Chapter Text
Jimin wipes the sweat off his brow, shifting his weight from one foot to another- this was nothing. It was nothing because Jeongguk as a competitor is nothing . Because Jeongguk is the one person he doesn’t ever lose to- neither his pride nor skill will allow it to happen.
And yet, here Jimin is, narrowly dodging a side hook because fuck if he hadn’t taught Jeongguk everything he knows today too well– it strikes him that this might not be his hand, that his new trainer had taught him more. Taught him what was currently beating him.
Regret fills his pores, seeps out of him as he takes the wrong step and gets displaced by a direct hit that would have gotten his face, too if he hadn’t reacted fast enough. All those years, and he’s barely missing a hit from an experienced Jeongguk.
Jeongguk was too smart. But so was Jimin, it was how they were able to get along, at first.
Being as skilled and trained as Jimin was, that hit was embarrassing. It was textbook, the dodge he had to do to avoid the petty blow was easy- yet he had stumbled. Because of the younger man.
“Fuck.” He mutters, shoulder stinging. Jeongguk meets him with a cheeky smile, more cocky than charming. It aggravates Jimin, makes him act with his rage rather than head- it results in another misstep that causes him more damage. The crowd collectively holds their breath for Jimin- the announcer makes a comment that has Jimin clenching his jaw harder.
If the mouthguard taking residence in his mouth didn’t obstruct his words, Jimin would ask why Jeongguk was smiling. Why he looks so unperturbed as he hits him, left arm, then right arm, getting a lackluster response. His muscles seize, tighten with the delivery of a blow that should knock Jeongguk off his feet, but doesn’t.
With faux skepticism, Jeongguk shakes his head, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He knows this is in the fucking bag for him. He finds this funny , the fucker. His eyes seem to ask What’s up, hyung? He hasn’t called him hyung in a while, more like, What will you do about it, Jimin?
“What’s up” is the fat loss Jimin is about to face. He’s just too far fucking distracted, too entrenched in the past, and it shouldn’t happen now, not this time , but it is. He’s backlogged into the first few days, where Jeongguk’s movements were nowhere near as confident as they were now. Every touch, every point of contact sends him back, each punt more painful than the last.
He’s not sure what hurts more, the fact that he’s letting himself lose like this, or the fact that it’s by Jeongguk’s hand.
The glare of the stadium lights seems to highlight every pathetic movement that leads to him being pinned on his back, facing Jeongguk’s victory-lit features as he smiles, spitting out his mouth piece.
“I won.” He says, as the crowd erupts in an ear-splitting chorus, letting Jimin’s anger bubble up- he barely perceives the counting from the moderator or the dozens of people shouting his name. Sweat drips off of Jeongguk, the notch in his eyebrow shiny, like the rest of his honey-gold skin.
This face– Jimin isn’t stupid. It’s fun to fantasize about this face, about having it so flushed and red he couldn’t speak. Stoic because he’s lost and under Jimin’s control. Smiling, because Jimin had a few good jokes. He isn’t stupid, because Jeongguk’s face is one he thinks about constantly , and yet, he’s learning new details every time he’s face to face with him.
Like how pompous he could be, how ill-suited that smirk on his face was. How much Jimin wants to have one last surge of energy, to pin Jeongguk back and spit on his face, then kiss him. Chew him out, make him regret ever having come to him in the first place, then make him be grateful that he ever was graced by the name Park Jimin.
Jeongguk wants a reaction, weighing down on the older’s body, so Jimin will give it to him.
It’s all Jeongguk has ever wanted, hasn’t it? He can’t fucking tell. The half of what he was thinking, or doing . A kid like- he isn’t a kid, but still. A kid like him trying to beat his spirit, name.
He has, in a way. He’s breathing hard, and his eyes are shining, with the rush of another victory. He wants a reaction from Jimin, to know his innermost thoughts– no matter how angry they were.
And Jimin does, he gives in again, just one more time, into Jeongguk. Into feelings that shouldn’t be elicited when he is this enraged.
Anger always leads to other emotions, all of which Jimin has experienced, because of Jeongguk.
After the deafening screams died down and the final bell rang, Jimin seethed. Took the sympathetic pats on his back and the stares with a bitter taste in his mouth and a mostly neutral face, until he was alone in the locker rooms. Save for Jeongguk.
There’s silence. A squeak of the locker door opening, then slapping shut, followed by Jeongguk’s steps. Jimin ignores it, ignores him , walking over to his locker to retrieve his things. Wondering just why their rooms aren’t separated.
With a clenched jaw, Jimin tries his best to ignore him, pretending Jeongguk isn’t in the room, even– it’s impossible to ignore Jeongguk. He couldn’t, even if he tried, because Jeongguk snickers, his eyes are trained on him, and Jimin feels it.
“Something on your mind today, Jimin?” Jeongguk asks, stripped down to his boxers, leaning against the wall with his tattooed arms crossed. Tattoos he had chosen only because Jimin told him it would look good. “Hyung,” he adds, as though he just remembered who he’s talking to.
Jimin has half a mind to clip Jeongguk squarely in the jaw, which looks like it’s locked permanently in a way that makes him look overconfident. He doesn’t, though, because he has a better solution for his bruised ego.
“You better shut your mouth, Jeon.” Jimin says, pushing Jeongguk back against the lockers. He’s sore, and Jeongguk is too, evidently, by the way he flinches, surprised by Jimin’s sudden movement. If only he’d been able to do the same in the ring.
A flicker of satisfaction in Jimin’s eyes flare as Jeongguk’s voice dies down, and he doesn’t respond. They’re always so quiet when pinned against the wall. Not that Jimin knew much of it, because the only person he’d ever had against the wall like this is Jeongguk, to date.
