Bring It On | 01
Park Jimin | Comedy | Fluff | Slight Angst | BIO!au | cheerleader!jimin
❝You had long since gotten over your crush on your co captain slash roommate, Jimin. Other than the occasional wandering hand that maybe wasn’t so appropriate for someone who was supposed to be supporting you while you were in the air, or congratulatory smack on the ass after practice he was uninterested. Very, very, very much uninterested.❞
You blink down at your lunch tray, a scathing look marring your face when you note the mushed grool on your plate is probably leftovers from yesterday. You eye the cafeteria lady warily when she plops another serving on your tray, expression deadpan—you take longer to move along in line and she thinks she’s doing you a favor by serving you seconds.
“Greta,” you grin pleasantly, inching the tray back in her direction, “you’re doing amazing. Love the enthusiasm, that apron really suits you. However, I pay eight thousand dollars in college tuition and this looks like the wet food I give my dog. Do you think instead of this I could—”
She interrupts you with a wet slap of brown mush being added onto your already growing pile.
“Wonderful,” you sigh, when you note the brown spackle on your uniform top, “can I just get a kale salad instead?”
It was for the best, anyway, you chide yourself. The fact that your school served lunch that was about as edible as aluminum foil made dieting easier. The reminder of your diet, however makes you groan as you reach the condiment station, chancing a smell at the ranch dressing in the clear plastic bowl. When you deem it safe enough to consume, you begin working on the croutons—
“Would you like some salad with your dressing?” Someone snorts from behind you.
You lift a wary gaze to Park Jimin, who’s leaning against the counter, working on organizing his grilled chicken. He cocks a brow at you as though he knows you’re glaring, even without looking.
“And to what do I owe this pleasure so early in the morning?”
Jimin rolls his eyes at you, nudging you out of the way so he can dress his own salad.
“Just think of me as your fairy godmother—I get a tingling sensation whenever you start to double carb.” He snorts, snatching the bread roll off your your tray and shoving you in the direction of your regular lunch table.
“It’s wheat.” You say indignantly, snatching it back and shoving it in your mouth.
“Just because wheat bread induces a slightly lower glycemic response doesn’t mean it’s better for you.” He spouts off automatically and you debate whether or not you can smash your head in before he starts scolding, “There’s no inherently good bread, just one that’s gonna make your ass slightly fatter as opposed to one that’s processed whole wheat.”
Apparently there was no avoiding his scolding this afternoon.
“For the record my mother says I have a wonderful figure,” you inform.
Jimin blinks at you before shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth, “Tell your mom to base for you then.”
“You’re in a fine mood this morning,” you scoff, before sending a teasing smile at your co captain, “I take it the freshman pitched their new uniform idea to you?”
Jimins jaw clenches at the thought, rubbing his aching temples, “I’m all for being a whore. I love the concept, I think it’s great. But I hate the bandage skirt idea. And if we’re going to look like hookers, we should at least be Marilyn Monroe and for like presidents and shit. Not Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.”
“Julia Roberts slander aside,” you glare, “I agree with you. They’re tacky and besides, regionals in three weeks—changing uniforms now would just be complicated, not to mention we have to worry about finding another base now that Hoseok’s graduating.”
“God, don’t fucking remind me, I already have a headache thinking about auditions. But also, I’m so happy you agree which is why I took the liberty of telling them to go fuck themselves.” Jimin grins cheerfully as you stab a pice of kale.
“What did I say about making decisions on my behalf?” You pin him with an annoyed look before throwing your fork down with a clank, “we’re a team Jimin, we make decisions together.”
“Yes and it’s because we’re a team that I know you hate all the things I do.” He explains.
“This is why they don’t respect me.” You say, “at least not as much as they do you.”
“They don’t respect me, they’re scared of me. It’s good for our image. Like a good cop, bad cop kind of thing.” He argues before slicing a piece of his grilled chicken on putting it on your plate, “And will you eat? You wouldn’t have to starve yourself if you made better choices. For example a vinaigrette instead of what is essentially going to be an extra three pounds on your ass.”
You blink at him rapidly before sighing, rising to your feet. “Whatever, Jimin.”
“Hey,” he calls out behind you but you’re already halfway across the cafeteria, equal parts irritable and unamused by Jimins lax behavior. You stop when a hand grips your wrist, “okay jeez I’m sorry. I’m kidding. Quit being a brat and eat your lunch. I said try to drop three pounds not starve yourself.”
“Wow, what a sincere apology,” you snort and attempt to walk away again but he’s gripping you by the waist, far too close for comfort with his front pressed against your back and plush lips at your ear.
This is new. Very new.
Your roommate was a lot of things, touchy was not one of them. If anything, he prided himself on his personal space and was constantly shoving you out of his room, out of his bed, out of the fucking bathroom.
“I’m sorry alright?” He mutters and you close your eyes because he was confusing. So confusing it hurt. “I didn’t mean it. I had one too many bowls of bitch flakes today—either that or you’re PMSi—fucking ow.”
Jimin rubs his side where you elbowed before glaring at you.
“Apology not accepted.” You sniff when he turns you in his arms and there was a time when you would have been ecstatic to be in this position but those feelings have long since fled.
He only tugs you closer with a grin when you don’t fight off his hold. Jimin raises a brow at something over your shoulder and you frown.
“Don’t look now but your baby boyfriend is on his way over,” Jimin whispers before retracting his arms.
“My baby what?” You frown and it only takes you a full second to realize who he’s talking about because before long Jeon Jungkook is crowding your space.
“Hey,” he calls, an arm winding its way around your waist before you’re rolling your eyes at Jimin’s teasing smirk. “What’s going on here?”
“Jungkook,” you greet, before extracting yourself from his hold, “What’s up?”
“I could say the same,” he mutters before nodding at Jimin, “We have a problem here?”
Jimin cringes at his cheesy line before pinning him with a bored look, “Actually we—”
“Me and Jimin were going over cheer stuff. Did you need something?” You interrupt.
“Going over cheer stuff,” Jungkook says back slowly. He stares at Jimin for a second too long before returning his gaze to you, “I just came to check on my girlfriend. I have a game today, you didn’t wish me good luck.”
You close your eyes with a wince when Jimin snorts. A warm palm on your shoulder has you opening them only to glare at the all too mirthful boy in front of you, “Let him down easy, champ.”
With a wave and wink in Jungkook’s direction, Jimin is bounding back towards the lunch table and leaving you with a migraine.
Jungkook is holding your hand and swinging it. You’re not quite sure when that happened.
