From mentor to student. From sixteen long, hard-earned years in the industry to a measly four.
And there it was—the subtle raising of Jimin’s chin, gesturing toward the contract.
Jeongguk swallowed. Thought about being able to have sex, about being able to date and to marry, all on the horizon after just a period of time in a contractual relationship. With a silent apology to his soul, he pulled the contract closer and murmured, “Walk me through it.”
It was painful. Torture, even. Namjoon and Jimin’s manager—who he’d learned was named Seokjin—went back and forth like lawyers as they went over the contract. It didn’t seem like he had much of a say in anything, but at least Namjoon was fighting for him. After two hours, the contract was set. They’d each signed five copies—one for each of them, their managers, and the CEO.
The decided terms were simple:
Jeongguk would come out as bisexual upon the announcement of his relationship with Jimin. Jimin would get to control how and when the information would come out, just as he’d wanted. They’d be in a “relationship” for the grand total of a year, before breaking up and being free to live their lives how they originally wanted. In exchange for his identity, Jeongguk was going to get a song and a variety show with his new “boyfriend.” Jimin had asked for nothing but privacy. What that had meant, Jeongguk wasn’t sure, but he supposed the man would speak up when things got too close for comfort.
That was it. It was simple, really, when all was said and done.
Jeongguk had gotten both Seokjin and Jimin’s phone numbers, the group leaving the room in almost-silence. Just outside the executive meeting room, Namjoon and Seokjin scheduled their first appearance in a fast-paced conversation, but Jeongguk only had eyes for the other idol.
Jimin hadn’t said more than two lines during the entire meeting. It was clear he and Seokjin had discussed this beforehand—he was only truly there for a signature. Ever the enigma. Jeongguk pushed his hands into his back pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he said, “So. Boyfriends, huh?”
Smooth!
Those plush lips quirked at the corners. Jimin looked at him from behind those wire-rimmed glasses, that gaze all-knowing as he murmured, “So. Bisexual, huh?”
Jeongguk forced his shoulders to rise in a casual shrug. “Casualties of the job, I guess.”
Jimin hardened a bit at that. He didn’t say anything else.
Inwardly, Jeongguk kicked himself for acting like he knew anything about the industry, about what Jimin had gone through. He’d started all this at sixteen, for fuck’s sake, debuting as the maknae of his group ADORE. Had trained for years before that. Had received a special allocation during his military service, as well, because there had been concerns about his safety. Had lived in the closet for thirty-two years, unable to come out without the possibility of completely ruining his career. He still might destroy his entire livelihood by doing this. And Jeongguk had, what? Falsely come out as bisexual?
Apples to oranges.
They were saved by their managers. “We’re going to start simple,” Seokjin began. Namjoon was nodding as he entered the information into his beloved phone calendar. “Jimin-ah has an album release party this Thursday. Jeongguk-ssi, you’ll attend, and we’ll get some photos of the two of you, just to test the waters with the public. All goes well, and we’ll start work on that variety show in two weeks, after the promotion run.”
That was going to conflict with his own album release. He opened his mouth to say just that, but Namjoon caught his eye and silenced him with a simple shake of his head. They’d discuss that later, apparently. Jeongguk murmured his agreement, and the small group parted ways without another word.
Once they were safely back in Namjoon’s office, it felt like that dam he was keeping locked tight finally broke loose, so many emotions bubbling up within him that it was hard to pinpoint how he was actually feeling.
Truly, all he could say was, “What the fuck, Joon?”
Namjoon settled into the chair behind his desk, splaying his hands. “What did you want me to do, Gguk?”
“You could have, I don’t know, told me?”
“And what would you have said? That we had other options?”
“Well—” Yes, that’s exactly what he would have said. “You can’t be serious about this!”
Namjoon straightened, his gaze sharpening as he jabbed his pointer finger at his desk. “This is your only way out, Jeongguk. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I am. But you’re insanely lucky that Park Jimin wants to come out, and you’re even luckier that he’s deemed you acceptable to be his fake boyfriend. So, yes, Gguk, this is your only option.”
Jeongguk thought of something, anything, to say. Anything that wasn’t just, but why? A hand scrubbed over his face. “What about my album?”
A slash of a grin crossed his manager’s features. “I had a plan going in there.”
“You had a plan,” he deadpanned.
“Think about it,” Namjoon began, like Jeongguk had any other choice but to think about it. “Your variety show spans a month, give or take. The point of the show is the two of you trying to get inspiration and create this song together. We air the show weekly leading up to your album release and, boom, the song is on your album. You’ll have created interest, taken a piece of Jimin-ssi’s fame for yourself, and the album will sell like crazy.”
Jeongguk sucked in his cheeks, mulling it over. It was a good idea, all things considered. Namjoon was making perfect sense—one of the tenets of Jeongguk’s career as an idol was that he had a heavy hand in the creation of his music. A show based on that idea, with Park Jimin front-and-center, would boost his ratings like crazy. It bothered him to think about this all in terms of numbers but, honestly, what other choice did he have? He’d just learned that he was essentially flopping. That he needed a hook, as though he himself wasn’t enough.
