Chapter Text
Mornings are icky. They’re a slog, dragging along like a loose thread that hasn’t been snipped yet. Jimin hates pulling himself out of soft-sweet-fluffy dreams just to rejoin the grind of reality. He wants to stay in his tea party with Sir Pudding, or his exploration of The Sea of Clouds. Unfortunately, classes don’t wait for tea parties to adjourn.
Despite what his professors may think, Jimin tries his best to be on time to class. It’s just difficult, with the waking up and the getting clean and the getting dressed and the getting food—though he skipped that one a lot, there just wasn’t time and he could afford to lose the baby fat—and the getting out the door; so many “gettings” and it’s hard enough to wake up in the first place. Still, Jimin tries his best. He set multiple alarms, set his phone out of reach before he went to bed, and kept a strict bedtime of ten thirty unless he had to finish his homework. It would probably help if he could actually get to sleep at ten thirty. (It would probably help, an insidious little voice in his mind whispers, if you tried using a pacifier or had a pretty mobile to watch.) Regardless, he tries his best and he still performs well in class, in exams, and on homework, so really the professors shouldn’t have any real problem with him.
Professor Choi, unfortunately, disagreed.
“And what exactly do you think you’re doing, Mr. Park?” His voice rings out in the auditorium and stops Jimin in his tracks, his attempt to slink in through the side door thwarted.
“Just trying to find a seat, sir,” Jimin turns and bows to the professor, “I’m sorry for interrupting the lecture.”
“You should be,” Professor Choi says. “Participation is a part of your grade and your tardiness has earned you a zero for today.” Jimin bites his lip as he nods, sinking low into the seat. It won’t affect his grade too badly, but the humiliation of being shamed in front of his classmates stings at his eyes.
(Aw, does little baby wanna cry about it? You should’ve brought Mr. Flopsy to comfort you. But you’re a big boy, aren’t you? Minie doesn’t need any help.)
Jimin straightens up in his seat and focuses on taking notes. No, he doesn’t need help. He could take care of himself. And anyway, math was an interesting subject, despite the less than ideal instructor. Today’s lecture was on infinite series, and Jimin needs to pay attention.
Thankfully, the class went by quickly, and as students started packing up and heading out, Jimin hesitantly made his way down to Professor Choi. The man was wiping off the board, but turned toward Jimin when he noticed him shifting awkwardly. He raised an eyebrow, and Jimin took it as permission to speak.
“I really am sorry, sir. I know it doesn’t change that it happened but I’ve been trying to get to sleep earlier so I can wake up on time but it’s slow going and I have three different alarms and none of them wake me up enough on their own and I need—” the professor cut him off with a sigh and a raised hand.
“Jimin, you’re one of my best students, and I know that you’re not late for lack of trying, but this can’t continue. You’re clearly running yourself ragged. Take some time to think about what you need to do to get yourself sorted out. Indulge your Classification a bit, perhaps.” If the man noticed Jimin’s startled look, he paid no heed. “College is stressful and sometimes in order to take care of oneself, one must first take care of another.” Jimin tried to hide his sigh of relief. Professor Choi assumed he was a Caregiver. He could work with that.
“I know, sir. I’ll do my best.” He smiled as brightly as he could manage. “I have another class, but thank you for listening to me.” He was waved off easily, and with another bow Jimin scurried out of the room.
(Minie didn’t want to be disciplined? Are you sure you shouldn’t ask for a time out so you can be a good boy again?)
Jimin was a good boy, and he didn’t need to endure a time out to prove it.
Scratch that.
Jimin was a young adult perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and he didn’t need any outside validation about his theoretical “goodness.”
He was fine.
The rest of his classes passed by in a rush of notes and lectures, and he wasn’t late to a single one of them. His homework schedule called for two hours at the library, but his feet took him to the dance studio. Jimin paused, trying to convince himself that this was only a short detour. He could do his homework later, couldn’t he? Establishing a sleep schedule was a process bound to have bumps in the road— this was a very small one in the grand scheme of things. The bounce in his steps became more pronounced as he entered his favorite building, making his way to the closest empty practice room.
