“You should eat something, Jiminnie,” said Tae through his chipmunk cheeks. He was munching on something that smelled delicious, like sin.

He didn’t smile back at his friend, only shook his head. Refusing all the unhealthy fat food was what his fans wanted from him after all. He would know.

Looking down at his hands which were once again covered by an oversized sweater, he kept thinking of his next few days’ menu which consisted of close to nothing but tea and some veggies. His managers only wanted the best for the band. Of course. Having to sacrifice his healthy eating habits wasn’t that hard – he would do anything to give something back to his ARMY, his loyal beautiful fans.

He couldn’t afford another wave of their disappointment – he wouldn’t survive that. Who cared if he lost all the respect for his own self? What an easy answer. This was what it meant to be an idol after all – losing everything you love about yourself so that other people could love the idea of you they wanted to be real.

Once all the comments started coming in, asking him to lose weight, telling his managers that he was much more loveable when he was their skinny little mochi hadn’t been so bad at first. But when they literally began movement to kick Hobi out of Bangtan, he realized one thing. Their fans had made them. These cruel people capable of doing something so hurtful to his hyung were the ones who had the power over their futures. Having seen first-hand how much it could affect a person to see something like that; he decided to just become who they wanted him to be. 

Who cared if they liked him looking even more feminine than Yoongi? He was the shortest after all. He did have the ‘cutest face’ as their fans loved to say it. His voice was, indeed the highest.

Surprisingly enough, going on a strict diet combined with the lessons of contemporary dance (yet another wish of ARMY) and all the training, preparations for another comeback and from that induced stress, it had been terrifyingly easy to become skinny.

Fans loved their Blood Sweat & Tears looks, mostly his. Everyone gave him so much praise for his looks it was unreal.

Maybe even funny, considering the fact that the more he hated the way he looked; the way his bones showed, the way his skin was becoming so pale, the more compliments on it he received.

The less he ate, the less energy his speeches had. The more streams he did – to see how much his fans liked him. He needed some kind of praise. Members of BTS were guys, no matter how artistic they were and the praises from them weren’t enough. He felt like he was caught in the lie that had been forced on him. Because receiving compliments from the members was humiliating. They didn’t say he looked handsome; that wasn’t how he looked after all.

They gently patted his back, softly saying how pretty he was.

Any guy in his situation would probably understand. That wasn’t what made him proud.

When he found out that Jungkook had been allowed to work out on the same day as he had been forbidden to eat anything that wasn’t rabbit food, he spent the whole night thinking.

Unhealthy amount of self-deprecating thoughts had run through his head that night and his growling belly wasn’t helping at all. But soon he got used to it all. That was the change their fans wanted – the more defined Jungkook’s muscles were, the more apparent Jimin’s bones stuck out.

All the depressive thoughts made him withdrawn.

That turned out to ring alarm bells in the members’ heads and they all tried to comfort him. All the coos and skin ship escalated, Jungkook stopped joking about his height, choosing instead to act all silly to make him laugh a little bit.

It had become sort of a competition – who makes Jimin laugh the most; who gets to see his pretty smile the most. Of course, like always, it was Jungkook who was winning on all fronts with Tae and Jin tied for the second place. He appreciated their efforts. He tried to hide the little hurt feelings every time someone told him he was pretty, on some occasions he was even beautiful and ! They didn’t mean it in a bad way! He never even told them he hated hearing it.

/o/

It had become somewhat of a habit for Jungkook to sneak up behind Jimin, whether it be on camera or not.

The maknae secretly loved the way he hovered over his hyung’s tiny form. What he didn’t like that much was the weight on his lap when he pulled Jimin to sit on it always decreasing. He also didn’t like the unnervingly empty look his hyung tended to have almost all the time.

They were all told to act flirty on camera, mostly with Jimin and all of them; including his hyung himself did their best. Jungkook didn’t refuse touches of his hyung because he initiated none. It was always a member that wasn’t Jimin who gave out fan service.

The maknae also loved attending hi hyung’s dance lessons – there was just this something about the way he moved that captivated people. He wasn’t itching to join in, no; he didn’t believe he and his brute strength would be fit for dances of that soft, gentle emotional nature. He noticed Jimin eyeing his own body sometimes, although it was rare. Jimin obviously hated his new look. Jungkook couldn’t blame his hyung – he was glad his face wasn’t like his hyung’s and his figure was tall enough to be let alone.

What the hyung was being forced to do was something only he could have dealt with. Just like when in their debut days he was the only one able to bear the burden of the hard work out. In a way, Jimin was the strongest of them all.