Raking fingers through his hair, he slumped onto the couch in the corner, kicking up his feet with a groan. “You think Jimin-ssi has a month to spare?”
“Jin will figure it out,” his manager mused, fingers typing away on his keyboard.
“What are we going to do? In the show, I mean.”
“Work on the song. Were you even listening?”
“Yes, hyung, I was. I mean, just—are we going to sit in a studio for a month? With cameras?”
Namjoon peered at him over the top of his monitor. “Do you have another suggestion?”
Pushing his tongue into his cheek, he shrugged. “What if we, like, traveled? We’re looking for inspiration, right? We could go somewhere.”
It was quiet for a moment, but then Namjoon hummed in assent. “That’s a good idea. I’ll see what Jin thinks.”
An eyebrow quirked. That was the second time. “Jin, huh?”
Without looking, Namjoon pointed a finger at him. “Shut up.”
“He’s pretty.”
“I’m aware of that, yes.”
“You should fuck him.”
“Don’t you have songs to write, or something? Dance moves to learn?”
Jeongguk was grinning like the cat who’d caught the canary, as he sang, “You canceled all of that for this meeting, remember? The meeting with Jin?”
Namjoon groaned into his hands. “Alright, kid, get the hell out of my office.”
Snickering, he pulled himself off the couch, making kissy noises at his manager. “Keep me updated,” he called on his way out, shutting the door behind himself with an amused shake of his head. Well, maybe Namjoon was getting more out of this than just pushing Jeongguk higher on the charts. Maybe he was getting quality time.
Jeongguk snorted and headed toward the studio.
When he thought about it, really thought about it, Jeongguk wondered why Park Jimin was agreeing to this. Wasn’t this hurting him, too? He was at that level of fame where he could have anyone he desired. Sure, it would be the scandal of the century if it were leaked, but still, wouldn’t it be better to actually date someone you loved? Or, at least, someone who was capable of loving you back?
At the end of the day, Jimin got the short end of the stick. It didn’t feel good to think about that.
Jeongguk had always wanted to meet him, though. Any idol did. Jimin was almost god-like, haunting the halls of HYBE, only spoken about in whispers and what-ifs. And now he was, what? Dating Jeongguk? Even if it was all for show, it felt wrong. Like finding out Santa was real. Or that Bigfoot wasn’t.
Though, Bigfoot probably was real.
Either way, Jimin had agreed to this, had agreed to Jeongguk and had signed the contract with an even hand. Maybe he really did just want to come out on his own terms. Jeongguk could understand that, at least.
Actually, when he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Jimin in much of anything over the last few years. He didn’t really participate in variety shows, barely promoted his songs on the music shows, and toured maybe once every three years. He’d done his military time a while back, so that wasn’t an excuse. His fans didn’t seem to care, nor did they seem to waver in their undying love. It was warranted—Jimin’s music just had it. That ever-changing thing every idol chased for their entire career, Jimin had it in the palm of his hand.
Every title track he released became a Perfect All-Kill. Every album he released was labeled the “Album of a Generation.” Every choreography was his strongest yet, every fancam was his best. It was almost impossible to escape Park Jimin’s fame.
The idol’s reach was nowhere more apparent than at his album release. Jeongguk felt more than out of place at the event, surrounded by idols he’d looked up to for years. It was a casual event, based on the fact that they all weren’t wearing suits, but his stylist had still put in the work.
His jeans sat low on his hips, the band of his briefs artfully peeking out over the top. He wore a black, zipped jacket layered under an unbuttoned denim jacket, the double zipper only connected maybe three inches below his neck, leaving his entire abdomen exposed. His stylist had hooked a silver chain around his waist, the metal cold against his bare skin and matching both the rings on his fingers and the earrings hooked into the various holes in his ears. With a swipe of makeup and a gentle wave in his hair, he’d been pushed out of the dressing room and into madness.
Namjoon was here, somewhere. Jeongguk looked around, failed to locate him, and breathed out a sigh of relief when his eyes landed on Min Yoongi instead. Sneaking a glass of wine off a tray, Jeongguk made his way over, raising the glass in silent cheers to the man. Yoongi raised his own tumbler in response, finger pointing toward the stage.
Min Yoongi was Jeongguk’s favorite producer. He was hard to pin down, always working on one project or another, but he usually made time for Jeongguk’s projects. They’d spent many hours just spinning in the chairs in Yoongi’s studio, shooting the shit and griping about inspiration. He’d helped produce some of Jeongguk’s biggest hits.
Well, after seeing those numbers, maybe they hadn’t been that big at all.
song: weekend (reimagined) - verite
Following the direction of his finger, Jeongguk saw Jimin sitting on the stage, surrounded by a group of people. He had a smile on his face, lightly laughing, white-knuckling the stem of his own wine glass. After a minute or two, a man came to his side and not-so-subtly pulled him from the group. The man whispered something in his ear, and then Jimin’s eyes snapped over to the corner, where Jeongguk and Yoongi seemed to be trying to melt into the wall.