Jimin hadn’t had the chance to work on any specific dance routine in awhile, but his phone’s music library is well-stocked. He puts on a playlist of multiple genres, and as the first notes of a ballad ring out he sets his phone to “do not disturb.” Now isn’t the time for distraction, not when he has so little time to be doing what he loves.
His hamstrings are a bit sore as he stretches, so he slows down a bit. Bending his knees, slowly rotating his back, and ever so slowly straightening his legs while he bends forward to grip his ankles and then walking his hands to the floor. A few joints pop—it’s really been too long. Even before he starts his routine, warmth bubbles in his chest. The first leap into movement has the warmth overflowing, his joy seeping out every pore.
Time stops, in this bubble of the practice room. Jimin flows through different styles as his playlist shuffles, from hip-hop to classical to pop and back again. He can tell his isolation needs some practice, but his popping is still pretty solid, and contemporary is still something he can confidently say he excels in.
His muscles are starting to ache, so much sooner than they used to. That could be fixed, if only he were a dance major. Then he’d be justified in practicing more often. It’s not the first time Jimin has had that thought, and it likely won't be the last, but he doesn’t have the luxury of choosing his major — his parents didn’t give him many options, and they’re the ones paying for him to continue his education. It’s impossible for Littles to take out loans, so even with restrictions he’s grateful.
It’s just that sometimes, he wishes he could have convinced them that dance was a real option. That he could make it. But he can’t, and they want Jimin to get a safe job, a stable job. (Boring, the insidious voice hisses. Soul-sucking. One you wouldn’t need if you had someone to take care of you properly.) That would be a selfish hope, and he can take care of himself. But he does still wish that someday he could dance for an audience.
Then he checks the time on his phone and realizes he’s stayed two hours longer than he meant to. There’s no more time to entertain useless fantasies — he has to get his homework done. With the time he burned through, making food will just have to wait. Maybe if he gets his work done fast enough, he can make cup noodles before bed.
He practically flies out of the building.
Cup noodles simply aren’t meant to be, because when Jimin finishes the work for his classes he sees the steadily-growing pile of mail he’s been ignoring for more than a week. If there’s a bill hiding in it, he can’t ignore it — that’s just asking for more trouble than his parents need to handle. They already lied to the university for Jimin, he can’t undermine that when it’s how he can attend school at all.
(If you had a caregiver, the back of his mind whispers, you wouldn’t have to worry about lying to the university. You wouldn’t have to worry about university at all.)
Slowly, he leafs through the accumulated envelopes. The majority of them are junk, but there’s a notice from the university for a “check in on student living conditions.”
Wonderful. Now he has to worry about a stranger judging his level of cleanliness.
He sighs, and resolves to tidy up before the visit. There aren’t any Little supplies in the open, aside from Mr. Flopsy, so Jimin will be fine as long as he stores him away the day of the visit.
(If you were a big boy, the voice hisses, you wouldn’t have to wait to hide him.)
Plushies are perfectly normal comfort items for anyone, Jimin is just being cautious. He’ll get through the visit just fine and then apologize to Mr. Flopsy for storing him away.
Everything will be fine.
The day of the check in, Jimin hasn’t had much time to clean. He rushed back from class as fast as he could, but only had enough time to set Mr. Flopsy in the nightstand drawer before he hears a knock.
When he opens the door, the lady gives him a soft smile that was out of place for someone about to scrutinize whether he managed to scrub the bathroom well enough. He ducks his head as he steps out of the way to let her in.
“I’m Jisoo, here on behalf of the university. This should only take a few minutes, sweetie. Do you want to show me around?” Well, not particularly, but needs must. He nods, clenching his fists to hide shaking hands. It would be fine. He was managing, the lady would see that, and she’d be on her way.
(But wouldn’t it be nice if she found you someone to take care of all those icky responsibilities you have trouble with?)
That would mean her knowing he’s a Little — it doesn’t matter if it would be nice, because losing those responsibilities means losing dance. That’s unacceptable. Whatever it takes to keep dancing, he’ll do it.
Even if it means losing himself in the process.