Just as fast as he’d flinched, he recovers. Jimin wants to wipe that look off of his face, completely eradicate whatever sense of superiority Jeongguk has gained from winning this round. “Remember who taught you everything you fucking know.”
That’s the crux of this. The butt of what still angers him, even though it’s been months. That he was the one behind this Jeongguk. That Jeongguk had taken his skills, his focus, his thoughts , ever-revolving around the younger man.
Jeongguk, as disrespectfully as possible, stares at his lips. He has other things on his mind. So did Jimin, who pushes past the several growing voices of concern mounting in his brain— Don’t do this, not with Jeongguk. Don’t do this again.
Because no fucking good comes out of this. They’re too competitive, but have no strength to leave when it matters most. Can’t handle letting the other one go without remorse.
But Jimin is good at ignoring himself, and the incessant doubts his brain kept coming up with. Jeongguk was good at annoying him to the point he actively chose to ignore those internal whispers that said this was wrong. He was good at almost everything , it seemed, from getting under Jimin’s skin to boxing.
“Oh yeah? You mean the same person I had pinned down in the ring? Same guy I lost to today?”
That’s all the ammunition Jimin needs to press his lips to Jeongguk’s, catching both of them off guard. “Fuck you ,” he says into his mouth, tangling his fingers into his dark hair as Jeongguk does the same to his black hair.
“You, too.” Jeongguk murmurs, and Jimin barely catches it, if it weren't for how well he enunciated it, lips moving coarsely against his.
“Take off your clothes.” Jeongguk throatily whispers, “Loser.”
“Not before you.” Bastard . Jimin turns him around, this time pinning him, rendering him immobile. The lockers must be cool against Jeongguk’s hot skin because he hisses. This was how Jimin felt, being pinned down by Jeongguk in front of everyone , with his own technique.
“Fuck you , you sore loser.” Jeongguk spits. “I’m already naked. You’re just impatient, just like in the ring when you-”
Jimin slips his thumb under the waistband of his boxers, pulling it and letting it snap against his skin, pressing his body harder against the wall with his chest. At this point, and so soon already, he was being driven by pure instinct and anger. “Shut up. ”
“Or what?”
He just keeps talking. Part of Jimin knows he’s doing this to further irritate him, because the angrier he is, the better the sex will be.
And he is right in assuming so- every flaming comment from Jeongguk translates to better orgasms for both of them. (This is a principle rule— especially with Jeongguk.)
“Or,” Jimin says, yanking the underwear off of him and palming his ass roughly, “I won’t fuck you.”
“Your loss.”
That earns him a hard smack, Jimin watches Jeongguk’s eye flutter with satisfaction. “ My loss? You’ve been waiting for this, Jeongguk, stop pretending this wasn’t on your mind the entire you-”
“The entire time I destroyed you, hyung, with the very moves you taught me.” There was no erasing the bratty attitude Jeongguk exhibited, no knocking him down off of his high horse— he was obsessed with being a winner. He’d only encouraged the behaviour, because Jeongguk was his golden trainee.
There was one way, actually, to bring him back to reality, Jimin thinks. Covering his finger with spit and lining it with his hole. “Keep talking, Jeon, and you won’t be able to stand for a week.”
“Good, finally, so I can feel some thi - ” Jeongguk stops speaking when Jimin’s index finger enters him, his words stolen away.
“Feel my cock, hm, Jeongguk? Shut up and take it like a good boy.”
And Jeongguk does, jerking in Jimin’s grip but holding himself up. Better than most days, where he’d fall to the ground once Jimin curled his finger inside and found his prostate. It was the adrenaline from winning still running through him, that must be what’s letting Jeongguk still fight back with aggravating words, egging the both of them on.
Until Jimin has three fingers pointed inside of him, avoiding his prostate like the plague to draw out the prettiest moans from the younger man. Jimin has to admit, to himself only, that they’re better than any of the girls he’s been with— but maybe it was because Jeongguk called him hyung like he depended on him.
On cue. “P-please, hyung,” Jeongguk chokes, reaching back with his hand to feel up Jimin’s erection. “Enough fingering.”
“Beg for it.” Jimin says, knowing he’s cruel for it when he’s aching to be inside, too. “Beg to be fucked and filled with come.”
“F- uck you.” Jeongguk says like a broken record. “Get lost.”
“I’ll find someone else to stick my dick into and leave you here.” He could do it. Walk out of here, drop into any bar and pick up the first girl he saw. Jeongguk was the exception— the only guy he’d fucked, ever.
Because no one makes him feel this intoxicated as Jeongguk did.
“Please.” Jeongguk breaks at the thought of a lost orgasm. At the thought of Jimin leaving him, door unlocked because Jimin is the type to let anyone walk in. “Just- just fuck you and take what’s yours.”
“What’s mine should have been the match.” Jimin growls in his ears, holding his hand in front of Jeongguk’s mouth to spit into. He covers his cock with it, knowing the wetter, the better. Let the drag of his metal piercing in his wall ruin him. Wet with lube was just as good, but that could happen another time. If another time would happen, Jimin didn’t fucking know. “You’ll do for now.”
He can tell Jeongguk is resisting a comment, which is good for his own benefit. He’s still riled up, blood in his ears and throat with muscles that twitch, wanting to bury himself in Jeongguk and wreck him.
“Arms over your head.” Jimin says, because that way, he can hold onto his chest as he fucks him upright, no lube, just him inside raw. Play with his nipples that need a good twisting and make him feel everything.
It should have been this easy, winning, because Jeongguk folds so easily- his eyes roll back when Jimin pushes into him, he sighs Jimin’s name, surrendering so soon. He should’ve saved it for the ring.