“Who’s that?” Jeongguk asked, his eyes never leaving the man of the hour.
Yoongi sipped his drink. “Taehyung.”
“Wow, thanks, hyung. Who’s Taehyung?”
A snort, and then Yoongi knocked back his drink, setting the empty glass on a table within arm’s reach. “Kim Taehyung. Jimin’s best friend.”
Jeongguk frowned, watching the two men as they wove closer. Watched Yoongi procure another glass from somewhere and down the entire thing in one go, as though he thought he’d need it. “Is he an idol?”
“No. Nothing but a pain in my ass.”
“I like him already.”
“Yeah, well, don’t speak too soon. He’ll eat you alive.”
There wasn’t enough time to respond before the two men were upon them. Kim Taehyung had a glint in his eye, his dark hair curled and accentuating his features. He was wearing just a large sweater and a pair of flowing trousers, but he had the air of a man who believed himself to be the most important person in the room. It wasn’t overwhelming, it was just—present.
Beside him, Jimin was stone. Like ice, waiting to be cracked, waiting to allow an unsuspecting someone to slip beneath the surface and drown. His jeans fit him perfectly, accentuating his sickening curves, his shirt tighter than sin and lacing up the back, sutures wide enough to merely spiderweb across the expanse of his spine. His makeup was dark, lining his eyes in a catlike fashion, and there were multiple necklaces dangling from his neck.
Jeongguk took a healthy gulp of his wine and said, “Hey.”
Taehyung bit down on his lower lip, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. Jimin cracked, just a little, just enough for the left corner of his mouth to lift. “Hi, Jeongguk-ssi.” After a beat of silence, he added, “Are you hiding?”
“Hiding?” Jeongguk spluttered, looking to Yoongi for help. The man only had eyes for Taehyung, though, and so he had to scramble all on his own. “No, I just—”
“Was hiding.”
Shoulders slumping, he said, “Yeah. Maybe a little.”
Jimin pushed his tongue into his cheek. “Can I join you?”
Could he what? Jeongguk looked around for a camera, absolutely sure this was a prank. There were a lot of cameras around, actually, and lots of them were trained on him, but Ashton Kutcher was markedly not present, so he probably wasn’t getting Punk’d. Elbowing Yoongi in the side to make room, he waved Jimin to the now-open spot next to him. “Have at it.”
Taehyung and Jimin shared a look. It was impossible to decipher what they were conveying with that one, single glance. After a moment, though, Jimin was sidling up next to him and sipping his wine. Taehyung had taken the spot on Yoongi’s other side, the two of them quickly getting wrapped up in some argument that had that glint in Taehyung’s eye growing by the minute.
Unsure of what to do, Jeongguk took another sip of his wine. “There’s a lot of people here.”
Jimin hummed a perfect pitch. “It’s good promotion for them.”
“Not you?” The other man shot him a look that read, Do you really think I need promotion? Jeongguk swallowed and mumbled, “Right.”
Silence ticked by, slow and fast all at once. It was uncomfortable, horrible, absolutely terrifying. The idol of idols was standing next to him, and Jeongguk didn’t know what to say. Should he compliment him? That was probably what he was hearing all night, so, no. Should he keep quiet? Maybe give Jimin a moment of peace?
Beside him, Jimin turned, pressing his shoulder against the wall and facing Jeongguk. “Where do you want to go?”
Jeongguk blinked. He’d lived a normal life outside of this industry for twenty-one years, and maybe that was why he asked, “You want to get out of here?”
“No,” Jimin said, running his tongue over his teeth and lifting his glass to his lips. “You’re straight.”
Oh. Yeah. That wasn’t what this was at all. What had he been thinking? “So, what?”
“For our trip.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Jeez, they were just killing this!
Jeongguk pushed his hands into his pockets, his jacket widening and showing off the ridges of his abs. Jimin tracked the movement with a raised brow. Oh, right—that probably felt like a come-on. Or, maybe it didn’t? Jeongguk didn’t know how to navigate this. “Do you want to stay put? Or do, like, a road trip?”
There was a spark of interest in those honey eyes, as though Jimin hadn’t actually thought he’d get a substantial answer. “Where would we go?”
“Anywhere you’d like.”
“C’mon, now, Jeongguk-ssi,” Jimin murmured, edging a step closer. “Keep saying things like that and I’ll start to believe you’re flirting.” When Jeongguk only blinked down at him, Jimin let his lips lift into a coy smile, rested a hand on his arm, and spoke through his teeth. “Relax. Cameras.”
Right. He was supposed to be bisexual. What did that even mean? This was more than uncharted territory for him. Doing his best to chill the fuck out, Jeongguk managed to incline his head to the side, smiling softly. “Japan?”
Jimin bit his lip. It was downright coquettish. “Too close.”
“New Zealand?”
“Could be an option,” he hummed, finger tapping on Jeongguk’s arm. With a quick movement, he rested his chin on Jeongguk’s shoulder, batting his eyelashes. “America?”
