Chapter Text
Yoongi pulls up to the music hall, and shoots Jimin a text. The event was supposed to be over a while ago, and Yoongi sees well-dressed people moseying around outside, but fifteen minutes later, Jimin hasn’t answered him.
Yoongi’s not worried, but he figures he may as well go inside and see what the hold up is. He gets a few looks, as he’s dressed in jeans and a big, puffy winter coat, but he’s not bothered. He just wants to collect his boyfriend and go home so they can start dinner.
The food tables are being disassembled in the lobby, and Yoongi sees Mrs. Kim, Jimin’s portly and kind boss-slash-mentor, folding up tablecloths, but no Jimin in sight.
He approaches her anyways, and when she sees him, a friendly grin spreads across her face.
“Oh, Yoongi, dear,” she says, “You’re too late! The concert’s over, and I think most of our treats got eaten. We have some leftovers-”
“Oh, Mrs. Kim, that’s okay, thank you,” Yoongi says, waving his hands. She always tries to push food on Yoongi, complaining that he’s just so thin when he refuses. “I’m just here to pick up Jimin. I was at a shift anyways,” he continues.
“Ah, he’s in the kitchen,” she says, gesturing to a door that says ‘Staff Only’, “He’s packing up what we have leftover.”
“Okay, I’ll just wait out here for him, then.”
“Oh, pfft,” she waves a hand dismissively, “The lunch caterers are gone already. He’s the only one back there, just go ahead.”
Yoongi chuckles. “Alright, Mrs. Kim, thanks.”
She looks back down to continue folding table clothes, waving as he walks away, “Yes, yes, good to see you, dear, as always.”
Yoongi pushes open the door, leading into a big industrial-looking kitchen with white walls, floors and ceilings, with stainless steel appliances.
Jimin’s tying up boxes, and munching on a decadent looking cupcake. His head is down, and the puff of his double chin is out in full force.
When he hears Yoongi enter, his head pops up and he smiles. “Oh, hyung! You’re here already?”
Yoongi smiles back, “It’s past 4, Jiminie.”
Jimin gapes, “Oh no! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were taking so long to clean up.” He shoves the last of the cupcake into his mouth, like that would somehow help him hurry, as he ties the boxes up with more haste.
“It’s fine, Jiminie,” Yoongi says. Actually, this feels kind of neat - seeing Jimin in his element like this, catering a gig - it’s cool.
And suddenly he feels swollen with pride. Jimin’s dressed nicer than he usually is at the patisserie - underneath his apron, he’s in a white button up and black slacks, same as Mrs. Kim had been wearing - he realizes all at once that Jimin’s done it. He’s really living his dream.
He walks over to Jimin as he’s tying up the last box. Jimin looks up at him curiously, probably sensing the change in mood.
“I’m so proud of you, Jimin,” Yoongi says thickly.
And Jimin beams. “Oh, hyung,” he says, moving to wrap Yoongi into a hug. “I’m kind of proud of me, too,” he says against Yoongi’s shoulder.
“You should be,” Yoongi firmly says as they part, “Park Jimin, professional baker.”
Jimin’s still smiling, looking supremely pleased, as he stacks the boxes. He slips off his apron, mussed with flour and frosting, putting it into a basket. When he turns around again. Yoongi’s eyes drift to his tummy.
Jimin’s put on a bit more weight recently, as Mrs. Kim has no qualms with allowing Jimin to munch as he works. He’s finally embracing it, knowing he’s not going to lose it anytime soon, even if he still squirms and blushes about it sometimes.
But, Yoongi really can’t help but notice-
“You’ve got a button undone, there,” he says, grinning.
Jimin’s chubby, dimpled hand comes down to palm at his belly. “Oh,” he says, soft, shy, as he feels where the button right below his belly button has removed itself from the hole, displaying the undershirt beneath.
“Button-ups just aren’t made for people with big tummies,” Jimin says resolutely, but blushing up to his ears, sucking his tummy in and reaching down for the button. Yoongi can almost see his belt buckle as the swell of lower belly recedes just a little, and Jimin gets the button through the hole again. He exhales, gingerly, but as soon as his belly rounds back out to it’s true proportions, the button slips out again.
Yoongi grins, raising an eyebrow. “I think some probably are,” he says. This shirt obviously just doesn’t fit anymore. Jimin purchased a few spare pairs of nice shirts and pants, to backup the outfit Yoongi had hurriedly purchased for him on the day of his first interview. But it would appear that it’s taken about five months to have outgrown his clothes, again.