“Look, Jungkook,” you begin, clearing your throat.
“Oh no.” He sighs.
“Nothing is ever good when a girl starts out with ‘look, Jungkook'—my mom, my sister, the dean of students.” He shrugs.
“So you know what’s coming next then?” You ask hopefully.
“Are you gonna put me on academic probation?” He offers and when you shake your head he stares on, “Not gonna lie, I’m drawing a blank here. I just know whatever you’re saying is not gonna be good.”
All hope dies.
“We’re not dating.” You say gently, tugging your hand out of his. It was too big and overly warm.
Jungkook frowns, confusion wrinkling his brow and for a second you almost feel bad for him, that is until he opens his mouth.
“But you let me…” He chances a look over his shoulder before leaning into whisper harshly, “you let me finger you.”
And therein lies your problem.
You knew better—you truly did—than to let the otherwise inexperienced freshman go further than second base but in your defense you were drunk. You were drunk and he was willing and he was fucking Jeon Jungkook. You were a good person but not that good.
“Yes, Jungkook I did but that doesn’t mean I want to date you.” You explain gently.
“But why would you let me touch you if you didn’t want to date me?” He implores and you blink at him because there was no way in hell someone was this naive.
“Because I was horny and you were there.” You say honestly and to your relief there isn’t a look of pain etched on his features only mild confusion mixed in with annoyance. “Now that we’ve got that settled I have a cheer thing I have to—”
“Wait, wait!” He calls out, gripping your wrist, “but what about me?”
You sigh because no matter how innocent or inexperienced Jeon Jungkook seemed he was still a guy at the end of the day, and they all wanted one thing.
“Fine.” You rolls your eyes, “I’ll suck you off after practice but I got to get goin—”
“No. Not that,” he flushes, “I meant what about… what if I wanted to date you?”
You stare at Jungkook a beat and it’s your turn to be surprised because of all the things you expected to happen today that was the last.
“Do you…” You gulp, eyeing him warily, “have feelings for me?”
“No.” He says honestly and you deflate before glaring at him.
“Oh thank God,” you breathe before smacking his arm, “don’t go around saying shit like that. Jesus. Anyway, why would you want to go on a date with me if you don’t like me either? Does that make sense to you?”
Jungkook rolls his eyes at you before tugging you off to an empty corner of the cafeteria, he lowers his voice even though no ones close enough to hear. “Okay don’t look right away but do you see those guys sitting at that table next to the doo—I said don’t look!”
“Ow!” You whine, rubbing at your scalp after he gives your ponytail a hard yank. “Okay, jeez what about them?”
“They’re on my basketball team.” He informs unhelpfully and you give him a bored look.
“You don’t say?” You gasp, a hand shooting up to cover your mouth, “I couldn’t tell from their uniforms and the guy on the table, spinning the basketball, staring at us.”
Jungkook goes quiet again and you feel a headache coming on because what he made up for in looks and general athleticism he lacked in brain cells.
“Are you being sarcastic?” He frowns and what was the point if all your jabs went right over his head?
Instead, you opt for exasperation, pressing a hand to your aching temple. “What about your basketball team, Jungkook?”
“They think I’m a virgin.”
“Well are you a virgin?” You retort, thinking back to the almost painfully awful finger fuck he gifted you with last weekend.
“That’s besides the point,” he waves you off before gripping your shoulders, “I’m in college now. And a guy. Being a virgin is weird and if they find out I haven’t gone all the way I’m toast.”
“So tell them you boned me and let me get on with my life. I give you my permission, young padawan.” You give him a reassuring smack on the arm before walking away, only to be tugged back by your uniform shirt. “What now?”
“That would be great, except they’ll keep hounding me to have more sex which I’m not opposed to I just… I’m not ready yet you know?”
You blink at him, “I don’t know. I’m a slut.”
“Well pretend you get it and date me. Just for a couple weeks.” He says, “If I have a girlfriend they’ll just assume I’m getting laid on the regular and leave me alone.”
“Okay, but what about me? I actually enjoy getting laid on the regular and no offense but getting fingered by you is about as enjoyable as going to the gynecologist.” You sigh and he winces.
“Noted.” He adds dryly before cocking a brow at you, “So are you up for it?”
“No!” you throw your hands up, “besides dating you could give people the wrong impression. That I’m into things like—”
“Virgins.” You correct with a roll of your eyes. “Sorry Kook, you’re just gonna have to figure shit out on yo—”
“Noona please,” he pleads desperately, hand gripping your upper arm and in all honesty you’re not a hard person to sway but Jungkook is still persistent in his pursuit. He clasps both hands under his chin before dropping to his knees desperately. He’s whining and loudly.
Loud enough to garner attention.
“Will you get up?” You hiss, “People are staring!”
“Will you say yes?” He juts his lower lip out.
“No.” You glare, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Then I’m not getting up.” He pouts.
“Because I care,” you snort, “Camp out here if you want. My answers the st—”
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” he whines and you grit your teeth in annoyance, “I’ll owe you big.”
“You’ll owe me?” You cock a brow.
“Yes,” he says desperately, “I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” You ponder and Jungkook’s stomach turns when you openly give him the once over.
“I… shit… yeah, anything.” He sighs.
Jimin doesn’t ask you what’s wrong and you don’t expect him to—you only bang things louder until he’s sighing from his spot on his bed, pausing the game he’s playing to turn to look at you.
“Is something wrong?”
He looks put out, annoyed. You don’t care.
“Everything’s wrong.” You mutter, stripping off your uniform and throwing it in the dirty clothes.
You have half a mind to remember that you were still in Jimin’s room but it didn’t matter anyway, you and Jimin had long since passed the initial crush stage of your friendship slash roommate agreement—well at least you had, you were almost entirely positive Jimin felt nothing save for mild irritation for you on a good day. That coupled with the fact that he was very much gay set your worries at ease.
“Be more specific?” He sighs, disinterested.
You pause in rummaging through his clothes long enough to narrow your eyes at him, “I hate boys.”
“Good. More for me.” He retorts instantly, shooting you a warning glare when you pause on one of his good t shirts, “I’m wearing that tomorrow, the sweatshirt you’re looking for is in the back.”
You don’t even shoot him a so much as a thank you as you shimmy out of your sports bra, with your back turned to him and tug his hoodie over head. When you’re settled and warm you shoot a mischievous smile at Jimin who’s still glaring at you before—
“Don’t you—” he cut himself off with a curse when you dive under his covers anyway. Jimin seethes quietly as you nestle yourself beneath his sheets, “You know you have your own room right?”
