Kim Taehyung is the epitome of extraterrestrial insight wedged into the body of a sixteen-year-old male, and Jimin is quite perplexed to call such a creature his friend. But unlike others, the guy hasn’t disappointed him yet.

                Like that time in Ed last year, Taehyung offered to put a on the wooden instead so Jimin didn’t have to suffer the homophobic slurs of the other boys in class. When he found Jimin crying in his closet during middle school, he showed him lesbian for three straight hours so he and his wee-wee would be happy. In third grade, it was picture day when a lock of Jimin’s hair stuck out like an so Taehyung patted it down with saliva; his ‘drool gel’ lasted all the way through recess.

                They’re definitely not in third grade anymore, and they both agree that entering their second year of high school is something surreal. Taehyung says that despite that, they should totally have celebratory jalapeño pepper chicken like they do every year. Jimin is not at all excited for his yearly case of explosive diarrhea, but reluctantly obliges.

                Their chicken date is something they get to after taking student photos, and unlike other guys they don’t have to scream ‘no homo’ at the top of their lungs. They’re friends, probably the best, although Taehyung doesn’t like such a generic label and prefers ‘super-duper-best-buddies-for-life-and-jajangmyeon’. Jimin is fine with calling him his best friend.

                Jimin doesn’t have a concrete idea of what best friends are supposed to do, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t involve making ridiculous faces behind the cameraman while he’s posing for a photo. That’s pretty much what Taehyung is doing right now; the camera guy is oblivious to the fact that his friend is sporting meme worthy content a foot from his back and Jimin can’t help but laugh.

                Before he realizes it, the lights flash and his student card goes to print. Jimin suddenly feels very self-conscious because his eyes get really small and tend to disappear into his wretched baby fat when he smiles. He was planning on posing with a stoic face where his eyes are actually open, but now his dream of being an aloof protagonist is ruined. Thanks again, Kim Taehyung.

                He picks up his card a minute later, noticing the photo doesn’t look half as bad as he thought it’d be. His teeth are pearly white, black hair is tidy and his eyes, amazingly, are slightly open. But a closer glance reveals that he wasn’t looking at the camera lens, but rather off to the side where Taehyung would’ve been, goofing off.

                “,” he cusses.

                His friend slides to his side, peering at the card in his hand. “What? What’s wrong with it? You look fine, man!” Taehyung grins, wringing an arm around his small shoulders. “And by fine, I mean fine.”

                Jimin winces as they slip past the rest of the students waiting to take pictures. “Gross. I mean, you distracted me and I didn’t look at the camera. I look dumb.”

                “Oh be quiet,” Taehyung snaps while pulling out his own card. An equally smiley boy with blatant orange hair braces the plastic rectangle. “At least your left eye wasn’t twitchy as . I look like I have epilepsy or something.”

                Jimin snorts. “You look alright.”

                “Well so do you,” says the other boy. “The photos are forever, Park Jimin. These cards last a lifetime and they go into the Yearbook and if you get run over by a sixteen-wheeler, this is the photo they use in the papers.”

                “… Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

                “Nope, but pepper chicken will! Let’s go eat!” Taehyung starts dragging him out of the school, feet stamping with excitement.

                Jimin grips onto his friend’s elbow and tugs him in the opposite direction, where a row of tables are lined up along the main hall. Their schoolmates gather in rowdy crowds as they’re handed sheets of paper by members of the student council (who are distinguished by pretentious gold badges pinned to their shirts). “Wait,” he cries, “we still have to pick up our schedules!”

                “You’re such a nerd,” Taehyung remarks before they split up and find their respective lines. Jimin vaguely stands behind the table for surnames starting with ‘P,’ waiting until he can mumble his name to the girl handing schedules out (Saeun? Naeun?).

                It takes a while because the student in front of him is confused as to why there’s no recess (which just screams noob, probably a freshman). His eyes trail away, running over the heads of his peers and the orange mop that is Taehyung several metres over.  He can recognize some kids in his grade, versus others who look impossibly young to be in high school, or should’ve graduated a decade ago.

                He can’t put a name to some of them because his own is being shouted into his ears. “Jimin! Hey, you okay?”