“It’s a bit messy, I didn’t have a lot of time to tidy up.” Jimin ducks his head. There are dishes in the sink, various papers for his classes strewn across the table, and his bedroom holds a steadily growing pile of dirty laundry. It’s definitely messier than it should be, but it’s still a livable space.
This isn’t for a grade. He’s just assuring the school that he’s doing alright. There’s no way to fail.
Everything will be fine.
“Sweetie, can I take a quick peek in your bedroom?” Jisoo asks, already striding toward the open door, “I promise I’ll be fast.” Jimin bites his lip and murmurs a soft agreement. She’s already stepping through the doorway.
Jimin expects her to do a quick scan for biohazards in the form of food left out too long and be done, but she starts shuffling through his dresser. He jolts. That’s… is that a normal part of a living conditions check in? He barely restrains himself from protesting — as long as she keeps to the dresser, it’ll be okay, but if he makes her suspicious and she checks the nightstand she might find his emergency kit.
(Wouldn’t it be nice not to keep any more secrets?)
No. Not if it costs him his dance.
He sees Jisoo straightening back up. Panic thrums through him like a bass line, and Jimin reaches for a distraction.
“Do you want some tea?” He asks desperately, and the harbinger of his doom smiles.
“Thank you, sweetie, that would be just lovely. Why don’t you go down to the kitchen and I’ll join you in a minute? I’m almost done here.” She doesn’t look at him, scanning his bedroom. Jimin nods, realizing he’s backed himself into a corner. Maybe he can create enough of a racket to distract her.
He doesn’t even make it to the kitchen before he hears footsteps behind him. He turns, relieved, assuming something must’ve come up to save him from the rest of the check in.
Jisoo holds Mr. Flopsy in one hand, and the pacifier from his emergency kit in the other. Jimin blanches.
“I think we’d better take a little trip together, sweetie. Do you want to hold your friend on the way there?”
(Yes, Minie wants Mr. Flopsy. He’s the best at comfort.)
Jimin contemplates bolting. He could probably outrun the lady — she’s in heels, and he’s pretty fast — but even if he does, his cover is blown. She’ll report his status to the university.
He won’t be able to dance.
And he does want to get Mr. Flopsy back from her before anything else.
The car ride is fairly short, though the amount of people in the van is big. There’s a driver, Jimin, Jisoo, and two intimidating men. Jisoo introduces them as her friends “from work,” and Jimin gathers that they were there to catch him if he’d decided to run. They keep half an eye on Jimin and half an eye on the doors the whole way.
It’s a twisted sort of comfort to realize no matter what he’d chosen, he still would’ve ended up in the same place. At least this way, he might’ve made it easier for himself.
When the van pulls into a parking garage, Jisoo unbuckles Jimin’s seatbelt for him. She leads him out to an elevator by the hand, and the two men follow behind. The van pulls away, and Jimin wonders if there’s another student in his position waiting to be picked up.
He hopes they’re smart enough to run before they answer the door.
The elevator goes up, and up, and up. There’s no music, and the silence builds with each rising level. Jimin holds Mr. Flopsy close to his chest. Breathing is all he can focus on.
“We’ll be checking in with Dr. Kim so he can make sure you’re healthy,” Jisoo says suddenly, startling Jimin, “and then we’ll get you settled in. There’s nothing to worry about, sweetie.”
“Can I go back to the dorm after? I have class tomorrow.” He knows the answer before he even finishes forming the words, but he can’t help asking anyway. The lady smiles, but her eyes are neutral. It’s not pity, and it’s not cruelty.
It’s not compassion, either.
“You won’t be allowed back on campus until the doctor gets your exam results. If they come back clear, you’ll be able to go back to classes with no trouble.”
(And when they come back declaring you a Little, you won’t have to worry about classes anymore.)
Jimin bites the inside of his cheek. If he plays his cards right, if he convinces them he didn’t already know his classification, he might be able to swing finishing out the semester. Then he could plead his case to finish his degree.
It’s a whole lot of might and maybes, but it’s all Jimin’s got at the moment. He’s grasping at hope with scrabbling fingers.