Jeongguk turned his head to catch his gaze, wondering how Jimin was pulling this off so well. He was sure that, when they got the pictures back, he’d look stiff as a board. He should have downed a drink like Yoongi.
This was all about compartmentalization. He just had to pretend like Jimin was some woman he was flirting with in a club. He could do that. He’d done that enough the first year he was legal—it was almost habit, by now. Like riding a bike.
A hand reached up to play with the laces of Jimin’s shirt. “You’d want to go all the way to the States?”
“Why not?” Jimin shrugged. He was really good at this. Every inch of his body was tuned to Jeongguk, but—his eyes were dull. “Could be fun to get away.”
“Where would we go?”
“North. I like the cold.”
“Looking for me to warm you up?”
Jimin threw his head back and barked a laugh. That was real, the sound catching the attention of the people nearest to them and making Taehyung peek around Yoongi to see what was happening. Jeongguk couldn’t help but grin as he watched Jimin’s ice crack. “Oh, that was good, Jeon. You’ll get the hang of this, yet.”
He spoke like he’d done this before. Jeongguk racked his brain, trying to remember a past dating scandal, and came up empty. Oh, well. Jimin’s eyes flickered to the crowd, found what he was looking for, and lost that brief light. He unwound himself from Jeongguk, chugging the rest of his wine. “Well,” he said, popping his lips and dropping his glass onto a table. “Want to go listen to my album?’
Jeongguk felt like he’d just gotten whiplash. “Uh—okay?”
“You could also just go home.”
“No, I want to listen to it—”
Jimin lifted Jeongguk’s glass out of his hands, drank that as well, and deposited that glass, too. “Tae,” he called as he turned his back. “Jeongguk-ssi and I are going to the stage.”
Taehyung’s voice was deeper than Jeongguk expected as he said, “Knock ‘em dead, baby.”
Fingers waving in the air as acknowledgement, Jimin wrapped his free hand around Jeongguk’s wrist and tugged him toward the stage. He let go right when Jeongguk was at the edge, pinned him there with a look, and stepped up onto the stage with a bright grin. Well, he’d surely never smiled like that around Jeongguk.
Jimin bowed and giggled, waving off the raucous cheers with a blush. He was always entrancing, but it seemed like he had flipped a switch, suddenly becoming the larger-than-life performer that Jeongguk was used to watching from behind a screen. It was impossible not to lean an elbow against the stage and smile as he watched Jimin introduce his new album and thank his producers, writers, and everyone else.
The DJ hit play on the album, and the crowd quieted as the listening party began. Jimin stepped closer, coming to sit on the stage beside Jeongguk’s elbow. His legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned back, propping himself up on his arms. White-blond hair curved artfully around his forehead, his expression serene yet searching, one of his feet tapping to the rhythm.
Jeongguk closed his eyes, and listened.
The title track was electronic, a different sound than he was expecting. Almost bare-bones, but still layered. Jimin’s voice was clear, strong, airy, as was his signature. In fact, the entire song hinged on his voice, the backing track barely changing from verse to chorus. It would cut out here and there to add emphasis—the bridge was so empty it was almost acapella—but it was almost entirely bass, drums, and synth. Jeongguk loved it, excited to see Jimin’s choreography. Maybe he’d ask him about it later.
The rest of the album was a mish-mash of sound in the best way possible. There was a song for everyone, from a fast-paced dance track to a piano ballad. It felt coherent, coming from Jimin. From anyone else, it would seem like they just sang everything they could get their hands on, trying to find their sound, but not him. From Jimin, it felt like emotions. Seduction and lust, to joy, sadness, excitement, madness. Pop to funk to rock to classical.
Jeongguk was, to put it simply, obsessed with it.
When the final song came to an end, his eyes fluttered open, blinking against the colored lights of the party. It felt like it was over too soon—he wanted to listen to it at least twice more. The album was like nothing he’d ever heard before. Somehow, being here in this environment, with Jimin at his side, it felt more powerful than ever. He wanted to consume the music until his last breath.
The room erupted in murmurs, nods, applause. Jeongguk turned to view the man who’d done it all, only to find Jimin staring at him, head cocked. He hadn’t moved an inch since the album started. Had he been watching Jeongguk the entire time?
Jeongguk swallowed. Breathed out an absurdly lame, “Wow.”
Lips quirking, Jimin hummed in satisfaction. He reached out, fingers brushing dark strands of hair out of Jeongguk’s eyes, and said, “Your turn.”
The photos were released the moment Jeongguk got home. Safety reasons, or something. Jeongguk didn’t think anything like that mattered, not when the idols who’d been invited to the release had been posting photos all night. These photos were official, however, coming from the company and Jimin’s official accounts. Pictures of him and Taehyung, of him on stage, of him with producers and choreographers and idols and—
And Jeongguk.
The photo of the two of them was, admittedly, gorgeous. Jeongguk, leaning back against the wall, his attention completely locked on the man beside him, fingers dancing in the laces of Jimin’s shirt. And Jimin, one shoulder pressed against the wall, his hand on Jeongguk’s arm and looking up at him with something far more sinful than mere interest. Neon lights set their skin on fire, sparkled in the silver of their jewelry. They looked, all things considered, really good together.
