Jimin flares his nostrils when he walks into his bathroom and finds Taehyung standing in front of the mirror, playing with his stomach fat. “… The are you doing?” he says, stepping through the cramped space to get to the toilet.

                “Don’t you think I’m out of shape?” Taehyung asks honestly. He turns to observe his figure and frowns. “I think I put on an entire kilogram after Christmas.”

                Jimin s his pants, kicks up the toilet seat, and relieves himself. For a moment, the sound of his piss hitting the water echoes off the tiled walls. “… A kilogram is only like, two pounds, you know…” he mutters.

                “Still, I look chubbier.” His friend looks at his stomach and compares it with his. “Does all that dancing keep your abs in check? Is it still a six-pack?”

                “It was never a six-pack,” Jimin argues, shaking it off once he stops peeing. “… Okay, maybe like a two, four-pack, maybe. But yeah, I exercise to keep up with dance. I don’t know about you, Tae.”

                “What are you saying? You callin’ me fat?”

                “What—?”

                “ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT, BRO?!”

                “DON’T FIGHT ME RIGHT NOW! I NEED TO PULL MY PANTS BACK UP!”

                Taehyung looks back at the mirror and pokes his soft abdomen. “I should work out. Join a team or something.”

                Jimin pulls his zipper up. After giving the toilet a good flush, he takes a look at the guy’s stomach for himself.”I think you’re good. You’re healthy, and it’s not like you do anything that requires muscle either.”

                “Excuse—!”

                “Gaming doesn’t count.” He gently moves him aside to use the sink. “I’d rather have you like that than—than swole.”

                Taehyung pats his . “Okay, but can I do it for my esteem? I don’t wanna be beefy obviously, but at least then I can say I work out instead of lazing around all day.”

                “Well yeah, if you put it like that…” Jimin wipes his hands on the back of his jeans. “What were you thinking of doing? Basketball?”

                “Nah, I’m too short.”

                “What about soccer?”

                “I don’t have a lot of stamina.”

                “Tennis?”

                “No arm muscle.”

                Jimin stares at him in distaste. “… Then what?”

                The orange-haired boy hums. “Something that isn’t too demanding, is open to people of all body types, and doesn’t have a lot of running.”

                “There is no sport like that.”

                He shrugs. “Now that I think about it, I’m already occupied with band, so realistically joining a team is a lot of work already. Flabby is here to stay!” He smacks his stomach one more time and walks out, singing the chorus of ‘It’s Raining Men’.

                Jimin opens the medicine cabinet to look for headache pills.