The elevator door opens. Jisoo leads Jimin down a stark corridor, and knocks sharply at one of the office doors. It opens to reveal a man with graying hair and bushy eyebrows in a doctor’s coat. He smiles at them and ushers Jimin inside. Jisoo stays in the hallway.
“Welcome, young man,” the doctor says, “not to worry, we’ll be done in a jiffy.” Jimin doesn’t say anything. The doctor doesn’t seem to expect a reply.
He carries on with some good natured chatter that Jimin can’t focus on, performing standard tests for a physical. Jimin gets his knees knocked for reflexes, his temperature taken, and his tonsils and ear canal looked at.
The doctor is quick, efficient, and nearly silent as he goes through the process of taking Jimin’s blood. This is the real test, Jimin knows, the only one that matters. The results of the others were necessary only if they decide he needs a file based on his bloodwork. On his classification.
He keeps his eyes shut. What else can he do, at this point? There’s nowhere to hide, no excuse beyond pretending he really didn’t know.
A thin, barefaced lie. He just hopes it’ll be enough.
The doctor offers him a lollipop during the wait for the results. Jimin wonders if the experience is cliche on purpose, or if it’s a sincere attempt at comfort. Whatever the case, he takes the candy. The office is bare, with a handful of informational posters about flu symptoms on the walls. When the doctor steps out, Jimin is left to stew in his thoughts, blue raspberry melting on his tongue.
When the door opens, it’s not the doctor. It’s a different man, dressed in a dour suit but with a bright green tie. He has a clownish grin plastered on his face, and one of his hands is conspicuously behind his back.
“Hey, buddy!” The grin grows. “You’re gonna come with me, okay? We’ll get you all set up.”
“I — I thought I was waiting for the results from the doctor?” Jimin stammers, knowing he’s been made and sticking to his lies anyway.
“The doctor gave me your results so I could get you situated,” the man says, and before Jimin can ask about medical privacy he barrels on, revealing the pacifier in his previously hidden hand. “I’m Seojoon, you’re Jimin, and what’s this little guy’s name?” He motions to Mr. Flopsy, still in Jimin’s death grip.
“Mr. Flopsy,” Jimin answers, face burning. He should’ve picked a more grown-up name.
(But it suits him so well. You wouldn’t want to make Mr. Flopsy pretend to be something he’s not, would you?)
“That’s a great name!” Seojoon cheers, and holds the pacifier out to Jimin. He takes it, not really sure what else to do.
It stays in his hand.
Seojoon ushers him out of the room, down the elevator, and into another van so quickly Jimin can barely process that they’re going somewhere new. He’s in some kind of contraption in the backseat with more buckles than he knows what to do with, Seojoon beside him.
He wonders what his results said. Mr. Flopsy and the pacifier are still in his hands, and he can see Seojoon looking at the pacifier disapprovingly every so often.
Tough luck. Jimin doesn’t need a pacifier. He’s just fine holding Mr. Flopsy, he just doesn’t want to be rude by giving it back.
It’s a long ride. The sky gets darker, and the road lulls Jimin to a weary rest.
He closes his eyes and sleeps.
Minie is in his favorite crown — the one with pink and purple gems and lots of sparkles — and Sir Pudding is wearing a lovely blue dress as they share tea. Mr. Flopsy is sitting next to Minie, enjoying his carrot cake. Minie doesn’t know why Mr. Flopsy doesn’t want tea at a tea party, but since he’s happy with his cake Minie can focus on his own tea and sweets. The tea this time is lemon and frozen blueberries and sunshine, and Minie comments to Sir Pudding that it may be the best tea they’ve had.
“Oh, indubitably,” Sir Pudding bobs his fuzzy white head in agreement, “the sunshine tastes quite divine.”
Minie hums, kicking his feet happily. Tea parties really are the best.
“Rise and shine, buddy! Time to face the day!” A voice oh-so-rudely interrupts the party. What terrible manners! That voice is definitely not invited to the next tea party. Minie grumbles, and tries to bat the voice away, snuggling deeper into the covers to rejoin Sir Pudding. “C’mon and put some pep in your step, we’ve got plenty to do and people to meet!”