Jeongguk rested the side of his phone against his forehead and closed his eyes. This was so fucking stupid. What was he even thinking? He couldn’t fake this. Jimin was great. Truly! But Jeongguk couldn’t date him. Real or fake. He was as straight as they came—oh, God, would they have to kiss? Like, on camera?
Could he do that? Pedal to the metal for his career and all but, seriously, could he kiss Park Jimin?
Maybe as friends, sure. He didn’t really kiss his friends, but pecks on the cheek were acceptable, he thought. Maybe they could just get away with that. It wasn’t like he’d have to fuck him, or anything.
Blowing out a breath, Jeongguk checked his phone once more. He had his notifications off for essentially all of his social media—there was no point in his phone buzzing twenty-four seven—but he still opened up an app with a grimace, expecting the worst. It wasn’t hard to find people talking about the photos, as they were trending already, but maybe he should have done this with Namjoon present. Actually, he shouldn’t have bothered looking at all, and just let the managers tell him what to do next and when to do it.
Oh, well. He was already here.
Scrolling through reactions, he blinked. Did his best to decipher the foreign ones, brows rising in surprise.
Well, the reactions surely weren’t bad.
There were some negative posts, for sure, but people sucked. It was unlikely that they were going to get through a year of this without at least some backlash. Some people were homophobic—Jeongguk wasn’t, that was for sure, despite his heterosexuality—and usually those people were unnecessarily loud. Maybe that was what Jimin meant by coming out on his own terms. Maybe he wanted to see how people would react to something ambiguous like this, and then decide if he wanted to come out at all.
It was a shame, really, that they had to live like this. Fans were already terrifying when they found out an idol was dating—how bad would it be when they found out Jimin was gay?
Jeongguk set his phone down and rubbed at his eyes. It was too late for any of this. His apartment was dull, bare bones. He spent most of his time at the label, anyway—he didn’t want for much. It was nice though, located in an upscale area and expensive enough to prove it, with two bedrooms and almost two bathrooms.
The motions of preparing for bed were as boring as ever. His skincare routine, changing into pajamas, filling a glass with water and setting it on his nightstand. Jeongguk clicked off his light and slid into his cold bed. He sighed, turning his head to stare at his charging phone.
No. No.
With a huff, he picked it up. Opened that social media app with a wince. Promised he’d take everything he saw with a grain of salt, and began to scroll.
Just like before, the comments and posts were generally supportive. Lots of them put his English skills to work—thanks to his brother, he’d learned the curses and dirty words first, and that was surely coming in handy at the moment—but there was kindness in the words he had to work to translate. They had a name already: Jikook. Jeongguk mulled that over in his head, eventually deciding it was the best option. Every other post was of that photo, every other post was people screaming about possibilities, speculating and searching for information in the oddest places.
Some had taken to their lyrics, trying to find any mention of the other. Some had taken to searching for Jeongguk at Jimin’s concerts, and vice versa. Some had expressed the joy of loving an idol that might represent their sexuality.
Jeongguk hadn’t considered that. Guilt settled like a rock in his stomach.
Truly, most posts were excited, happy, and non-invasive. Just lots of screaming and reaction pictures, and Jeongguk found himself snickering more than once. Maybe this would be good for his career. Their fanbases were colliding—his fans providing Jimin’s larger fanbase with song recommendations and facts they should know. He wished he could thank them for it.
He wondered if Jimin was looking at any of this.
Swiping his thumb over the screen, he scrolled up to look at more recent posts, then paused. Squinted at a photo. Mumbled, “That’s what they think my dick looks like?”
Maybe those photos should have been leaked.
Shaking his head, Jeongguk tossed his phone back onto his nightstand, calling it a night after that. He rolled onto his other side, stretching his leg out with a sigh. The schedule for tomorrow was light—dance practice, meetings, recording. He didn’t have any media appearances for a bit, as Jimin’s new album was the only thing that would matter to the label these next few weeks, but maybe he’d get Namjoon to solidify some information about the variety show trip. Jimin wanted to go to the States, which was crazy, but could be fun. Maybe they could—
His phone chimed with a text.
Shit, he’d forgotten to silence it for the night. With a groan, he rolled back over, blinking at the bright light of his screen.
Park Jimin (HYBE): Seems like they like us.
Jeongguk stared at his phone in disbelief. So Jimin was scouring social media, just like him. The thought brought a smile to his lips.
Jeon Jeongguk: Did you see they’re calling us Jikook?
A bubble popped up in the chat as Jimin typed. Something giddy fluttered in Jeongguk’s stomach. He was texting the idol of idols in the middle of the night. Park Jimin was texting him. It was insane to think about.
Park Jimin (HYBE): Kind of scary they came up with that so fast.
Jeongguk bit his lip, hesitating. But, fuck it—if they were going to do this, then there was no point in being fake.