“ Hyung !”
“Hyung,” Jimin mocks, loosely biting his shoulder. “ ‘Hyung , fuck me harder.’ That what you want to say? Go on, Ggukkie, no one’s listening.”
If anyone was listening, they’d hear the periodic squeak of the locker doors, the sound of Jimin’s balls slapping against Jeongguk, their low grunts and angry whispers.
“Like that? Does anyone give it to you half as good as hyung does?” Jimin asks, knowing fully well that Jeongguk hadn’t been with any other guy- not that he knew of. He hated Jeongguk’s guts, but knew he had the decency not to lie about who he’d been with- sometimes even braggingly.
“Shut up .” Jeongguk snarls, reaching back to hold Jimin’s wrists on his hips. “I bet I could find someone better than you.”
That’s a lie. They both know it. “Someone who could teach you better? Then you should have never come to me in the first place.”
Jeongguk pants, moving back to make his hips meet Jimin’s thrusts. “I gave y-you purpose.” Jeongguk says, an element of truth in his statement. That’s unwarranted in the middle of sex. They were always vocal, exchanging heavy words, like bullets they carried around and could only fire when they were gasping for breath.
“You’d be nothing without me.” Jimin says, driving into his prostate with an unforgivable speed, and letting his cock slap against himself. “Are you going to come untouched? Do you like when hyung berates you? You like to win, but you like losing just as much.”
“I-I just like to- to come, fucking hell, hyung.”
Jimin revels in every hyung, hyung-ah, Jimin that tumbles out of Jeongguk’s mouth. It’s so much different from the polite, stiff version of hyung he’d once used, and now, the condescending, forceful version he used. Now, he can’t stop saying it, and it’s Jimin’s favourite word once more.
So he has to mock him for it.
“Hyung’ll make you come, don’t touch your little cock.” He says little when in reality, it’s as big as his. He knows because it’s been in his mouth before, the very first time he’d sucked him off had tested his gag reflexes.
Rougher, harder, better. Jimin warns Jeongguk that he’s close, and Jeongguk returns that he is, too. Just as swept up in the pleasure as he is, momentarily forgetting whatever competitive streak has divided them.
Jimin is doused in gasoline— ready to come any instant, every moan Jeongguk lets out, each one louder than the last, pushing him to the brink of sanity and the very edge. He’s about to burst into flames, skin on fire and chest burning with a mixture of hatred and need; desire burns the brightest.
Jeongguk is doused in just as much, ready to ignite and come hard into his hand that’s been long ago wrapped around his cock, Jimin reached out for it without thinking. Because as much pleasure as he sought out, he also got pleasure from knowing he made Jeongguk feel good. Even though he didn’t deserve it.
They’re both tongue-tied and about to come, all the pent up energy falling loose and punctuated by a cry of each other’s name.
But they’re nowhere near finished, even with come dripping down Jeongguk’s thighs and hole. “Second round at the hotel.” Jimin says, handing him his boxers, watching his legs tremble with satisfaction. “You lost this round so easily.”
+
He might have lost one round against Jimin before, but Jeongguk still glowed with the superficial, all-encompassing knowledge that he’d beat Park Jimin today. Used the very techniques he was trained with to take Jimin down, hold him in the self-gratifying position on top of him, and a beat longer after the ref announced Jeongguk’s name, loud and clear, as the winner of the match.
Breathless then, and breathless now— but for very different reasons, one attributed to the addicted rush of being victorious, and the other, just as addicting, being the result of being fucked three times over.
Jeongguk’s arms lay out around him on the king-sized bed, secretly pleased that he wouldn’t have to deal with the laundry this time— that was Jimin’s problem only. But lucky bastard, his bed was comfier than his, at a different hotel in Busan.
It had been the perfect mattress to get fucking into and onto, bouncing just right when he climbed onto Jimin’s lap and tried to show him what kind of muscles and endurance he had.
Jimin, to Jeongguk’s pleasure, had exhaled shakily as he grinded over his crotch slowly, this time slicked up with lube, in the mood to torture him. But not for long, because Jeongguk wanted to shake the earth that Jimin walked on for hours afterward. Wanted his thighs to shake as badly as his did. It was only fair.
Even though Jeongguk had won in the ring, he’d lost pitifully in the locker room, and it seemed, again now. He couldn’t help it, Jimin angled inside of him just the right way and he dissolved in his touch, tried so hard not to let Jimin realize he was close so soon. He was close every time Jimin jerked his body upright, or squeezed his ass painfully, or slotted their mouths together.
Jimin tasted different and better than anybody else. Jeongguk had no qualms in admitting that. But he’d never tell Jimin, tell him that he looked forward to what he’s mentally dubbed as hate sex- that’s what this was, no doubt.
So the angrier they were, the higher the stakes, the better it felt when Jimin pushed inside of him, thrusting so hard into him, sometimes Jeongguk had tears on his cheeks. Like in this hotel room, where any care for how loud they were being was thrown out the window with a scenic view Jeongguk skipped out on in lieu of Jimin’s face.
Almost immediately, it was over for the both of them because they came almost straight away, at the crossroads of rapture and overstimulation that second time, but they couldn’t stop, because it was a dream they both didn’t want to wake up from. (Or admit to having.)
The third time had Jeongguk gasping for breath, clinging to any surface he could and praying there’d be no complaints from anyone in the neighbouring rooms.
It took longer to come, fewer words being exchanged and more moans that lingered in Jeongguk’s mind filling the room. With the extended time it took, the more intense it was coming. Jeongguk got one last swipe of Jimin’s lips and tongue, and collapsed onto the bed.