Yoongi steps closer, placing a hand over the stubborn button (or rather, over the stubborn belly) and rubbing a few gentle circles, giving Jimin’s round cheeks a kiss.
Jimin chews his lip. “It’s just - a little too small on me, I think,” he murmurs, watching Yoongi shyly.
“We’ll get you new gig clothes, then,” Yoongi says easily.
Jimin’s cheeks are still pink but he smiles and nods. “I, um. I may have not been able to get that button to cooperate this morning, either.”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow, “But you still wore it?”
“Well - I figured no one would be able to tell under my apron. I forgot about it until now.”
Yoongi snickers, giving Jimin’s fat, doughy side a good squeeze. Jimin squeaks and squirms away, giggling.
Jimin slips on his (new) winter coat and stacks the boxes of leftovers, asking Yoongi to help carry them out. They then help Mrs. Kim get them back in her car, as she’s headed back to the patisserie anyways, and Yoongi and Jimin head home.
They start cooking dinner together, and Yoongi gets the impression that something’s up. Jimin seems a little distracted, and after a while Yoongi finally asks him what’s on his mind.
Jimin makes a sound that’s half sigh, half whine.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he says, and Yoongi goes cold all over. Those sorts of sentences don’t usually mean anything good?
Yoongi stops chopping vegetables and gives Jimin his full attention. “Er, alright,” he says, trying to not seem as anxious as he now is.
Jimin’s changed out of his work clothes and now stands in comfy sweats, looking cozy, chunky, and a twinge nervous himself. His belly is just barely poking out of the bottom of his sweatshirt, which would normally be very distracting. But, he’s wringing his hands and Yoongi’s starting to feel nauseous.
“Jimin,” Yoongi says, hearing the tenseness in his own voice when Jimin doesn’t immediately start talking, “What’s wrong?”
Jimin waves his hands around, “No, no, nothing’s wrong, I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. About you.”
That doesn’t help at all. Yoongi’s frozen, desperately waiting for Jimin to continue.
Jimin seems to realize that he’s making a bit of a mess of this, and he waves his hands around again, saying, “Ugh, okay, sorry, just - let me start over, just hear me out.”
Jimin exhales sharply and starts over, “I think you should apply for that performing arts college, and drop your business degree.”
Oh. Yoongi had been expecting the worst, and feels himself relax a bit. But not completely, because that performing arts college is SOPA, which is both selective and notably expensive.
He shakes his head and immediately says, “It’s too expensive, Jimin. I can’t afford that.”
Jimin all but stomps his foot, making a noise of complaint and looking stubborn, “I said hear me out, hyung.” He walks over to his bedside table, opening the drawer and taking out a piece of paper that he shows to Yoongi. It reads “budget” at the top.
“I will admit that I may have had some help in working this up,” Jimin says loftily, “But with what I make now, hyung, it’s totally doable. Things might be a little tight, but we can definitely make it work. And if you, for whatever reason, want to revisit your business degree later, it’s not like your credits will go anywhere.”
Yoongi’s throat feels tight as he looks at the paper, “I can’t - I can’t ask you for this, Jimin. It’s too much. You make a lot more than me right now, you’d basically be paying for my whole degree.”
“Whatever,” Jimin says easily, irreverently, “And you’re not asking. I’m telling you, I want to do this. Please let me do this for you.”
Yoongi’s speechless. He stares at the paper, at the numbers, and how they work out. And it’s not even as tight as he would’ve imagined, but still - there’s lingering guilt.
“Please,” Jimin says again when Yoongi can’t make words, “I can’t watch you be miserable getting a stupid degree you don’t care about anymore. You’ve supported me so much through my career, hyung, and I can’t think of a better use of our money.”
There’s subtle emphasis on the word “our” and Yoongi’s eyes are misty. He takes a shaky breath.
“Namjoon helped you with this, didn’t he?”
Jimin huffs, “You know I’m...not very good with numbers.”
Yoongi lets out a watery, shaky laugh.
“I might not get accepted, you know.”
Jimin steps closer. He grins, knowing he’s got Yoongi. He wraps his arms around him, placing a hand on Yoongi’s cheek, and Yoongi finally feels a treacherous tear trickle down his cheek.
“You will,” Jimin says.