Jeon Jeongguk: I’m glad they’re being kind. I’m happy for you, Jimin-ssi.
That bubble appeared again. Disappeared, reappeared, over and over. After a minute or so of typing, during which Jeongguk kicked himself at least twice for being too sappy, Jimin responded.
Park Jimin (HYBE): Goodnight, Jeongguk-ssi.
Then, a few seconds later—
Park Jimin (HYBE): Thank you.
Despite his contact in Jeongguk’s phone, Jimin continued to be a cryptid at the company. Now that he was on alert, it was impossible not to look for the man around every corner, in every studio and practice room. He searched and pried and even asked Namjoon about his schedule. Yet, nothing.
Once, on the gigantic monitors in the lobby, he caught Jimin promoting his new album on a music show. Jeongguk stopped, his feet rooting to the ground as he watched, mesmerized. The idol moved like water, all fluid lines and perfect seduction. His choreography emphasized his body, almost experimental in its steps, and Jeongguk couldn’t help but stare. Wonder. Wish.
At home, he watched the music video on repeat. Hours were spent teaching himself the choreography, then more were spent on the floor, panting and wondering why it didn’t have the same effect when he did it.
A week after the album listening party, Jeongguk slipped into an empty recording booth, and called his mom. Just hearing her voice had him slumping into a chair with a faint grin. They talked about everything—about his new music, about her treatments, about his brother and how buff he’d be when he returned from his military service. They laughed about everything, until they didn’t, silent tears slipping down his cheeks when his mother coughed into the receiver. When the doctor came into her room, Jeongguk asked his mom to put him on the phone, talking quietly to the doctor in order to get the truth. His mother had a habit of making everything seem better than it was—with his family all the way in Busan, it was impossible to see for himself how she was doing. At least, not as often as he liked.
After hanging up, he swiped at his cheeks with his palms and blew out a breath. His phone, still glowing on the desk, broadcast the late hour. With her treatments, his mom was up at random times—he adjusted his schedule nonstop in order to be available, even if it was only for a few minutes. Now, though, it was probably time for him to head home and get some sleep—he’d had a busy day, filled with dance practice and filming. He’d already changed into something more comfortable, sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but he couldn’t wait to get all of the makeup off in the comfort of his own bathroom.
The hallways of HYBE were quiet at this time of night. At one in the morning, only trainees and the hardest workers remained. Groups about to debut, trainees trying to place higher, idols working on their comebacks. Producers and choreographers and managers had all gone home by eight, leaving their idols to learn from videos and each other until sunrise. Jeongguk had done it once, but he’d never felt that all-consuming hunger. Not in the way they did.
And maybe that was a detriment. Maybe that was the reason he was flopping. Maybe that was why he needed a contractual relationship to make people interested in him again.
Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t deserve it.
Jeongguk scoffed, exiting the studio. He took a left, heading for the dressing room where he’d left his things. There were multiple, scattered around the building, containing lockers that idols could use based on where they were working that day. He’d been in one of the dance studios for the majority of the day, so his bag had been shut into one of the lockers on the second floor.
Halfway there, he heard it.
The rooms were mostly soundproof. Sometimes, some bass leaked out, or the sound of movement if there were a lot of dancers present. For the most part, though, it was hard to hear what was happening without an ear pressed to the door. But Jeongguk knew those high synth pitches—had listened to them for hours on end—and stopped. Turned. Squinted at a frosted-glass door, as though he’d somehow be able to see through it.
There was movement, but it was impossible to tell. Gnawing on his bottom lip, he knocked quietly, then turned the handle when there was no response. Jeongguk popped his head inside the dance studio. Just to see.
The music hit him full-force. It spilled out into the hallway, like snaking hands, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into the studio. The drums, that synth, those honey vocals. Jeongguk would know Jimin’s new song just by the beats where he took a breath.
Though the studio was large, Jimin sucked the walls in like a black hole, condensing the space to just wherever he was in that moment. He moved with the utmost grace, each step practiced and languid, yet sharp and clean. Jeongguk couldn’t do anything but watch, absolutely entranced by the man before him. No wonder he was the darling of the country. No wonder idols looked up to him. No wonder he won every award he was nominated for. No wonder all he wanted was privacy, when anyone, everyone, likely wanted a bite of him.
The song ended, Jimin’s recorded voice ringing out in the space. He held his position for a second, before flopping onto the floor, chest heaving.
Jeongguk thought he shouldn’t be watching this.
“Well?”
A voice rang out in the space, but Jimin’s mouth hadn’t moved. Jeongguk’s head snapped up, searching, his eyes landing on a man leaning against the wall to his right, opposite the wall of mirrors. He kept his mouth shut and bowed furiously in apology for interrupting. One of his hands snaked behind him, fumbling for the handle in an attempt to escape, but it was no use.
Jimin’s head had already rolled against the floor, those eyes boring into him.
Even in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and an oversized shirt, he looked ethereal. White-blond hair splayed onto the floor, his temples shining with sweat. No makeup in sight. No jewelry, nothing fancy, not even shoes on his feet. And there he was, panting on the floor, glistening with exertion and silent as ever.