It wasn’t hard admitting that Jimin looked like an angel afterwards, a sweaty shine over his skin making it appear like he had a hazy hue of light around him. His lips were red and swollen, as if he’d eaten a spicy pack of ramen noodles— he knows what that looks like, seen Jimin’s lips when he’s had that snack as a breakfast meal. A long time ago, it felt like.
Playing with the cap of the now empty lube bottle, the evidence of their time together, Jeongguk looks around the room, a very basic layout of a hotel with little to offer aesthetically. The dresser against which Jimin had fucked him was a little messed up, but other than that and the bed, it was like he’d never been here.
Lube made everything more intense, more wet, which Jeongguk liked as much as doing it raw. So did the lack of a condom.
That didn’t happen every time.
In the heat of the moment, they’d both dropped care for those things, furiously whispering that they were both clean and to stop making me wait — Jeongguk’s words.
Somewhere along the way, between being pressed against the dresser and riding Jimin, they’d stopped fighting. Angry words didn’t hurl from their mouths as easily as they did in the locker room, likely due to how desperate they were to find that heightened pleasure and experience it again, and again.
So, instead of calling Jimin useless and a waste without him, he’d begged for more of him, cried out for how well he filled up Jeongguk, and how he wanted more. Because that’s what happens when you’re covered head to toe in shivers and have an ugly, undesirable need for this to be normal trying to slash its way out of your chest.
Out of Jeongguk’s chest, heart, the site of all things wrong– a place Park Jimin had no right being, yet, where he lived.
Pretending to be scrolling through his phone, Jeongguk watches Jimin dress, face and body turned away from him. He spots with triumph scratches he’d made on Jimin’s back and arms, a feat considering his nails were clipped.
The sight of Jimin’s marks make him wonder if he has any visible ones, and his hand flies up to his neck that feels extremely sore. More bruises to add to the canvas of his body, already dotted with various bruises in the process of healing. These bruises were different, though.
Jeongguk decides that he has to get dressed too, washed up, anything that would speed up the process of getting out of here. Gone was the need to be touching Jimin’s arms and his skin, replaced by the itchy, uneasy feeling that came back every time they did this— the need to pretend this didn’t happen, until it did, again.
“Can I use the shower here?” Jeongguk asks, putting on his boxers and trying to employ as much civility as he could in his tone. He wasn’t welcome here, and he knew that by the way Jimin turned to glare at him— no matter how many times he’s been through this script, it still hurts.
“You can shower when you get back to your own place.” Jimin says unapologetically.
Jeongguk frowns, disbelieving. “You’re really going to make me leave this hotel looking like this?”
Jimin gives him a once over, taking in Jeongguk’s messy hair and full-blown, red cheeks. “Yeah. Deal with it.”
Jeongguk wasn’t going to leave just yet. He didn’t want to— he had a flicker back to the past, where they’d bicker like this back and forth, and for the moment, the uneasy feeling retreats to where other unspeakable feelings lived in him.
“Whatever. But I want a drink before I go anywhere.”
Without a word, Jimin swings open the mini-fridge and hands him a beer. He doesn’t ask if Jeongguk wanted it, he just pushed it into his hands, accepting the drink without hesitance.
Seeing that Jimin wasn’t going to fill up the space with any talk, he does it instead. “My hyungs are going to wonder where I went.”
He means to say it casually, like something he was wondering about, but Jimin’s eyes flash with a sharp warning— Jeongguk can’t say anything.
“Shut up.” Jeongguk says, even though Jimin hasn’t said a word yet. “I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“I know you won’t, but you tend to do stupid things. Often.” Jimin says, pouring himself a glass of something Jeonogguk couldn’t identify from where he was perched on the bed.
Jeongguk can’t do anything to stop the scowl forming on his lips, and not in the mood for arguing, he looks away before Jimin can register his irritated features.
“I’m sure you’ll be busy talking about other things.” Jimin says bitterly.
“Like how—”
“Save it for someone who cares.” Jimin cuts him off. Gone was his tone reserved for making Jeongguk come, asking him to come sweetly with only a hint of mocking. Jeongguk missed it, tired of the anger that still seeped in their conversations.
“Like Namjoon?” He says, referring to his new trainer. “He’s going to want to make us face each other again. I want to go against you again.” Jeongguk himself wasn’t opposed to the occurrence, but knew that Jimin was.
He eggs Jimin on once more. “Do you think you’ll win, if we try again?”
Jimin pushes himself away from the counter he was leaning on. “Maybe it’s best that you leave and find out,” he says, pure steel in his tone.
Jeongguk finishes his beer, tossing the can into the trash, and collects his clothes. He was going to shower here if Jimin liked it or not. What was he going to do, fight him? Join him? He didn’t care.
That’s what he liked to say; that he didn’t care what Jimin would do or say in response to him. But he did, it was the basis of his every thought that revolved around Jimin. He cared . Cared too much to sweep away under the rug like nothing was really happening, an easy spill that could be wiped away.
No, nothing about Jimin could be erased. Not one fuzzy memory, from old to fresh, new forming ones. He still remembers, against his better judgement, the beginning.
Gathering that Jeongguk wasn’t planning on leaving, Jimin throws on a jacket. “I’m leaving, then. Text me when you’re done so I can come back.”
Jeongguk doesn’t get a chance to respond. Anything he would’ve said would have been lost on the older man anyway.
Under the hot water, Jeongguk treats himself to the assortment of hotel shampoos, some of which belonged to Jimin, he knew because of the one time he’d showered in Jimin’s bathroom back in Seoul before.
Slathering himself in body shampoo and massaging his hair, Jeongguk takes his time, amazed that he could still stand after today.