“Don’t you miss me?” You whine before snuggling closer, much to his annoyance, he opts to pinch your side instead of shoving you off the bed completely.
“No. Now move over if you want to stay in here.” he scoffs.
“You know I had a really shitty day,” you glare at his side profile and he doesn’t answer, only picks up the controller to un pause whatever he was playing. “it would be nice if you could be even a little bit supportive.”
“I didn’t sign up for emotional support I signed up for half on utilities and you not leaving your pad wrappers on the bathroom floor.” He mutters, still invested in his tv show.
“Don’t use that voice, I hate it.” He grunts.
“What voice?” You pout.
“You know, the voice.” He sighs, sending you a glance from the corner of his eye, “The one you use on guys to get what you want. Your baby voice, it’s annoying.”
Your cheeks heat with embarrassment and you feign indifference because Jimin never means to be hurtful, he’s only talking to you like he would any other friend… but you didn’t want to be any other friend? You weren’t sure anymore, about how you felt about him. Things were blurred because while you were sure things bordered on platonic and that mostly had to do with the fact that he was so immune to your feminine wiles (snort), you also knew you didn’t want to be treated like one of the guys or like any other fucking girl on the team, that he mostly couldn’t stand.
You wanted to be special. Special in what way, you weren’t entirely sure.
“You’re a dick.” You retort and he tears his gaze away from the screen long enough to cock a brow at you.
“You knew this upon signing the lease.” He snorts and you don’t reply because really, what was there to say. It was well known, Jimin was in fact an asshole—he didn’t like kick puppies or make orphans cry (intentionally) or anything but he was curt and to the point and you didn’t get your feelings hurt easily which is why things worked between the two of you. “Hey, did you get that playlist I sent you?”
You pause in scrolling through your phone to turn to him, “Yeah actually I did. They’re all kind of slow, did you want to use them for routine?”
Jimins hands slow on the controller but he doesn’t divert his attention this time, only hums his disagreement, “Nah, just new songs I stumbled upon I thought you’d dig. They’re good right?”
“Yeah,” you nod eagerly, “I added them to my library actually.”
“Cool.” Jimin grumbles, clearly done with the conversation and you roll your eyes.
You go on like that for a few moments because Jimins content with silence, prefers it actually over what he calls your ‘incessant chattering’ it’s one of many things he finds annoying about you—from what you can tell. He’s left almost every group chat you’re in.
“You talk too much,” he says desperately after one night, a long night of drinking with your team and you’re still sending pictures. He’s in your room and his hairs disheveled and he’s shirtless and he looks delectable and annoyed and seconds away from strangling you.
“Sorry.” You squeak, tugging the blankets up past your chin and he narrows his eyes at you. You can barely make him out in your doorway, but the light from the hallway dances against the planes of chest, making you gulp.
“No you’re not,” he grumbles, throat raspy from liquor and sleep, he sticks a hand out expectantly, “hand it over.”
“W-what?” You push hair back from your face nervously and Jimin adjusts his basketball shorts before sauntering over to your bed.
“Your phone. I’m confiscating it. You’re fucking with my sleep schedule and I have a nine am tomorrow,” Jimin mutters, snatching your iPhone from you. He sends you a menacing glare all while fiddling with the device, “You don’t get to bitch if I drop you on your ass during practice. Now move in.”
“Huh?” Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline at that and Jimin is sending you a bland look, a hand pressed to his aching temple like talking to you is causing him physical pain. But he doesn’t respond only yanks the blanket from under you, making you all too aware of your lack of clothing when the bed dips beneath his weight.
“Move. In.” He enunciates, “I’m drunk as hell, tired as hell, and not up for the walk to my room.”
“It’s across the hall.” You remind him and in the darkness of your bedroom, with the pale moonlight dancing in and reflecting off the single chain Jimin always wears you’re overwhelmed by him. By his scent, his body, his withering stare when he presses a finger to your forehead.
“Sleep now.” He grumbles.
And maybe that was when it truly started, when the both of you settled down after that long night of drinking, him telling you to sleep on your stomach so you don’t choke on your own vomit, and you staring on dumbly, the beginnings of an on again off again infatuation for your roommate, your friend, that never really went away—no matter how unwilling a participant you were.
There’s a brief period of time (that you’ve made a conscious effort to block out) that you openly pined for him. There was no stumbling into the kitchen a mess, with morning breath that threatened to singe his eyebrows off if you struck up a conversation. No. If Jimin had class at nine am, you were up, with your lashes curled and your favorite tinted BB cream by seven forty five—you looked fresh faced, what a boy who hadn’t spent nearly five plus years of his life around girls with bedazzled vaginas would consider natural. But alas—
Jimin is a hairsbreadth from your face and you thank every god you could think of you woke up at the ass crack of dawn to wash your hair. His eyes narrow and he worries his lower lip before pulling back.
“You didn’t blend your neck,” he comments before grabbing his hoodie next to you and bidding you adieu.
For the first month of your crush you spend every morning in the kitchen (after of course closely inspecting your makeup under several different lightings), making him breakfast, green smoothies even. But Jimin is a health nut, on top of being an obsessive perfectionist. He preps his food the night before, likes all of his ducks in a row when he starts his morning at eight fifteen on the dot. His expression the first time you offer him turkey bacon and eggs is a cocktail of mild disgust and disinterest.
“I’m counting macros this week.” He explains, before transferring his smoothie from the blender into a thermos.
You tongue at your cheek before taking a bite of the ridiculously chewy meat.
Your first Valentine’s Day with Jimin is always a memorable one, for sheer comedic relief if nothing else.
The two of you are regularly inseparable at practice, and some of it had to do with you being a fly and him base, your base, but a lot of it was because he didn’t… mesh well with others. He was too blunt, too rough around the edges and he took cheer seriously. The times Jimin spoke about himself were far and in-between, but you distantly remember him telling you that before he started doing cheer he did gymnastics competitively for a good chunk of his life. That explained a lot of things, honestly. Why he was so by the book, strict about everything from uniforms to ponytails, to diets—of all the boys on the squad, he was maybe the only one who gave a shit about stuff like that. It was because of all of that that he made a good co captain, and if it weren’t for his inability to compromise and just generally stomach other peoples presence, you were positive he would have beat you out for the captain position.
It also explained why he was so strong. The guy regularly worked out, yeah but he was like, open the pickle jar strong. And then there was his food intake which was crazy, all things considered, because he ate a lot to build muscle but it was all so healthy you couldn’t imagine anyone enjoying it. You wouldn’t lie, the first time Jimin lifted you during auditions your heart nearly beat out of your chest because he did it all with one arm and caught you effortlessly against his chest.