The other man cleared his throat to draw Jeongguk’s attention, then raised an eyebrow. Jeongguk swallowed and fumbled, panic rising thick in his throat, words failing him. This was the man he was supposed to be dating, for fuck’s sake, and he could barely speak to him. Even at their company, in a dance studio, at one in the morning. There were no cameras, no outside pressures, and Jeongguk was starstruck.
After a long moment, he said, “I can’t get that eight count right. Right after the bridge, when the beat comes back in.”
Silence descended upon the studio. Then, the man to the left was bursting into laughter, and Jimin’s lips were lifting at the corners, higher than ever. Jeongguk exhaled with a weak grin, raking a hand through his hair and trying not to think about the knot of nerves in his stomach that had slowly begun to unravel.
“Jeongguk-ssi,” Jimin murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. He pushed up out of his melted state, sitting upright, folding his arms over his knees. “Meet my choreographer, Jung Hoseok.”
The man, Hoseok, stepped over with a bow. Jeongguk gaped at him—what was he still doing here?—a flush creeping up his neck. “Oh.” He fiddled with the hem of his sweatshirt. “Well, that’s awkward.”
Hoseok shrugged, but it was lighthearted. Friendly. “Not really. I choreograph these things specifically for Jiminie. Not everyone can do what he can,” he said, then turned to a still-seated Jimin. “Right?”
Jimin merely lifted his shoulders as well. It wasn’t good enough for Jeongguk. Always-competitive, “no”-was-just-a-suggestion, Jeongguk. Taking a step further into the room, he shook his head. “No, I’ll get it. Show me again.”
The idol raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
Jeongguk faltered, breathing out a soft, “Please?”
Sharing a look with Hoseok, Jimin sighed, then got to his feet. Now behind him, Hoseok moved to the sound system, found the bridge, and hit play. Once again, Jimin’s voice filtered out through the speakers. It only took a beat for him to find his place in the choreography, hitting two eight counts, then the one Jeongguk couldn’t nail down.
He watched with rapt attention, zeroing in on Jimin’s movements. Feet, then arms, then—
“There.” Jeongguk pointed at Jimin’s feet as they stopped. A beat later, Hoseok paused the music and came to stand at Jimin’s side, the three of them now forming a triangle in the center of the room. Fortified by the fact that they hadn’t kicked him out yet, he continued. “The arms come around, but your heels don’t?”
Hoseok grinned, like this was the point. “By the time your arms are at the middle,” he began, miming the steps in half-time. “Your heels need to be to the left. First the right foot, then the left. You still want to mime that you’re going around with your feet as well, but if you take the extra step, you’ll be a beat behind.”
Frowning, Jeongguk came to stand at his side, focusing on Hoseok’s feet as he demonstrated the steps. With a quiet, huffed laugh, Jimin left the floor, settling down against the mirror to drink from his water bottle and watch the show. It was easier, truly, learning it from the man who’d made it. Hoseok could break it down well, his noises and sounds to go with each move making Jeongguk giggle, and he picked it up in only a few tries.
When Hoseok stopped demonstrating and turned to watch him, Jeongguk nailed it on the second try. At the choreographer’s nod of approval, he beamed, all wide eyes and shining teeth and dimpled cheeks. He looked to Jimin. “I did it!”
Jimin’s lips quirked. “Good job.” After a beat, he screwed the cap back on to his bottle, pushing himself off the floor. “Do you know the rest?”
That wasn’t truly a question, it was a request. An invitation. Jeongguk paled, furiously shaking his head. “Not well enough.”
Coming to stand before him, Jimin cocked his head to the side. Honey eyes searched Jeongguk’s features. It took him a moment, but then there was a faint light dancing in his eyes as Jimin murmured, “Liar.” He looked to Hoseok, who was standing at the sound system once more, and nodded. Then, to Jeongguk, “Let’s see if you can keep up, Jeon.”
The music began, and Jeongguk knew he had to lock the fuck in. This was the dream—dancing to Park Jimin’s music, beside Park Jimin. Sure, he’d done the odd few moves on variety shows here and there, but this was different. There was no audience, no prize, no reason. Nothing to get him through this but pure grit and determination. He wanted to do well in front of Jimin. Wanted to show him that he cared, that he’d put in the work, that he truly appreciated the man’s projects and art. With Hoseok here too, it was even more important. This was appreciation in the highest form. This was how idols said to each other, You did well.
When the music slowed down at the bridge, Jeongguk gave himself one second for his eyes to stray. One second to watch Jimin in the mirror. Despite the fact that both of them were breathing heavily and glistening with sweat, Jeongguk could feel that buzzing, that live wire that came alive between them in this moment—in Jimin’s realization that Jeongguk had put in the work, and in Jeongguk’s realization that Jimin was grinning.
Wide. Beautiful. Bright. Alive.