                The girl is holding out his schedule for him, and Jimin mutters incoherent words before settling with ‘thanks’ and taking the sheet. Like a magnet, Taehyung is at his side again. “What classes?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.

                Jimin reads his schedule. “Functions, English, dance—”

                “I mean,” Taehyung speaks impatiently. “What do we have together?” He holds up his own sheet for reference.

                “Oh. Um, lunch. I guess.”

                His friend is aghast. “WHAT?! THAT’S IT?!” He turns to the girl behind the table and clasps his hands together. “PLEASE REORGANIZE OUR SCHEDULES, NANA!”

                “The student council doesn’t make the schedules, counselling does,” she replies. “And you, it’s Naeun, you jackass.”

                “Tae, it’s not like it’s going to be any different even if we don’t have the same classes…” Jimin pats his back, though his face is flush from second-hand embarrassment—but what else is new? “Eating together every day is just fine, don’t you think?”

                Taehyung looks at him, lips jutted in a ridiculous frown. “But…”

                “Come on, Tae. Let’s get some chicken.”

                “Yeah, come on Tae,” Naeun repeats. “You’re clogging up the line. Get out.”

--

                The dynamics of the photo app Instagram is still fairly new to Jimin, generally because he doesn’t use his phone as much as the standard teenager does. In fact, the first app he had the pleasure of experiencing was Flappy Bird—a popular recommendation by Kim Taehyung—and well, he’s never really used it much since.

                On the contrary, Taehyung’s an avid user of Instagram. He claims to be a professional while snapping photos of Jimin with barbecue sauce on his nose and filters five of the shots with Mayfair.

                “Stop,” the latter whines, covering his grease-speckled face. “Why are you taking pictures of me eating?”

                “Because my followers demand more of Park Jimin,” Taehyung replies with a grin. “C’mon, let the internet see your pretty face. Rabbit shoes, man.”

                “Seriously!”

                “Fine, fine.” He puts down his phone and starts digging into their boxes of steaming chicken. “I’m not joking about the Jimin demand though. Your photos get more likes than my dubsmashes.”

                There are only a few others in the restaurant, most taking to being outdoors and relishing the last couple days of summer before school starts. Not that they really cared; the two friends went on a camping trip in July and after a certain bear incident, they vowed to never step outside again. Consequently, they spent the rest of August playing heartfelt rounds of Street Fighter.

                “You know,” Taehyung starts with a mouthful of hot chicken. “You really should have more confidence in yourself.”

                Jimin looks down at the table. “I try.”

                “Yeah, and you tried to join the dance team last year. You didn’t even show up to auditions...” His friend hits the side of his leg with a foot. “… even though you love dancing. I know it’s hard, but try to put yourself out there. Join the team this year.”

                “… I’ll think about it,” he says. Jimin is desperate to change the topic and adds, “What are you going to join this year?”

                Taehyung hums, dabbing at his face with a tissue. “I’m going to join band again.”

                “But you hate band. You hate music in general, so why are you still taking it?”

                “Because my mom has this lame vision that I’m some sort of sax prodigy and won’t feed me unless I’m in band,” he groans. “Like I’m not even that good at the sax, she could’ve let me play something I want to play.”

                Jimin takes a moment before responding. “You should do something you want to do.”

                “Tell you what. I’ll cut you a deal.” Taehyung poses both elbows on the table. “I’ll quit band and join some other club if you try out for dance team.”

                “Dude—!” He tries to protest, but the orange-topped boy glances at his phone.

                “SHOULD YOU DENY THIS REQUEST,” he starts shouting. “THEN YOU SHALL BE DEEMED A CHICKEN ON THE INTERWEBS, WHERE PHOTOS OF YOU EATING CHICKEN CIRCULATE DAILY! IT MIGHT EVEN GO VIRAL!”

                Jimin squeaks. That was pretty much the ultimatum. “… O-Okay, okay! Fine!”

                Taehyung smirks and sticks out a finger. “Do you pinky swear?”

                “… Pinky swear.”

                Their oily fingers find each other and interlock, their promise sealed tightly by means of barbecue sauce.

happy November 1st!