“Here,” Jimin says, handing you a tumbler filled with purple liquid at the end of practice, he hitches his gym bag up higher on his shoulder and waits for you to accept it. “I brought you a smoothie from home.”
“Thanks, what is it?” You ask, sniffing it and ignoring the glare Jimin shoots your way. It doesn’t smell offensive and you take a hesitant sip, “Actually this is good.”
He nods with a sheepish shrug and you try to tamp down the zoo of butterflies in your chest that are telling you that this is a sign, that Park Jimin making you a smoothie is his weird, male, health nut equivalent of chocolates and a confession. Your heart seems to gain wings at the prospect and then he ruins it like he always does because he’s Jimin and he ruins things. That’s his job title and occupation, Park Jimin, The Ruiner.
“It’s a detox smoothie actually,” he says when you’re already on your second mouthful, cheeks puffed with the berry concoction. Jimin was a lot of things, tactless was one of them, “I thought it would help with… you know. Plus, I do strength training in my free time but this partnership only works if you keep up your end. You should come to the gym with me in the mornings, you’re up anyway with like a full face of makeu—”
You shove the tumbler back at his chest before sucking your teeth at him, “I’m gonna go shower and then head home. See you there.”
Jimin frowns at your retreating figure by glancing down at the smoothie, he takes a sip for curiosity’s sake. “What’s her problem?”
The first time you see Jimin kissing a boy there’s no tell tale signs of arousal that all of mainstream media swore by. Only pure unadulterated jealousy tinged with sadness. You watch the way Jimin cups the boys jaw, the way his own jaw works in time with his lips. It’s not rushed or heated, filled with passion like a lover—it’s slow and a little timid, like the first kiss at the end of a date and your stomach turns.
You watch the two boys pull away, Jimin looking the softest you’ve ever seen. You wondered what it felt like to be the recipient of that gaze, but it wasn’t a side of him you were meant to see, or a moment meant for you, and you reminded yourself that you were intruding. You leave the hallway too quickly that day and maybe sulk for longer than was necessary in the weeks to follow, cry even, because your nineteen year old self is (gag) heartbroken. It won’t be another month of stilted conversation and failed attempts at avoidance until you’ve pushed the feeling to the back of your brain and manage to find a middle ground in your relationship with him.
“If you return my shirt with boob sweat I’m gonna use it to smother you in your sleep.” Jimin reminds and you scoff. “That’s my good shirt.”
“That was one time.” You shoot up indignantly and immediately regret it because with regionals nearing you were doing conditioning instead of regular routines and every muscle in your body was on fire from today’s practice.
Jimin sighs before getting to his knees and giving you a hard look, “Did you—”
“Before you ask whatever you’re gonna ask I came straight here after practice, showered and went to class I haven’t had time to do anything else.” You interrupt and Jimin rolls his eyes at you.
“Lay back,” he orders and you oblige immediately because as strict as Jimin was as far as diet and exercise was concerned, he considered you an extension of himself. His partner. And if you weren’t in good shape you were holding him back which is why he ignores your yells of protest when he pushes back on the leg you have pressed to his chest.
“Okay, okay, okay.” You say, slapping his arm so he would let up, “That’s enough.”
“Shut up.” He says mildly, pushing until your knee was nestled between both your chests. He slaps the back of your calf and you glare, “Straighten this.”
“Fuck off.” You grit out.
He cocks a brow at you and you regret your words when he adds more pressure.
“Jimin, fuuuuck,” you whine earnestly, a hand pressed to his chest because the pain was getting to be too much and he didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. He doesn’t recline right away, and you peek an eye open in time to see a look cross his face before he guides your leg back slowly with a nod.
“How’s your knee doing?” He murmurs, and you lean your head back against the pillow when he begins feeling up your leg.
As much as you hated to admit it, Jimin’s extensive athletic career as well as his major proved to be useful on more than one occasion in your house. As an athlete you could appreciate a roommate who was studying physical therapy, especially when it came to the massage aspect.
“It’s been fine these last few weeks,” you shrug, “hasn’t been giving me any problems.”
“Start wearing your knee brace again.” He says when he places one hand on your knee and the other on your ankle. You narrow your eyes when he moves it side to side, “Your knees been giving out at practice. I’ll kick your ass if you dislocate it before regionals.”
“Noted.” You scoff, but it’s more of a gasp when Jimin’s hands are on your hips, barely under his hoodie and skimming the skin just above your spandex. His face is passive all the while, nudging you up the bed.
“Move up, I’m gonna check your range of motion.” He explains and Jimin is all work and no fun. Sometimes you wonder how he can remain so disinterested, clinical at times like this when you feel like your whole body is on fire under his touch.
Your leg is back up in the air and Jimin is moving it in hesitant circles, up and down, side to side and you close your eyes, trying not to gasp everytime he presses your legs closed and tiny shockwaves of pleasure shoot straight to your clit. He never presses down long enough to evoke a reaction but you lay back and relax, enjoying what little intimacy you’re allowed with him.
Everything is good, it’s nice, relaxing, his touch is enough to leave you horny, you’ll probably have to rub one out in your room later but not enough to have you cumming right then and there. Your eyes shoot open when you feel him move in, his hand no longer resting on your leg but on the innermost of your thigh, too high up as he presses down.
Too, too high up. Too, too close to the apex of your thighs.
You cock a brow and in typical Jimin fashion he stares on blandly, cool as a cucumber sitting between your legs and forcing them open.
“Buy me a drink first?” You say a little breathlessly, and joking is your way of coping with this, him, your ego, which was sorely bruised because Park Jimin was more than immune to you and that sucked royally.
“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says, but he does it with a small smile, “If you did this on your own I wouldn’t have to do it for you.”
“It’s not as fun on my own.” You comment.
“It never is.” He teases back and it’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to flirting with him. You simultaneously revel in it and chide yourself for still being so head over hills for someone who sees you as no more than an object in his everyday life, like a lamp or the refrigerator. You’d notice if it were gone but you could always get a new refrigerator.
“Okay, I think I’m good for the night! Thanks I’ll just go back to my room an—”
A crack sounds in the room, echoing off his walls, so loud it nearly drowns out the strangled noise you make in your throat. You blink up at Jimin, equal parts shocked and turned on when he rubs the sensitive skin of your thigh, the innermost part he just slapped. Welts form under his soft palm but he doesn’t look the tiniest bit sorry, in fact, he doesn’t look anything. His expression is just as calm as collected as it was when you had first walked in. It leaves you confused, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“Did you just…” You gesture between your thighs and Jimin patiently waits for you to continue as he closes your legs back up, letting you know you’re done with at home PT. “Did you just spank me?”