Jimin groans and levers himself up, awake enough to stay upright and not much else. Seojoon is standing next to his bed, holding a clipboard in one hand and a pacifier in the other. He offers it to Jimin, eyes hopeful. Jimin ignores it.
As he gets ready, Seojoon chatters on about bookings and inquiries and “things hardly ever happen this quickly.” Jimin doesn’t try to follow it — he’ll figure it out when he’s more alert. They exit the room with barely any time to register where he’d been sleeping, and Jimin scurries behind Seojoon down the hall.
Their destination turns out to be a cozy little office, with a corner that’s clearly a designated play space. Jimin willfully ignores it, and takes a tentative seat in one of the available chairs. Seojoon gives him a look full of something, but keeps quiet. Hardly a minute passes before there’s a knock on the door, and a middle-aged couple enters.
They look kind, Jimin supposes, but the lines on their faces speak of a desperate sort of longing that puts him on edge. The woman is dressed in an unstructured trench coat, and the man has on a suit jacket that looked as though it saw better days years ago. The woman has a pinched smile on her face, gripping the man’s arm.
“Hello there, dear,” she says to Jimin, “did you not feel like playing while the adults talk?”
“No, thank you.” Jimin stays in the chair. She shoots a bewildered look at Seojoon, who gives a halfhearted shrug.
“He hasn’t fully adjusted yet, it should be marked in his file,” Seojoon says and gestures for the two of them to sit. “Shall we get started?”
Jimin feels more awake, but still doesn’t quite follow the conversation. There’s lots of questions about their house, about their finances, about their free time. It’s only when Seojoon asks them if they’ve had any training for “maladjusted Littles” that Jimin catches on. Three facts hit him all at once: This is an adoption screening, he doesn’t know anything about these people, and if he doesn’t speak up now there’s a good chance he’ll never be able to go back to school.
“I thought I was going back to university.” It comes out sharper than he meant, but he stares them down anyway. This is important — this is the only thing he can hold onto right now. The woman laughs, bemused. The man frowns.
“Dear, we don’t have the money to spend on that kind of frivolity,” the woman says, then looks to Seojoon quickly and adds, “not that we don’t have any money for extra things. But university is quite expensive.”
The man is still frowning, looking pensive. He watches as Jimin draws himself up, gathering resolve.
“I don’t know you,” Jimin says, “but your financial situation is none of my concern. My concern is university. At the very least, I need to finish out the semester. That doesn’t have anything to do with you.” He looks over at Seojoon. “I have classes. When can I expect to be back? I’ll need to let my professors know that I need make-up work.” Inside, Jimin is trembling, but barreling forward is his only option. He can’t be adopted by these people.
Seojoon sputters, clearly unsure how to respond. The woman seems like she’s gearing up to say something, but the man stops her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Haewon,” he rumbles, “he’s not the right fit for us.” He lets it hang in the air, Haewon looking like she’s about to shout or cry. “He would never be happy.” She seems to break a little at that, fine porcelain cracks. She hangs her head.
“You’re right.” She turns to Seojoon. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, but my husband is right.” She glances at Jimin, then away again. “You should update his file. He’s not going to be happy in a normal arrangement.” The couple stands, bows. As they say their goodbyes, Jimin feels a brief twinge. He hopes they find someone who will be happy with them.
After they leave, Seojoon sighs loudly, shoulders sagging. “You can’t make this easy for me, huh, buddy? Those two would’ve loved you.” Jimin holds back a glare.
“I needed to know. I’ve been asking about university and nobody’s given me a straight answer. This semester is fully paid for, I don’t understand why I can’t finish it out.”
“I’m sorry, buddy, but I don’t have a straight answer for you. You’re an odd case, but it’ll really depend on your adoptive family. If they can’t afford it or don’t feel like it’s a good environment for you, it won’t happen.”
“Why does it matter whether or not a theoretical family can afford it? My parents are the ones helping me pay.” He doesn’t bother addressing the good environment issue — there’s nothing he can say, since nobody seems to care about his own opinions.
Seojoon looks… shifty. Jimin narrows his eyes. The man relents.