After he’s done, he sends his singular text to Jimin letting him know he could return.
Ex-trainer
i’m done
He resists adding anything else, knowing Jimin won’t respond.
+
Jeongguk doesn’t recognize anyone on the way out, thankfully.
Walking out into the street and pulling his phone out to get an Uber, Jeongguk breathes in the cool air, letting it fill his lungs and forcing himself to take a few deep inhales. He needed to rid himself of Jimin’s scent, burn away the memory of this afternoon and move on to better things.
But on the drive back to his hotel, deliberately chosen by Namjoon to be far from Jimin’s, he drifts in his mind— thinking about how he got here— both with a winning name and in Jimin’s bed, once again.
It was like a bad habit, one he couldn’t break. Winning was a result of hard work, and turning to Jimin in anger-filled comments was nothing more than a bad habit.
If he thinks too hard, the past will flood his vision and on the sidewalk, he’ll be able to see himself and Jimin walking to his gym together.
He ends up thinking about how he can’t shut out the past no matter how hard he tries to, and let inner demons win the best of them both.
+
Because it certainly hadn’t started out that way, months and months ago. Back when Jeongguk didn’t know who Park Jimin was, didn’t think he could have half as many feelings as he did now.
Taehyung took one look at Jeongguk’s strained face and didn’t hesitate to ask, “What’s up, Gguk?”
One word, one reality he was in a constant repetition of living in- “College, hyung.” He said.
College, the only thing in his life actively making him miserable.
Jeongguk tossed his bag to the floor, not caring for his laptop inside or any looseleafs dislodged in his binder from the fall. “I’m fuckin’ tired of it.”
“You say that every day, Jeongguk-ah. Pick something else to cry over.”
Jeongguk scowled, muttering that nobody was crying, except for Taehyung over his studies. “ This is the only thing I despise.”
Ignoring Jeongguk’s comment, he snapped the book he was reading closed and brushed his curly hair out of his eyes. “Something tells me you’re going to do something about it."
“Yeah. I mean-” Jeongguk massaged the back of his neck, trying to rub away the pain from being hunched over a screen for many hours the night before, “I thought I’d like it if I gave it a semester more, but I fucking hated it. Hate it now.”
He’d done what everybody told him to do- give it one last college try. And that had backfired on him physically and mentally, set him back about a hundred steps from where he’d been the year before. He should’ve quit a long time ago, but his pride held him back from doing so.
“And?” He looked up expectantly at Jeongguk, like he knew what he was going to say next. Jeongguk had had a conversation with him about this before, hearing the scripted college isn’t for everyone . Only now was he doing something about college not fitting him.
“I want to quit. But-” He interjected with a but , seeing Taehyung’s face light up. He was a good friend like that, always wanted the best for Jeongguk. Was constantly raving to his friends about how amazing Jeongguk was, admiring his talents and showing him just how good he was at everything he touched.
“But, I don’t have anything else. So I’m kind of stuck.” The weighted realization hung heavy in the room, mostly rooted on Jeongguk’s shoulders. He could think of plenty of things he could dedicate his life to doing– anyone could, but none of it appeals to Jeongguk.
“Sure you do, Gguk.” Taehyung responded flippantly, in his casual way that Jeongguk was sometimes jealous of- Taehyung could always pretend everything was cool because it was cool.
He had everything under control, constantly. Including cleaning and the organization of their shared apartment, something he heckled Jeongguk over because the younger man couldn’t be bothered to clean after himself.
He gestured for Jeongguk to sit, to quit standing around with what looked like the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Like what?” Jeongguk asked. “I don’t have anything other than my part-time job.”
“There’s plenty of things you can do, Gguk.”
“I’m not built for the studious lawyer life, or anything I thought I was into.”
“But you know what you are built for?” Taehyung asked back, having made a connection with that word. He sized up Jeongguk’s muscled arms, something he liked to do for fun to tease Jeongguk. “Look at your muscles, Jeongguk-ah, you could become a trainer. Or- or a competitive wrestler, even.”
Jeongguk rolled his eyes, brushing off Taehyung’s imagination- how a law student could be so imaginative, he didn’t know either. “I go to the gym a few times a week and you think I’m ready to take on wrestling? I do boxing recreationally.” He hadn’t even gotten the term correct. Jeongguk smiled, the first after a long day.
It had crossed Jeongguk’s mind, on a few lazy days, during lectures where his eyes would lift before he knew they’d even begun to shut. He’d been boxing, like he said, recreationally, but was told he was good at it. Had the body for it. Had the skills and focus for it, with enough time.
He didn’t try, though, advancing in it professionally. With college and life, it had become his pastime, hobby, more than anything else.
“Boxing, whatever. You’re jacked and that’s what matters.”
“You’re ridiculous, hyung.” Jeongguk laughed, finally. Perhaps that had been Taehyung’s purpose in proposing such a ridiculous alternative to college.
“I’m not.” He said insistently, but still moved on. “What other options do you have?”
“I don’t know.” Jeongguk replied with a hopeless shrug.
“But you’re done with college for certain?”
Jeongguk didn’t pause to even take a break. “I’m dropping out.” He couldn’t imagine finishing this semester even, he was sure that this was the right choice. The only choice, given how little motivation he had for even the basics.
“Understandable, Gguk. I’m proud of you.”
“You’re always proud of me.” Jeongguk said, laughing again. “I could tell you I murdered someone and you’d be proud of me.”
“As I should be.”
Taehyung went back to reading his book, and Jeongguk finally rose to use the shower and think more, sensing that the end of the conversation had been reached.
+
It wasn’t until after dinner that Taehyung brought up the matter of Jeongguk finding a new purpose, with a thought that swirled in Jeongguk’s head for longer than it should have.