“Take better care of yourself and I won’t have to.” He says softly and you’re searching, searching for something, anything in his face that’ll give you even the slightest idea of what the fuck just happened. But you come up empty, even as he presses on, “Stop skipping lunch to talk to that freshman. Make healthier choices so you don’t have to do extreme diets and stop,” He grips your knee softly before staring up at you, “neglecting your health.”
You nod mutely, when he finishes because there’s nothing else to really say. Jimins been acting weird, very weird these past few days and while every fiber of your being, every natural instinct is telling you ‘he likes you! you love him, offer to suck his dick!’ the rational part of your brain quashes any hope and reminds you how well trying to pursue feelings for your roommate turned out the last time.
“I’m going to bed.” You say dumbly, blinking at him and Jimin nods, not moving to say goodbye or watch you walk out.
You press your back against his door when you leave because Park Jimin would be the death of you, but oh what a way to go.
“Look, I’m sorry okay?” Hoseok sighs, trailing after you as you re-shelf the books you were scanning. Stupid midterm paper. Stupid college.
“Hm, I’m sorry I don’t know what you’re sorry for, unless of course you’re apologizing for interrupting my studying then, I forgive you Hoseok because that’s just the kind of loving, nurturing, sweet captain I am.” You return, back still to the older boy when he rolls his eyes at you, “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
“I’m quitting the squad.” Hoseok says with a finality that makes you snort.
“‘Kay. Don’t be late to practice today or I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass you won’t be able to walk much less cheer.” You say sweetly.
“I admit, it’s a bit troublesome,” Hoseok sighs.
You whirl around on him at that, eyes narrowed, “Getting your pubes caught in the sticky part of your pad is a bit troublesome—you quitting the fucking team three weeks before a competition is a lot of fucking troublesome you asshole.”
“First of all ew,” He whines something that sounds dangerously close to your name and you don’t have to turn to know he’s pouting, “Second, you know there’s more to life than cheer! I’m graduating soon and I need to focus on my studies, and start looking into a career.”
“Listen here you little bitch,” you hiss, shoving a finger in his face until Hoseok was going cross eyed, “I can smell the entire bag of marijuana you smoked on your way here. Who put you up to this? Namjoon? I’ll kick your ass, I’ll kick his ass and then whichever one of your dumb friends helped coerce you into ‘lightening your load’ before you graduate. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”
“But I want to party,” he pouts and nearly eats his words when your eye twitches, “God, you and Jimin are really a match made in heaven, huh? How are two people that are so tiny, so terrifying?”
“Hoseok, you can’t quit we have regionals and the freshman are giving me a fucking ulcer. Where am I going to find and be able to train a base in three weeks?” You implore, pressing a hand to your aching temple.
“I’m sorry,” Hoseok says and he doesn’t look the least bit sorry. You debate on shoving you foot up his ass for old times sake when he pats you on the shoulder, “You’re a good cheerleader. An even better captain, I know you’ll figure it out.”
“Fuck off,” you glare, shoving a finger in his chest, “if anything weird happens to you this week, just know it’s me cursing you.”
You stand there, with your back pressed against the bookshelf for a good minute, just watching Hoseok’s retreating figure. His shoulders are sagged in relief, like he was just let from under a tremendous weight, one he turned around and perched atop your shoulders.
When you get back to your library table you’re pouting, on the verge of losing your shit in the otherwise dead silent room because why, why did bad things happen to good people? As though you weren’t already stressed from midterms, it was like you had a giant fucking sign on your forehead that said ‘hey, screw me over!’
“What is it now?” Someone hums across from you and you barely have time to register that it’s Nayeon before you’re jutting your lower lip.
And for what it’s worth, Nayeon is a good friend because she stops studying, sets her books and binders and pens aside to focus all of her attention on you. Then she listens, and listens, and listens because it’s only been three days since you’ve seen each other but it seems as though a lot has happened. By the time you’re done debriefing her, she’s staring at you, a frown marring her pretty face and her arms crossed over her chest because—
“You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” she sighs, carding hands through her hair, “Let me just… let me just see if I follow here, Jungkook the freshman, the virgin you let finger you at the party last week, he wants you to deflower him?”
“No, he doesn’t even want sex—can you believe…! He wants me to date him, so worst.” You correct, “Fake date him to get his teammates off his back because he’s fucking twelve apparently and not immune to peer pressure.”
“And your roommate, Jimin, your gay roommate,” she emphasizes the gay part and you glare at her, “you think you’re starting to… feel things for him again?”
“I mean, technically,” you put a hand out to stop her, “the feelings never really went away, but they’ve just been lying dormant like waiting for him or myself to entertain them and Nayeon, the other day, in the cafeteria he hugged me. He back hugged me. Jimin, the same person who made a six year old cry last year, and then kicked his dad’s ass. I want to die.”
“And Hoseok,” she presses a hand to her head, “the drug dealing cheerleader. He quit.”
“He’s not a drug dealer, he just smokes a lot of weed,” you roll your eyes, “his friend, Namjoon, he’s a drug dealer. I’m gonna kick his ass because he convinced Hoseok to quit the fucking team.”
“And… you have regionals in less than a month, correct?”
“Yes. So you see my problem right?” You whine.
“You have multiple problems, most of which I can’t help you with, being in love with your gay roommate ranks at the top of that list,” she sends you a sarcastic look before snapping her fingers at you, “but the Hoseok thing. I know how you can fix that. It’ll be like killing two birds with one stone.”
“This is so… lame.” Jungkook groans and you slap him upside the head before gesturing towards the rest of the squad.
“Team, I’d like you to meet our new base.” You smile tightly before patting a hand on his shoulder, and pulling something from behind your back, “This is Jungkook.”
“What’s that for?” Momo, a second year on the team frowns and you brighten at her question, bringing the glass jar to everyone’s attention.
“This,” you begin, “is negative reinforcement. Anytime he says something rude, stupid, or offensive feel free to let me know and I’ll charge him, all proceeds go towards new uniforms for the team.”
“What happened to Hoseok?”
“Hoseok decided to focus on his studies.” You say and you barely make it through the sentence before someone’s cutting you off with a snort. “Jungkook’s going to be replacing him.”