“Actually, they’re not. Or at least, they won’t be able to in the future. They’ve been put under investigation, so they’re not allowed any contact with you until the courts decide if they’re a threat to your wellbeing. That includes financial support.”
Jimin gapes at Seojoon, wide-eyed. “How long until the investigation is over?”
“It could be months, it could be years.” The man looks faintly apologetic. “I’ve seen it take almost a decade, once, but usually it’s closer to three years.”
“And finishing out this semester?” Jimin’s voice comes out reedy. Seojoon just shakes his head.
“Not allowed while you’re a ward of the government. Once you’re adopted, like I said, it’ll depend on how they think it’ll affect you.” At Jimin’s look of despair, he swallows. “Hey, listen, I’m updating your file right now — anyone sending in an application will know it’s a high priority for you.” He doesn’t say that they’ll have to abide by it, Jimin notes, but he appreciates it all the same.
They sit silently in the office until Seojoon is done at the computer. He leads Jimin back to his room.
Jimin spends a long time sitting in bed and staring at nothing.
The adoption screenings start to blur together. It starts out the same way every time, with hopeful couples or groups smiling at him and asking if he’d like to play while the adults spoke. He refuses each time, and reactions vary from confused to annoyed. One memorable reaction was from an older man, part of a group, who started berating Jimin for not being grateful for what he had.
(That screening ended early.)
Seojoon seems to have given up on finding Jimin a fitting placement anytime soon — he starts each conversation with potential guardians with simple questions about Jimin’s file. It doesn’t surprise Jimin anymore that most of them have no idea what it says.
Jimin has started floating through the days. There’s nothing he needs to pay attention to outside the screenings, and he feels like a ship untethered from its anchor drifting through a vast ocean.
(Just let go, let the grownups worry about things. There’s nothing to focus on anyway.)
Well. There’s one thing Jimin could focus on, if he’s allowed to. It takes a few days to work up the courage to ask.
“Is there anywhere I could use to dance?” he asks Seojoon, three weeks in. “I can just use my phone for music, but I don’t have enough space in my room.” It’s a two-pronged inquiry — he hasn’t seen his phone since he got here.
“Ah, I’m sure we can find a place for you to dance, buddy. I know you must be going a bit stir crazy.” Seojoon smiles tightly. “I’ve got a CD player you can borrow, too.”
That answers the phone question, Jimin supposes. It’s too bad Seojoon seems uncomfortable when Jimin feels more aware and present. That’s exactly when Jimin could use a person to talk to.
(He doesn’t like Minie when he’s big, so Minie should just stay Little.)
He accepts borrowing the CD player with more grace than he feels. It means he can dance, so that’s all that matters. Seojoon leads him down a hallway Jimin doesn’t recognize — that’s not saying much, considering he stays in his room except during screenings — to something that looks like an empty conference room. It’s fairly small, but since there’s no furniture in the way it’s serviceable.
It doesn’t take long to tune out the world, once the CD comes on and Jimin starts to dance. He’s even rustier than the last time he got a moment to practice — unsurprising but disappointing. He’ll just have to work harder to get back to a better form. He goes through some simple steps before he remembers that he has to stretch, and winces at how tight his calves and obliques are (he expects the tightness in his hamstrings this time).
Once he deems himself properly warmed up, Jimin loses himself in the music again. He doesn’t bother going through a specific routine, freestyling his way through his favorite contemporary moves.
The illusion that he’s just messing around in the university practice room is hard to resist. He feels free for the first time in weeks. Maybe that’s why he feels tears well up when the illusion shatters. Seojoon is applauding loudly, the CD is finished, and Jimin wants to hide away from the world.
“I need to make a few calls,” Seojoon says, “let me drop you off at your room.” Jimin just nods. He’s had enough of remembering everything he’s lost for the day.
Seojoon finds Jimin exactly where he left him — in his room, staring at the ceiling from his bed. There’s a vacancy in Jimin’s gaze that Seojoon chooses to ignore, determinedly cheerful.
“Buddy! C’mon, we need to get down to my office, there’s some people I want you to meet.”