He always fought battles on his own.

/o/

That was also why Jungkook liked to have him in his lap. It gave him this feeling like he could protect his hyung from something.

He loved the way Jimin would lean on him when he placed his comforting hands on the smaller man’s shoulders and whispered words of praise into his ear like it was a big secret. He could just eat him up at those timed. His hyung was endearingly sweet to their fans that were at fault for his problems.

/o/

Playing with his tiny fingers, he smiled down at the pretty face of his hyung which was lying in his lap.

“I’m so cold, Kookie. Why do we have to practice all the goddamn time?” he asked with a small smile on his plushy lips.

“Because we can’t make a mistake, hyung,” Jungkook replied and removed his hyung’s head to lie down beside him. His hands sneaked around his shivering hyung to pull him closer.

“I’m so jealous, Jungkookie. I like you, you know it, but I hate you. Why did they exchange our roles? You’re the maknae, you should be cute,” he whined. The younger just sadly smiled down at Jimin. They knew how difficult it was for Jiminnie to get used to the fact that he had to keep appearance he had thought had been buried long ago. He pushed his nose to sniff at Jimin’s neck, making sure that his hyung didn’t notice a small smile spread on his lips. It was no one’s fault, really.

They could only blame genetics.

And Jimin’s fluffy character which was sometimes mistaken for y.

“But you’re so much prettier than me, hyung. Prettier than Yoongi,” he whispered, ignoring the subtle but to him very noticeable frozen stillness of Jimin’s body.

His hyung hated it when they told him he was pretty.

What a shame that was. Jimin’s incorrect perceptions of what was good and bad for a man to do forced them all to gulp down most of the compliments that ever crossed their mind when he emerged from the hands of their stylists. They were all handsome, sometimes when styled correctly, Tae or Yoongi or Hoseok were pretty too but these last weeks, Jimin only wore oversized sweaters, cute make-up, soft colors, overall he really was being stripped of all the previously hard earned masculinity he had built over the first few years. And they were all guilty. Everyone but Jimin loved it.

“I’ll get some sleep, okay? Don’t leave me, wake me up if you’re leaving because I don’t want to wake up to this coldness,” was all that came from Jimin’s mouth before his head fell on Jungkook’s shoulder, pink bangs framing that pretty face of his.

Oh god, did they love it.

The maknae loved it the most though. It was like something had finally clicked. It just hadn’t felt right when Jimin had abs. His sensible moves weren’t made for hip-hop. No one could do a thing about it because it was the truth.

When asleep, Jimin was like a little kitten.

He tended to cuddle a lot, snuggling into the welcoming warmth that was Jungkook’s body. It sent all kinds of sparkles flying in his stomach. His arms tightened even more around that small fragile body, letting him inhale the essence of his hyung. The sweater paws of his hyung usually clutched in his shirt. He had to stay some nights awake because Jimin had these rare nights where he whined from his dream. The maknae would then sacrifice his precious sleep to keep his hyung safe, sometimes shushing him with on his back, other times he had to wake him up.

The nights they didn’t sleep through were the best though.

Because his hyung was very sensitive at those moments and he let his maknae comfort him in all the ways he wanted. That would sometimes result in Jungkook kissing his hyung into oblivion. He loved the taste of his hyung’s fruity lips, sometimes chapped but always so good for him, so compliant.

No one else from the band would dare to do this with their precious Jiminnie, only Jungkook.

He felt this thrill every time he used the older man’s weak moments for his own pleasure. The nights when they kissed were the nights from which Jungkook always stepped closer to his hyung. He got so close at some point he had thought it could be a good idea to kiss Jimin outside of their bed, with other people and sunlight present.

The thrill of feeling tiny hands clutch at his shirt, punch him in the chest with the same amount of strength a kitten would muster up was inexplicable. He was addicted to the feeling just like he was addicted to Jimin.

One night had been especially rough. He could still clearly remember, Jimin was having his first compulsory dance performance with other idols. The night before had been horrible, Jimin scratched his hands, cried out pleas for Jungkook to let him go and when the maknae did let go, he was begging for him to come back. That night his kisses weren’t enough. He could see it in the way Jimin was pulling him closer with little cries for help. He hadn’t minded, was actually expecting – looking forward to the night where Jimin would really need him so ing bad that he would let him do anything. The performance after that had been so good, Jimin did so well. Jungkook was proud; he felt some kind of accomplishment. It felt like it was him who gave Jimin these mesmerizingly soft moves, like he had painted the expression of the perfect painting on his face.

/o/

Dead, that was how he felt after some time. Like he was dead.