“That’s such bullshit!” Mina scoffs, “Has he ever even cheered before?”
“No but I have more than two brain cells I’m sure I can figure it out.” Jungkook retorts and you press a hand to your aching temple, resisting the urge to argue his declaration of having even more than one struggling fucking brain cell.
“Five dollars.” You seethe and Jungkook only challenges your stare for a moment before he’s reaching in his back pocket for his wallet, shoving a bill in. You cock a brow at him. He curses you before putting in another dollar.
“What’s going on over here?”
It’s a natural response, almost second nature by now, the goosebumps, the heat in the pit of your belly, the chill at the base of your spine. You should be a little more put out over the response Jimin evokes, even after all this time but you couldn’t force yourself to care. Instead you sigh.
“Jimin, this is Jungkook. You two have met before. He’s going to be filling in for Hoseok from here on out.” You explain and brace yourself because Jimin is a lot of things. Complacent isn’t one of them. He doesn’t settle for anything short of perfect and one look at Jungkook has him straightening his shoulders and eyeing you like he’s about to throw you out a window.
“Who says?” Jimin challenges and it’s your turn to cock a brow at him, hands planted firmly on your hips.
“Me, the captain.” You shoot back.
“Did he even audition?” Jimin retorts and you roll your eyes at him.
“Audition for what? It isn’t exactly like we have troves of fucking college kids lined up to fill the spot.” You argue.
“You’re cut.” Jimin says, ignoring you and sneering down his nose at Jungkook.
And Jungkook, for all his complaints and the bitch fit he put up the entire way you had dragged him to the field, didn’t take well to being told what to do. Especially by assholes. Correction, especially by assholes in a matching fucking tracksuit.
“Weird. My girlfriend, the captain,” cue audible gasp from over dramatic cheerleaders, “says otherwise.”
You press a hand to your forehead with a visible shudder because where did this guy find his material? So corny.
“Your girlfriend?” Jimin laughs, and turns his head to peer over at the bleachers before raising a brow at you. You squirm under his intense scrutiny, “So you’re dating the kid?”
“I mean… we’re not not dating.” You mutter and yelp when Jungkook pinches your side.
“What does that even mean?” Jimin implores.
“Like, we’re not like boyfriend and girlfriend it’s just like sometimes he waits for me outside my class and we go to see the newest movies and stuff together and maybe he’ll buy me like lunch on the way and like I don’t know kiss me or hold my hand but not like in a boyfriend way, he’s not my boyfriend.” You rush out and when you glance back up the two boys are staring at you incredulously.
“What exactly is your definition of boyfriend—anal? That sounds like maybe the only thing you haven’t done with him.” Jimin rolls his eyes at you when you slap his chest. He could at least act like it hurt.
“So anyway, let’s start practice!” You clear your throat, pushing past both of them and towards the middle of the field, “Pair up and get started on your stretches!”
Jimin and Jungkook glare at each other even after everyone begins stretching, speeding up your already impending headache.
“I don’t like you.” Jimin comments mildly.
Jungkook snorts at that.
“I’m quivering. Your tracksuit really evokes a sense of fear in a guy.” He rolls his eyes before sneering, “You look like Vector from Despicable Me.”
“Okay, that’s enough. I’ve had it with you two and your dick measuring contest.” You hiss, getting in between either of them and crossing your arms over your chest.
“Bet I’d win.” Jungkook sniffs, “Everytime.”
“Yeah?” Jimin tongues at the inside of his cheek, the way he sizes Jungkook up makes the younger boy squirm, “Wanna find out after this?”
Jungkook opens his mouth to argue before closing it again—he does this a few more times before squinting his eyes and cocking his head to the side at the older boy. “That got really gay, really fast.”
Jungkook turns to look at you, pointing a finger at Jimin before, “Is he—”
“Jar, Jungkook.” You exasperate.
“I didn’t even say anything!”
“You didn’t have to.” You hiss.
“Fine, homoerotic, is that the politically correct term?” He sighs and you clench your hands at your sides in an attempt to not strangle him.
Not in front of witness.
“Stop talking.” You put a finger up to silence him and then turn your attention to Jimin, “Let’s start practice, yeah? We can be mature about this?”
“Matures my middle name.” Jimin seethes.
As it is, mature is not Jimin’s fucking middle name, it wasn’t even his stripper name because between the jabs he had been making at Jungkook’s inability to pick up on the workouts as quickly, or the way he would send the younger boy a pointed look whenever he wasn’t as flexible as the other guys on the team you were about five minutes from strangling him.
“Why can’t I be her partner?” Jungkook argues at one point when Jimin immediately grabs your arm for stretches.
“Because you’ll fuck around and throw her back out and then I’ll kill you.” Jimin says politely before yanking you closer to him. His movement is only slightly halted when Jungkook reaches out to grab your other arm and your glancing between the two of them wildly.
“It’s not fucking rocket science I’m sure she can tell me what to do.” Jungkook scoffs, tugging on your arm.
“I’ve been her partner for three fucking years, if you want to look up someone’s skirt do it on your free time or pair up with one of the other freshman on the team, you’re wasting my time.” Jimin grits out.
“Why can’t you pair up with one of the freshman on the team, if you’re so experienced doesn’t it make sense if noona helps me instead of you? I also need some experienced help.” Jungkook enunciates.
“Fine.” Jimin says, letting go of your arm and making you stumble, he cocks a brow at Jungkook, jaw clenched, “get on your back and spread your legs I’m your new partner.”
You and Jungkook stare at each other for a beat before turning to openly gawk at Jimin, who was sporting an expression that told you he was bored with the entire conversation and had been tired of Jungkook five minutes ago.
“Take your pick,” Jimin shrugs, “it’s either one of the freshman or me. Personally, I can stretch you out real good—”
“Okay stop.” You say finally, pressing a hand to either boys chest, you level Jimin with an exasperated expression, one that he pointedly ignores before turning to Jungkook, “I’m going to partner with him today, Jungkook, the other girls are really helpful and if you have any questions you can ask me but I don’t think it’s a good idea to try and deviate from routine. Me and Jimin have been working together for a lot longer and it’ll take both of us to be able to incorporate you into the flow of things. It’s just easier this way.”
Jimin shoots the younger boy a smug look, one you want to smack off his face because despite the rush of butterflies Jimin’s current possessive nature was giving you, you knew it was only because he didn’t want Jungkook around. He didn’t want you injured because you were just a stepping stone towards his real goal which was essentially regionals. It sucked and was kind of dick-ish but you knew this about Jimin from the get go, he had never pretended otherwise or came to you under false pretenses. Jimin had a very one-tracked mind and it was currently stuck on the aforementioned competition your team faced.