Jimin nearly groans. Another adoption screening is the last thing he needs right now. Still, he gets to his feet and follows the other to the office.
There are six men waiting for them when they arrive. It’s the largest group he’s seen yet during a screening. They’re tall, well dressed, and their gazes zero in on Jimin the moment he enters. It’s not overwhelming, but it’s close.
(Oh? Doesn’t Minie feel shy?)
Regardless of how that focused attention may or may not make Jimin feel, he claims one of the office chairs before they’re all taken. One of the men tilts his head and grins. Another narrows his eyes without seeming angry, and another looks like he’s just seen a puppy get kicked. None of them stop watching. Seojoon sits in his customary chair, leaving three left for the six of them to squabble over.
Oddly, there’s no actual argument about who sits — they don’t even say anything out loud. It’s a fascinating interplay of raised eyebrows, meaningful glances, and one quick gesture from the man in the front. It takes maybe five seconds, and then the seeming leader, the man who narrowed his eyes, and the tallest man sit in the remaining chairs while the other three go to the play area. Jimin tries not to stare too hard, but it knocks him for a loop.
(They’d be happy to play with Minie too, wouldn’t they?)
Except— it doesn’t quite look like the three of them are playing so much as bickering quietly. One of them holds up a ragged toy from the chest, and the other two gasp. It’s clear that they aren’t Littles. None of them are, which is strange.
What kind of Caregivers group up so heavily before adopting even one Little?
“Hi there, little one,” the probably-leader says, “I’m Hoseok, my friend with dimples is Namjoon and my friend with the rings is Yoongi. Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?” Jimin blinks.
“I’m Jimin.” He says. Then, like he can’t help himself, “I want to finish out my university semester.” He expects the standard dismissal. He doesn’t get it.
“Oh, that sounds nice,” the one with dimples, Namjoon, says, “are you planning to pursue a degree? What’s your major?”
“Actuarial Science or Applied Mathematics. My parents aren’t sure which one is better for the workforce in the long term.” The one wearing rings, Yoongi, narrows his eyes again, but Jimin continues at Namjoon’s encouraging nod. “I want to go into Applied Mathematics, between the two of them. There are more things that I could do with it, and the math is more fun.”
Yoongi leans forward, then, fingers interlocking and his elbows on his knees. “If the workforce wasn’t a concern, is that still the major you’d choose? What else would you want to learn about?”
“Dance.” The answer slips out of him like a sigh. “Maybe something like Astronomy. I haven’t really thought too much about it.” He hasn’t let himself think too much about it.
“Oooh, you dance?” Hoseok exclaims, leaning closer. “What styles do you like? Have you ever done a showcase? Do you want to participate in competitions?”
“I— um—” Jimin stammers, a bright beam of toomuchtoomuch shining from Hoseok’s smile, like looking directly at the sun. “I won a few competitions.”
“Jimin’s dance accomplishments are recorded in his file, including the showcases he’s been in.” Seojoon interjects. “It’s a very impressive resume.”
“And considering we were called in for this meeting before we had a chance to go over his file, we wanted to get to know him in person,” Namjoon says to Seojoon. Then he turns back to Jimin. “Dance, huh? Do you want to be a dancer?”
“Yeah, I used to dream about dancing as a career. Childish, I know.” He huffs a short laugh, expecting a few chuckles of agreement. Instead, there are small frowns on every face. Jimin replays his last sentence.
Childish, I know . Stupid. He’d forgotten this was an adoption screening, forgotten they weren’t professors or classmates, forgotten that they were there to watch him be childish.
“I don’t think that’s childish,” Namjoon says softly, “ambitious, maybe. But not childish.” Jimin stays quiet.
“Joon and I are both pursuing music as our career,” Yoongi adds. “Is that childish of us? Hobi dances pretty frequently for someone who isn’t technically in the entertainment industry. Jin-hyung and Taehyungie have both acted in movies and dramas. Kookie is on the way to being a true pop star, the way agencies keep calling him. Would pursuing those things make them childish?”