“Boxing, Jeongguk-ah.” He said between bites of their takeout. He hissed at the heat and spice, but took another bite.
“What?”
“I don’t know how it slipped my mind earlier. You like to box. And my friend- Jimin- you’ve met him before, he trains boxers.”
The name Jimin is hazy in his memory. It could belong to just about anyone he had met at parties, and gatherings he’d been to. He can’t recall him specifically, Taehyung probably had his extensive network of friends mixed up. “This applies to me… how?”
“You and Jimin. He can train you seriously.”
“What kind of boxing?” Jeongguk thought about leagues and sponsorships, bright lights and rings surrounded by bleachers filled with audiences.
But to his knowledge, there was another type of boxing- the illegal kind, one that was whispered about. He’d never associated with an underground boxing event, nor heard of anyone mixed up in that business. So his misconceptions were clear- Taehyung knew what he was thinking, too.
“Underground.” Taehyung said, a little uncertainly, and then adding just as quickly, “But it’s legit. Jimin used to be one, an underground boxer, and earned a shit ton of money. He’s done though, and now trains other students. I’m sure he’d take you in, Jeongguk-ah.”
“Take me in to what? Train me to fight experienced fighters? If you want to pay the hospital bills, just tell me now.” He wasn’t planning on any kind of hospital visit.
“C’mon, Jeongguk.”
“No, hyung.” Jeongguk said firmly, images of injuries and illegal fighting rings filling his mind. Jeongguk liked to delve into the occasional felony by having car sex or consuming illegal drugs, but underground boxing ?
“Why?” He asked, not pressingly, but in his curious way. He knew that Jeongguk loved everything to do with muscles and gyms, boxing and gloves and all, and he wanted to know why he couldn’t consider this.
“I’m sorry, hyung. It just sounds weird. Let’s just keep eating.”
“Oh well. It was just a suggestion.” It wasn’t the first time they’d passed around this idea, but Taehyung was being more serious about it, this time. With the sudden emptiness in his schedule to come, the idea stuck to his mind more.
It was a suggestion that Jeongguk took to heart- had taken to heart a long while ago– just subconsciously.
+
The familiar sound of pounding on bags and clinking metal filled Jeongguk’s ears. He found himself at the gym again, with his day off. Much like Taehyung described his natural pull to studying law, his natural pull was in the direction of the gym— to all things muscle and sweat, glory and shine.
He started off at the treadmill, working up a light workout with the setting on medium— he just pressed a number, knowing it was fully well in his capacity to run at any km per hour. It’s dangerous, but for a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes and think. With the rattle of the gym in the background and his own R&B music playing his ears, and just think.
Think about Jimin and the entire idea of dedicating his time to training. To fighting underground. That’s not the part he thought about the most, in the black screen the lids of his eyes provided. He thought about Jimin, trying to conjure a face.
He had met him before, but the features were fuzzy in his mind. He couldn’t go beyond a simple detail about his eyes, and the fact that he was good friends with Taehyung.
He was more curious about what it would entail, training under Jimin. Just what kinds of credentials this Jimin had, how hard of a teacher he was. What he could learn, where he could go with this. He wouldn’t be finding out any time soon, it felt like.
Unless.
His eyes snapped open when he missed a step, almost falling. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing his water bottle and forcing himself to take a swig. He’d hardly gotten tired by the ten minute run on the treadmill.
His mind didn’t retire from the idea that was growing in his brain, on him, spreading like a plant sown in the most ideal conditions. Jeongguk, after every punch thrown and every pleasant ache that ran through his muscles long after he was done with the gym, toyed with the idea of him, and Jimin, and whatever the fuck underground boxing meant.
+
“Remind me again,” Jeongguk said, avoiding Taehyung’s eyes and direction as he stepped around the kitchen preparing dinner, “What’s Jimin like?”
Taehyung didn’t stop working, simply shooting Jeongguk a side glance. “Jimin.” He paused before continuing. “He’s an introvert, for one, think you two would get along. He’s crazy strong and motivated, a bit stubborn too. But that’s expected of him.”
Jeongguk digested that information, waiting for Taehyung to talk about the most important part— the part about boxing.
“If you’re waiting to hear about what kind of a teacher or trainer he is, I have no idea. I’ve never taken a session with him, and never plan on doing so. You know, unless you wanted to pay for the hospital bills.” He grinned, raising his arm that was already an impressionable size, but smaller in comparison to Jeongguk’s ‘guns’. “That’s your department and it can stay that way.”
Jeongguk made a hmm noise, leaning against the counter.
It was his department, had been since he took up boxing in high school. It had been the sport his best friend at the time, Yeonjun had coaxed him into doing. And at the time, anything that Yeonjun wanted to do seemed like a good idea. He followed where Yeonjun went, just as he did, too.
They did it together, grew together, like they had since childhood. And although Yeonjun wasn’t a part of his life anymore, boxing still was– a part of Yeonjun he carried with him.
“Why?” Taehyung asked, excitement creeping in his tone. “Are you thinking about it seriously?”
Jeongguk shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe I am.” Maybe he was. Thinking, pondering, considering .
“I just think it’s perfect for you, considering how you already do it in your free time and are good at it. But you don’t have to take it seriously, Gguk-ah. I just don’t want to see you waste away your time.”
“I don’t know about it being perfect for me, but now, I have a lot of free time I can dedicate it to it.” Jeongguk said, practically convincing himself. “What do you think of it?”
“You already know what I think of it.”
“Yeah. I’m just thinking… why not just do it?” Jeongguk crossed his arms, trying not to let his face reveal the slight excitement that was spreading to him- Taehyung’s emotions were contagious, even for a reserved guy like Jeongguk.