“Stop it.” You sigh and Jimin raises a brow at you, “You know what you’re doing. You’re egging him on an—unf.”
You wither him with a glare when he positions you to get a better seat between your legs. “You were saying?”
You were really beginning to hate stretching. Especially with Jimin.
“You’re little games not cute and it’s making things difficult for m—shit.” You curse when he presses back on your leg until one knee was pressed against your shoulder.
“Should we work on your flexibility next?” Jimin asks and he’s obnoxiously close to you, his cool breath fanning over your face, but your focus was on his lips. Your throat goes dry when he licks them, his voice lowering an octave, “Or should we do that later? When we’re alone?”
His questions hits you like a punch to the gut and you’re suddenly choking because that almost sounded flirtatious but when you glance up to try and get a read on Jimin’s expression, he’s impassive, unfazed by his double entendre.
“W-What?” You stammer, shoving at his chest until the pressure on your leg gives. Jimin blinks at you curiously.
“We might not have enough time, we could do it at the apartment?” He offers innocently, only Jimin was about as innocent as Satan and you didn’t buy his raised eyebrows and saucer eyes.
A sigh leaves your lips as yourself down on the grass. Tired. So tired.
“Since this discussion has long since been put off,” you sigh before plopping yourself down on an available seat of grass, “I’m opening the floor. I hear that you all want new uniforms so Jimin and I have decided that we—”
“Not me,” Jimin corrects, “just her. If it were up to me you’d all be wearing trash bags to better suit your shitty performance.”
“Jimin and I,” you begin again, “have decided to take suggestions and if you guys are really dead set on this then we can work on fundraising too.”
“The current uniforms are fine, the only ones who want to change it are the freshman!” Kihyun calls from the back, garnering more than a few glares and making Jimin snicker.
“They are not fine. They’re gray.” Eunha chimes in, “Like prison cells. Gray is why prisoners are unhappy.”
“Really? I always thought it was the loss of freedom and free manual labor,” Jimin snorts, ignoring when you slap his chest.
“I think new uniforms would be a good look.” Jungkook says, leaning back to inspect the back of your thighs, “I say we take the hem up an inch… or five.”
“Ten dollars.” You say without blinking and Jungkook sulks.
“What about black uniforms? It’s a flattering color! And we could go with gray for an accent so we don’t stray too far from school colors.”
“That's…” You begin hesitantly, “not a bad idea, actually.”
“Oh! Long sleeve tops! I’ve been looking them up online and they look so much more… Professional? A lot of the top schools are going for long sleeve instead of sleeveless.” Eunha offers.
“Maybe if you all started practicing like a top school, we’ll consider it.” Jimin scoffs and groans echo through out the huddle.
“Draw up a design. Get it approved by us and coach and while you’re at it, start thinking of fundraising ideas to pitch.” You say, rising to your feet and dusting the grass from your bottom, “If it’s good and everything works out maybe we’ll be able to get new uniforms before regionals.”
“Practice is over. Go home and stretch, hydrate and ice if you need to assholes, I’m tired of you coming to me with injuries that could have been avoided.” Jimin seethes and you roll your eyes because you think, for a moment, beneath all the bravado he actually gives a shit about the kids.
It isn’t until you’re hitching your gym bag up your shoulder and swapping your tennis shoes out for slippers that you feel Jungkook’s weight being pressed onto your shoulders.
“Can I help you?” You sigh, shaking off his grip and making him whine.
“What the hell was that?” He glowers, gesturing towards the field and when you stare at him blankly he elaborates, “That practice was worst than literally any training I’ve done for basketball—off season included.”
“Welcome to cheerleading, bitch.” You say, slapping him on the shoulder. You turn to leave, and press fingers to your closed eyes when your movement is halted by his grip on your wrist. “What?”
“Can you… you know… help with that thing you offered earlier?” He coughs, rubbing the back of his neck and you eye him incredulously.
“What? No! No! I meant… the routines. It’s just… that… you know Jimin doesn’t like me too much and the stuff we were going over earlier was complicated but I can’t ask him and I don’t want to look like an idiot I just,” Jungkook sighs and it takes every bit of self control not to snap at him, even going as far as to remind yourself that he was doing you a favor. Even if it was only out of debt. He was trying to help.
Which is why you throw your bag down with an exasperated sigh and slip your shoes back on, “Let’s practice a bit then.”
Somewhere down the line you had just assumed, no, hoped that either of the boys would get used to each other. At least enough to be civil. You didn’t need them to be glued at the foreskin but you did need them to not give you a migraine whenever you were forced to be in the same room as them.
“This is shared space. That means no boyfriends after eleven o’clock,” Jimin hissed after one entire evening of Jungkook lounging on your couch, eating a bag of Cheetohs and getting crumbs everywhere. “So get whatever breed of cockroach this is, out of my living room.”
“He’s not my—”
Jungkook cuts you off with a withering glare, pausing the newest episode of Bones to speak around a mouthful of chips, “Noona, can we go over the routine again this weekend? I think I’m starting to forget. I wouldn’t want to choke on competition day. That would suck.”
His threat was so apparent that Jimin’s lips thin, making a move towards the younger boy, if it weren’t for your grip on his upper arm. “Jeon Jungkook, do you wan—”
“Let’s go to my room.” You interrupt, tugging the younger boy up by the wrist and dragging him the rest of the way.
“What was that for?” Jungkook grumbles, rubbing at his wrist as though it hurt, as if he wasn’t a whole foot taller and a person heavier than you.
“Stop pissing off my roommate.” You demand, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Oh come on! I’m not even doing anything.” Jungkook glares, “It’s not my fault he has a hard on for you!”
“Trust me when I say he doesn’t,” you snort and glare when Jungkook leans back against your headboard, completely ignoring you, “Besides, all of this was not apart of our deal. Get out of my house.”
“He totally does,” Jungkook argues, disregarding your earlier statement and making himself comfortable under your throw, “I mean, I know girls have a hard time admitting they’re wrong but trust me, you’re wrong about this one. A guy doesn’t get pissed like that unless you’re fucking with a girl he’s into.”
“A normal guy doesn’t,” you correct, “Jimin likes his space. You are intruding on that, in more than one sense.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, but I’m telling you I’m 100% right.” Jungkook shrugs, reaching over
“He’s wrong.” Nayeon sighs, head rested on her palm as you occupy the seat across from her. Cutting into important study time, again. “Well, not entirely wrong.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You crinkle your nose at her and she rolls her eyes.