“That’s different,” Jimin says, inexplicably irritated. “They’ve already done things. It’s not fanciful if there’s already proof of concept. Saying yes to someone who’s asking for you isn’t the same as investing all your time and effort into a pipe dream.” Yoongi leaned closer, and Jimin felt like a mouse tricked into cornering itself.
“You said you won competitions. I don’t doubt there were calls from agents. What about that makes it seem like a pipe dream? Saying yes to someone that’s asking for you is entirely reasonable.” Jimin curls into himself.
“There weren’t any calls.”
“Oh? Did you put your personal number in the contact information?”
“No, I was a minor. My parents put their phone number. Mom told me nobody called.” Hoseok purses his lips.
“Let’s set this aside for the moment. Sweetheart, would you be willing to come home with us? We’re more than willing to help you finish out this semester.”
Jimin weighs his options. For as long as he’s a ward of the government, he’s unable to go back to university. And for all that Seojoon marked it as a priority on his file, these are the first people to talk about him going back as a serious option. They’re the only ones who talked to him instead of asking Seojoon about him.
(They seem nice. Doesn’t Minie want to play with them?)
He breathes in. Out. He nods. The men burst into smiles — two of the men still in the play area burst into raucous cheers.
“I’m so glad, little one. In that case, I have some formalities to go through with Seojoon. How about you go meet Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook, get to know them?” The three men in the play area wave excitedly, beckoning Jimin over.
Jimin always felt like too much of a spectacle with other potential guardians to actually relax and play. These men, though, seem excited to play with Jimin, rather than watching him like a circus act.
It’s… nice.
“I’m Seokjin,” one of the three — the one with the widest shoulders Jimin’s ever seen — says, “and these two troublemakers are Taehyung and Jungkook.” He gestures at the man who’d looked like he’d just seen a puppy get kicked when Jimin stole the office chair and the man who’d grinned, respectively. They’re both smiling now, and Jimin feels himself smiling back, just a little.
“Settle this for us, Jimin,” Taehyung says very seriously, even still smiling, “Jungkookie and I are at odds. Is this fine fellow —” he lifts up the ragged toy Jimin had seen them holding earlier “— a wizard looking for a dragon friend, or a detective investigating the case of a missing teacup?”
“Teacup!” Jimin blurts, and then startles at himself. Before he can shake his head and answer properly, the three men nod with understanding. Which is good, because at least someone has any idea about what’s going on.
“Teacups are very important,” Seokjin intones, and Jimin would think he’s being made fun of except for how earnest they all look, “after all, how else could you have a tea party?”
Jimin nods. “Sir Pudding would be sad if his favorite teacup went missing, he wouldn’t want to host any tea parties until he found it.”
“Sir Pudding?” Jungkook leans forward. “Is he your friend?”
“Mhm,” Jimin affirms, “He throws the best tea parties.”
“Does he stay with you in your room? Would he like to join us?” Jungkook asks. Jimin frowns.
“He got thrown out. Only have Mr. Flopsy now, but Sir Pudding still throws tea parties in my dreams.” After hearing Jimin’s response, the three men look gutted. Seokjin seems to shake himself out of it the quickest.
“I’m glad he’s still able to have tea parties with you, sweetheart. Do you want to tell us about him? What does he look like?” Seokjin asks kindly.
“He’s big, and fluffy! His fur looks like vanilla pudding, which is why his name is Sir Pudding, and he came with a blue vest and hat but then I lost his hat so he only had his vest. Sometimes he has a dress now, too! He makes the very best teas and…” Minie sniffs, “…and I miss him.”
“It’s completely normal to miss him, he’s a very important friend.” Seokjin assures him, and Minie nods miserably. “I know we won’t be able to match up to Sir Pudding’s standards, but we’d love to have a tea party with you when we get back home. You can tell us if we have the right teacups.”
Minie smiles, a little wobbly. “Yes, please.”
Before they can discuss tea time logistics, the four men at the desk stand and start shaking hands. Jungkook and Seokjin quickly tidy up the play area, while Taehyung reaches out to hold Minie’s hand.
Hoseok looks at Minie, full of sunlight. “Time to go home, sweetheart. Let’s go get your things.”