The beat came back, and Jeongguk focused, chest heaving with breathy laughter as Hoseok yelled out a, “Dat, da-dat dat!” in accordance with the steps. Jeongguk succeeded with a loud whoop that had Jimin’s shoulders shaking to his right. They spun simultaneously, hitting the beats and new steps within the final chorus.
It felt like too soon when the choreography came to a close and the song ended moments after. Just like Jimin had before, Jeongguk fell to the floor with a huffed laugh. He was hot and panting, but he’d done it, and that was what mattered.
Jimin planted his hands on his hips and leaned over him. He was flushed with exertion, but there was a sparkle in his eyes and a gentle curve to his lips. The overhead lights framed his head like a halo. Throwing an arm over his eyes, Jeongguk gasped, “Fuck, that’s hard.”
Hoseok came to their sides, his grin wide as he squatted down to lightly swat Jeongguk’s chest. “You did good, kid. Different style, but you could film a cover and it would be acceptable. Look.” He fished in his pocket, pulling out his phone and clicking around, before turning it so that Jeongguk could see the screen. It was a video of the two of them dancing. He hadn’t even noticed Hoseok recording.
Pushing up on his elbows, Jeongguk frowned. “I’m off.”
“Only the tiniest bit. It wouldn’t be obvious to anyone but us.”
Jimin’s voice was soft, hummed, almost proud. “My dancers can’t keep up with me.” He reached up to tuck white-blond hair behind his ear, chin dipping in the slightest nod. “This is the closest anyone’s ever gotten. I’m—” A pause. “Surprised.”
It was the longest string of words he’d ever spoken to Jeongguk. It was easy to be starstruck, to gaze up at Jimin like he held the world in the palm of his hand, to bask in the praise. But—
“Have you—have you not, like, watched me? At all?” Jeongguk asked, voice faint.
Jimin and Hoseok shared a look. After a moment of heavy silence, Jimin said, “Yoongi-hyung played me a few of your songs.”
Well, that stung.
South Korea’s darling, the idol of idols, Jeongguk’s boyfriend, had just admitted that he hadn’t bothered to look Jeongguk up. Hadn’t bothered to watch a performance, hadn’t bothered to listen to an album, hadn’t bothered to care about him in the slightest. And here Jeongguk was, tired and sweating because he’d taken the time to learn Jimin’s choreography—and for what?
“Oh,” he murmured. Hands pressing against the floor, he used the leverage to stand. Leave it to Park Jimin to make him feel like a waste of space. Jeongguk took a step back, toward the door, and shook his head. “Well, I’ll let you get back to practice, then.”
“Jeongguk-ssi—” Jimin began, then stopped. Rolled his bottom lip into his mouth. Shot Hoseok a pleading look, receiving nothing but an encouraging gesture in return. He pushed hair from his face, then let his hands drop to his sides, lithe frame drooping. “I don’t really listen to music, anymore. I asked Yoongi-hyung to show me the songs that he thought you were proudest of. He played them for me, and they were good. I liked them. But, no, Jeongguk-ssi, I haven’t watched your performances.”
It seemed like this was painful for him. Jeongguk’s bottom lip pushed out, less of a pout and more of a frown. He looked at Hoseok, who merely raised his hands in surrender, bowing out of his conversation. Jeongguk wasn’t even sure he wanted to have this conversation. “You don’t listen to music?”
“No,” Jimin said, the word clipped. That was the end of that conversation, then. He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, it’s not about you. You dance well. I’m sure you’re great.”
He would know, if he bothered to watch, but—whatever.
“Thanks,” Jeongguk said, itching to leave. He rocked back and forth on his feet for a second, waiting. When Jimin didn’t speak again, he hitched a thumb over his shoulder to point at the door. “Well, I’m gonna—uh, go. Thanks for letting me crash your practice.” Turning, he bowed furiously to Hoseok, who waved him off with a laugh.
Once at the door, he bowed to Jimin. The idol raised a hand, fingers fluttering in a soft wave, his gaze gentle and just a little pitying.
Jeongguk left the dance studio without a second glance.
No wonder it was almost impossible to lay eyes on Jimin outside of a schedule. He practiced at night, likely for privacy. Likely so that other idols didn’t do what Jeongguk just did—barge in on his practice and waste his time. All for just a scrap of attention.
Jeongguk spat out a curse. The door to the dressing room banged open as he slammed his palms into it, grunting in frustration.
Business partners. That’s what they were. They’d do the show, make a song together, pose for the camera—and that would be it. Jimin couldn’t even be bothered to look up one of his music show performances. Jeongguk wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was self-centered, but it hurt to know that the man didn’t care enough to even try. If that was how this was going to be, then fine. God forbid he wanted to be friends.
Whatever. He’d suck it up. It was only a year, and then he’d be free to do whatever he wanted. He could mooch off the man’s fame, hopefully get back into the green, and then avoid him unless absolutely necessary. Seemed like that was the plan, apparently. Jeongguk only wished he’d been privy to it before he’d made a fool out of himself in that studio.
Jeongguk grabbed his things from the dressing room and left the building without a second glance.
Fuck Park Jimin.