“He has a hard on for someone, it’s just not you.” Nayeon whispers and your eyes widen.
“No!” You gasp.
“Yes!” she says, slamming her hands down on the table, and wincing when people several tables over turn to gawk. “I mean think about it. You said Jimins gay right? And that he shows no emotion save for mild disinterest where you’re concerned but suddenly Jeon Jungkook comes along and he’s irritable, territorial, emotional? Jimin is one of those guys, you know?”
“I don’t.” You shake your head, but all your attention is focused on her, you’re hanging on her every word.
“He doesn’t know how to properly express his emotions so he’s lashing out.” she explains slowly.
And it’s like everything suddenly makes sense in the universe, all the pieces click together and your heart feels as though a fat man has just situated himself on your chest. Because, did Jimin really like Jungkook? Were you really going to be forced to sit back and watch him pine for another man, again? Then there was the more jealous part of you, the ugly emotions that lurked beneath the surface that you weren’t ready to address. Thoughts like, do you lie to him? You hadn’t intended on keeping the entire Jungkook thing a secret because if you were being honest with yourself you thought Jimin might try to throw him off the nearest balcony if he knew you weren’t actually dating him. But the more you thought about it the more you wanted to keep it to yourself and it wasn’t exactly lying, was it?
“You’re making the face.” Nayeon sighs.
“What face?” You frown.
“The one you make when you’re having a heated, internal monologue over your skewed moral compass.” She explains.
“I was not…” you lie before plopping your head down in defeat.
You totally were, but Nayeon is polite enough not to call you out on it.
If you had to rank your to do list for the day, telling Jimin that you weren’t actually dating Jungkook so that your roommate who you had been openly pining for for the last three years could swoop in was ranked at the bottom. Right above dying and going to another party with Hoseok’s weird friends. Though if you were being honest with yourself, you’d take death happily at this point, it sounded a whole hell of a lot less painful. Especially when just trying to squeeze yourself into Jimin’s schedule was a pain in the ass.
If he wasn’t on campus, juggling seven classes to complete school on time he was at cheer practice, which wasn’t a prime place to tell him because Jungkook—and if he wasn’t at cheer practice he was at the gym, or asleep and you’d try waking Jimin up exactly once in your entire time knowing him and it was one too many. The guy wasn’t exactly a morning person.
So the gym it was.
“I’m surprised you actually wanted to come.” Jimin muses, fixing your posture before switching out your kettlebell for a heavier one. You try not to glare.
“I figure,” you grunt when he lets go, leaving you to manage the ten pound weight on your own, a small feat when you’ve already been there for thirty minutes and your arms felt like jelly, “you were right. I wouldn’t be a good captain if I started neglecting myself.”
“Hmm..” He hums, and pressed a hand to your exposed belly, “suck this in.”
“So I was thinking,” you pant and Jimin quirks a brow at you.
“A scary prospect.” He murmurs.
“I was thinking,” you begin again, before dropping the weight completely and turning to face him, “about me and Jungkook…. and me and you.”
“Did I say you could stop?” He implores and you roll your eyes at him before switching arms, “What do you and Jungkook have to do with you and me?”
“You’re my roommate.” You grunt, heaving up with all your might. “And you hate him.”
“You’re not wrong about either of those things,” he agrees, “but I’d like to reiterate my first question of what do either of those things have to do with each other?”
“I just…” You try to get the words out but your muscles are on fire and your chest is tight, so instead you throw the weight down with a grunt before turning to him, “Do you like Jungkook?”
“What?” He blinks at you. “You just said yourself I hated him.”
“Yes, okay I know but you know sometimes you say one thing and you mean another.” You shrug.
Jimins expression remains bland, emotionless.
“You’re asking me if I have… feelings for your boyfriend, correct? That’s what we’re getting at here?” Jimin asks bluntly and you shrink under his intense scrutiny.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” you say quietly.
A long silence follows your statement, in which Jimin stares at you, just stares and you cow under his gaze because well, it’s Jimin and he’s pretty fucking intimidating. You look anywhere but at him, the airconditioner, the weights, the treadmill, all while still able to feel him boring holes into the side of your head and you wonder maybe, if you had over stepped. If you had spoken too soon because granted you and Jimin were pretty close but clearly not close enough because to this day he still never really talked about the whole liking boys things or even relationships in general. It made you wonder just how many people Jimin had dated, if he had asked them out, if he was softer, sweeter or—
“You’re really dense you know that?” Jimin shakes his head at you before walking over to the weights, leaving you there slack jawed and a little bit annoyed.
“Hey! Wait up!” You call after him, but he doesn’t, unsurprisingly. “I didn’t mean it like that I was only asking because I wanted to tell you that—”
“Did you watch that new clown movie?” Jimin asks suddenly and he nearly gives you whiplash with how quick he’s jumping topics. You open your mouth to argue, to tell him you were only asking so you could tell him you and Jungkook weren’t really dating but the glint in his eye tells you not to tread there. He’s done talking about it, and by effect so are you.
“No I haven’t.” You sigh, your body slumping in defeat.
“Good,” he grunts, pulling down on the weights before turning his attention to you. And you applaud yourself because you don’t keel over at the sight of a sweaty, sleeveless Park Jimin doing reps on the pull down machine, veins bulging and muscles flexed. He sends you a look that tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking and makes your back straighten indignantly. “Did you hear what I just said?”
“The clown movie.” You repeat proudly, only for Jimin to roll over and flick your forehead.
“Yes genius, but after that,” he sends you a grin, one you’re not used to seeing. He’s teasing you, but it doesn’t annoy you quite as much as usual, “I said let’s go see it. I figure you owe me after that insult you pulled.”
“Wh—” Your mouth opens and the closes before pointing a finger in his direction, “I didn’t mean it like that, if you would just let me explain—”
“Well I took it that way, you’re the only one stupid enough to date that overgrown toddler. And besides, it’s a simple question. Yes or no?” He frowns and you sigh.
“I mean… I don’t really have anything else to do this weekend so..”
“Good to know I’m a last resort.” He snorts and you hide a flush because if only he knew.
And really, if you looked at the entire thing, your situation with Jimin in retrospect it was truly all your fault. Because no matter how much you claim to have both your feelings and heart in check there is no such thing as control when it comes to love. And so you get your hopes, let yourself hope for a moment, with Jungkook’s earlier words replaying like a soft lull. When really you should’ve taken the idiots advice with a grain of salt. Or just not at all.