“Exactly. Why not? Take a chance. Ggukkie.”
Jeongguk twisted his face, turning away. He hated taking chances— the uncertainty of leaping to new things was something he detested. There were always so many things that could go wrong. Unseen things he couldn’t predict, and he hated unpredictability.
Taking a chance on something as big as this made him feel even more keyed up, but it was a mixture of Taehyung’s words and his own rational voice speaking that was pushing him to accept the offer.
He already had an edge up, already had the connection through Taehyung.
“You know I don’t like taking chances.”
“I know.” Taehyung said, shaking his hair out of his eyes and sighing. “I know you don’t. But this is worth taking the risk. And if you hate it…”
“I can always quit, right?”
Even though Taehyung couldn’t have had any idea, he still gave Jeongguk his most reassuring smile. “Yes.”
“Okay, then. How do I contact him and tell him I’m interested?”
“Help me with dinner and I’ll give you his number. Unless you’d like me to tell him?”
Jeongguk shook his head no. “I’ll do it, hyung. Thanks.”
+
Three days later, Jeongguk called.
(Three days, because he second-guessed himself twice, and attended a party that left him with the worst headache of his life— that’s just life.) Jeongguk had to have another conversation with Taehyung, as well as finish dropping out of his courses before he could consider calling Jimin.
He was in it for real, now, three days later.
Punching in his number that Taehyung gave him courteously on the back of a receipt, Jeongguk took a deep breath. It was dark outside, night fell a while ago. He didn’t tell Taehyung that he would call tonight, he was out, so he had the apartment for himself. He still locked himself in his room, had the lights turned off.
Jimin picked up on the first ring.
“Who’s this?” Jimin asked after saying hello. Jeongguk couldn’t gather anything yet by his tone, too distracted by how his voice was going to sound.
“It’s uh, I’m Taehyung’s friend. I’m calling to ask about boxing.” He got straight to the point, there was no beating around the bush.
“What about it?”
“I’m interested in it. In you. I don’t know if you’re taking any new students, but I…”
“You said you’re Tae’s friend? What’s your name?”
“Jeon Jeongguk.”
“Well, Jeon Jeongguk. Do you have any background in boxing? It might not live up to what your expectations are.” The way his name rolls off of Jimin’s tongue, Jeongguk barely acknowledged how nicely he says it before spitting out his response.
“A bit. I took classes in high school, and self-train regularly. I don’t know if I’m good, but I know a little.” He knew much more than a little , but a bit of self-preservation and humbleness kept him from saying more.
“‘K. I’m going to have to see you in person for any of this to work, and to talk more. When are you free?”
“I’m always free.” He answered, a truth that could be viewed as both sad and gratifying. The reality of his choice sweeps over him when he heard Jimin clear his throat.
“So tomorrow? I’ll text you when and where. ”
“Works for me.”
+
The feeling of nervousness is foreign to Jeongguk’s body and system- so why he felt the slightest inkling of it was beyond him. Walking to a gym a little out of his area that he’d never heard of, he followed the directions on his phone to where Jimin said he would meet him— next time, he’d take an Uber. If there was a next time.
“I don’t like to waste my time, so come prepared. ” Jeongguk had no idea what that meant, he only knew that he was going to show up freshly showered and in his usual attire (monochrome black outfit). Most importantly, with determination- something told him that Jimin was no bullshit, hard to please, just by his tone and demeanour over the phone, not his favourite kind of person, but not one he couldn’t deal with.
He popped his AirPods out when he reached the front door, accidentally pushing when he was supposed to pull. With the acute sense that this was going to be the least of his embarrassments here today, he told the receptionist that he was here to see Park Jimin . She nodded and pointed to a corridor Jeongguk was to follow, smiling and watching him walk away.
If it weren’t for the empty gym area, Jeongguk would’ve had to look out for the description of Jimin that Taehyung gave him. “He’s noticeable from a distance, I don’t know. You’ll know. Look for dark hair, and tatted arms.”
As useless as the description was, it helped him solidify in his mind that this was Jimin. His eyes scanned the entirety of Jimin’s body, noticing from the distance that he was slightly taller, leaner.
That didn’t mean that Jimin wasn’t stronger than him- again, the acute sense that he was in some sphere of comparison in this gym returned to him. Jimin had hella muscles, Jeongguk noticed his thighs first. Stronger than his, he surmised. He had arms, Jimin had legs.
And arms, as he trailed up his body to his face, much less interesting. Dark hair like Jeongguk’s, blacker than black. Piercings like Jeongguk too. (Which were removed at the moment.) Maybe his were more for a statement, as opposed to Jeongguk, who got two in each ear to rebel against his parents in his teenage years.
“Hello.” Jeongguk started, walking over to Jimin, cutting the space between them. Until Jimin was face to face with him, and Jeongguk could see the line of sweat on his forehead. He wiped it away, taking a swig of water before saying hello back to Jeongguk.
“You ready to get started?” Jimin asked, handing him a pair of gloves. His eyes met Jeongguk’s- they said, you should be ready . Jeongguk was. He liked that they were skipping any small talk, something he abhorred, and jumping the gun.
“Yeah.” He still didn’t know what he was to refer to him as, and was going to wait it out until Jimin referred to him first. He knew that Jimin was older, by how much, he didn’t know. He looked young enough to be in his year, though. Hyung was out of the question. Jimin-ssi didn’t sit right on his tongue. Anything more formal or less formal all felt wrong, so he was stuck with nothing.
After a quick stretch, they began.
“I want to run through some basic moves first,” Jimin said, wrapping athletic tape around Jeongguk’s fists. “Assess you a bit. I see all kinds of levels of skill, so I have an idea of where you are by what you look like.”
Jeongguk resisted asking what Jimin thought of him. He knew, no need to ask. Instead, he chose to ask, “When do we… talk about any of this?” He glances around the gym, well renovated and equipped with all kinds of things, an array of weights just behind where they were standing.
Jimin responded without looking at him, and Jeongguk wonders if all gym owners were as cold as Jimin was. “When I see if you’re fit for it.”
With his sparring gloves on, Jeongguk melded into stance, muscle memory formed the rest of his mechanical moves. What Jimin found interesting was not his advanced stance position, but his dominant hand being his left. He murmured, “I’m a lefty, too.”
Jimin explained that he would watch Jeongguk show him what he had against a double end bag, and then, he could spar with Jimin. If he felt it necessary.
Ebbing into Jeongguk was what he did best- pouring his frustrations that tended to build in the back of his mind into the bag, with hooks and uppercuts that were done to a high level of perfection- at least he thought so, and at least Jimin thought so, because after a few minutes, he stilled the bag and said, “Where’s your mouth guard, Jeongguk-ssi?”
Jeongguk-ssi .
“In my bag. Should I get it?” He asked, unable to hide the smile of satisfaction. He’d passed the preliminary rounds.
“Yes. Give me a minute and I’ll be ready, give me your best. That wasn’t your best back there.”
The sting of Jimin’s verbal jab didn’t appear on Jeongguk’s face. Instead, he did as he was told, and waited for Jimin to prepare, running through possible moves that would clear Jimin. That would prove to him that was his best.
Nodding at Jeongguk, Jimin gave him the first move, the leeway. Judging by the way he stood, Jeongguk knew this wasn’t going to be easy.
Easy was the farthest way to explain how sparring with Jimin felt like.
Taehyung hadn’t lied about Jimin’s skill- he was fucking good. Better than Jeongguk, that much was clear when he got pinned flat against the floor in what felt like seconds, but was minutes, from how much of a sweat they’d built. Jeongguk felt it drip along the side of his face, trying to conceal his heavy breathing.
Jimin was agile. Faster than the blink of an eye, and stronger than he looked. It’d been exhilarating, in the moment, to spar with someone instead of with the usual bags in his gym.
But Jeongguk hated to lose, and being knocked flat against the ground sounded a lot like losing to him, despite the informality of it all.
Taking out his mouth guard, Jimin said, “Good match, Jeongguk-ssi. Let’s talk.” He moved off of him and proceeded to remove his gloves, signalling the end of their small session.
Jeongguk sat next to Jimin on a bench, taking in how big the space they were in was, and how alone they were. Jimin’s voice was abnormally loud, even with blood still rushing in Jeongguk’s ears.
“Underground boxing. Throw out whatever perception you have of it, because you won’t know what it’s like until your first fight.”
“First fight?”
“Don’t look so eager, yet. It’s grueling and most often ends bloodier than anyone likes. Than I like. I can’t speak for the onlookers, betters, so on. Besides, you’re not fighting anyone except for me for a while.”
Jeongguk nodded to show he understood, for Jimin to continue.
“It has its dangers, but also it’s highs. Taehyung probably told you a bit about it, right? I have a name, and if you’re under it, you’ll have supporters immediately. Got that?”
“Yeah.” Jeongguk replied, the smallest sense of admiration creeping in him. He didn’t have many role models, because the few he did have had always let him down in some way. It was better to stay guarded.
“You need money, I’m guessing.” Jimin looked at him expectantly.
“Kind of.” Jeongguk willed the flush in his cheeks to be from the exercise, not the inherent embarrassment of admitting he needed money. He refused to borrow money from his brother, from his parents or anyone else.
At the thought of his brother, Jeongguk held in a laugh, a kind of exasperated laugh because if his brother, Jonghyun, was to watch this interaction, he’d be shaking his head in disapproval. He would just have to stay in the dark about this.
“There’s a lot of that. And other things, you’ll come to find out.”
“So why did you quit if it’s so good?” Jeongguk asked.
The hard line on Jimin’s mouth, if possible, got harder. “I don’t like talking about it much, but I got injured badly once. Some people don’t know limits, and I didn’t know mine. That’s the thing about me, we’re not here to chat or know each other.”
Right in Jeongguk’s line of thought. He wasn’t here for a friend, either. Not that he could see himself becoming friends with Jimin, anyway.
“Got it.”
Something about the way Jeongguk responded must have not been enough, because Jimin shook his head. “You have to know your boundaries Jeongguk-ssi, this isn't a game, and if all you're interested in is the money, I can tell you this isn't for you and I won't waste my time. You have to be sure of this because once you’re in... getting out isn't so easy. It ignites something in you and unless you know how to control it, it could become more dangerous than what you're imagining right now.”
Jeongguk feels more grounded than afraid of Jimin’s words, and he nods. He knows what he’s doing, even if all of it wasn’t clear to him, yet. That this wasn’t some spur of the moment idea he was indulging in, because he didn’t take risks , that this was somewhere he belonged.
“It’s going to take a few weeks of training before you do anything underground. If you want to quit at any time, it’ll be at a price- you owe me for wasting my time.”
The fast pace of the conversation was dizzying Jeongguk, but he kept along, feeling charged at the prospect of training soon. “Okay. What is there, like a contract I need to sign or something?”
“Nothing like that. I just need your word, and we can get started as soon as tomorrow.”
Lifting his eyes from the floor where they were resting for a moment, Jeongguk looked into Jimin’s eyes- ones that looked worn out, strong, calculating. He knew what to say next, the words almost fell out of his mouth naturally.
For better or for worse, he said, “You have my word.”