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[VOGUE ONLINE]
Desireé Roguin’s collection brings all the boys to the yard
From bell bottoms to purple sleeveless shirts, Desireé is set to cause a stir with her new male collection this fall, catching the attention of a couple of well-known celebrities like the singer Kim Seokjin and the rookie F1 driver Jeon Jungkook who were spotted on the first row admiring the designs as they made their way into the runway. We expect to see some of the pieces in future events, chosen by these distinguishable celebrities. Miss Roguin will host an afterparty under closed invitation, one that is causing quite a stir in the world of fashion since it has been rumored that Min Yoongi, the withdrawn but undoubtedly talented fashion designer will be assisting. Has Desiree’s collection hypnotized the designer to make him join the celebration? Or is he going for another motive?
The only good thing in these types of parties, in Yoongi’s opinion, was the endless supply of wine.
He got the attention of a waiter, who was quick to replace his glass with a full one. Yoongi took a sip, tasting the sweetness bursting in his tongue, trying to guess which brand it belonged to, breaking apart the taste more interesting than mingling with people at the party.
He never felt like he belonged to these luxurious after parties, where models, celebrities and fashion ‘experts’ posed together to get their photos taken, just to turn around and ignore each other once the camera had passed by.
At the beginning, Yoongi had tried to blend in with these people, as a new fashion designer he had been excited to share thoughts and commentary about the pieces he had seen during the fashion week, but quickly found most people were not interested to talk about art, and only wanted to talk about likes and money and their Instagram handles.
Yoongi stopped trying to mingle, becoming a reclusive type of celebrity under the eyes of the world, which suited him just fine. He rarely appeared in public nowadays, letting his clothes do the talk for him. Nonetheless, there were some events he couldn’t miss, like tonight’s fashion show. It wasn’t just because his contract demanded it, but because Yoongi was a true lover of the art embedded in every thread and seam, and the fashion designer of this show was one Yoongi had admired for long and he wouldn’t miss the show for anything.
His eyes had been locked in every gown that appeared in the runway, ideas flying like a tornado inside his head about future pieces that he could work on, inspired by the ones he had seen. He had wanted to talk with the designer, and after asking around he had been invited to the party, so he had no other choice but to attend even if a headache was already starting to explode behind his eyes just at the thought of it.
It was almost ten at night when Yoongi thought it was socially acceptable to leave the party, he had already talked with the designer, a woman by the name of Desireé Roguin, who had been nothing but inspiring talking about the story she had woven within her pieces, every sentence connected Yoongi to the pieces he had admired. She had promised to send an email to Yoongi with more details of her execution before she had been whisked away by other celebrities singing bland praises that made Yoongi wince. He had been on the receiver end of those praises other times as well, but it was a small price to make to be able to have the freedom to create his own art.
“Is the car ready?” Yoongi asked his assistant, a guy almost his age named Kim Namjoon.
“Are you sure you want to leave? You have talked just to one person tonight. This would be a good opportunity to make connections.” Namjoon informed Yoongi, and the designer made a face.
“I don’t care about anyone in this room enough to approach them. I rather be at home watching Shark tank.”
Namjoon huffed amusedly. “You hate that show.”
“Exactly.”
They were against the bar, the farthest away possible to the crowd that seemed to press against each other to create the illusion of togetherness when they were all lonely people acting for themselves and no one else. Yoongi observed them from his position, faces blurring together, his attention fixed only on their clothes. That was at least something that kept him interested; the bold colors, the dull cuts, the jewelry that matched and those that horribly didn’t. Yoongi had learned to use these types of parties as a research study, adamant to win something out of his misery.
“I can call the driver.” Namjoon said after realizing Yoongi had been serious.
“I’ll increase your salary if you do.” Yoongi said drily, taking another sip of his drink.
“You don’t even know how much you pay me already.” Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. “I pay my own salary.”
“Then increase it yourself if you are able to take me out of this place in the next ten minutes.”
Namjoon kept shaking his head, either in disagreement or amusement but he was already on his phone, his finger quickly typing to make sure Yoongi’s whim was fulfilled. Yoongi returned his eyes to the party, the neon lights strobing making it difficult to appreciate some of the garments that had caught his attention before, the loud music with the top hits of the moment making it impossible to hear any conversation around, but not enough to hide the clamor when a new person walked in the room, probably someone popular or important to show up so late and still be awaited.
Yoongi huffed lowly against the rim of his cup, ready to roll his eyes at whoever believed himself to be so important, when he saw him.
The man walking down the stairs, smiling brighter than the lights overhead was not just beautiful, he was arresting. He was the kind of beauty that made fabric whisper inside Yoongi’s head.
His eyes scanned the man quickly, noticing how the golden hair delicately parted across the forehead would suit earth colors like a long tan coat. He took attention to the eyes even across all the distance, deep and seductive, ones that were begging to dress him in purple or red, an eye-catching color to accompany that stare. Yoongi wasn’t seeing just a beautiful man, he was seeing cuts of silk, drapes of velvet, seams that clanged and fell. He saw thousands of combinations of clothes he should be tailoring for him.
“Who is he?” Yoongi asked, trying and failing to hide his interest. Not that it mattered to Namjoon, already used to Yoongi’s abrupt change of mood.
“Park Jimin?” Namjoon asked, voice flat as if he wasn’t suddenly on fire like Yoongi felt since the man walked in. “You don’t know him? Oh, he is incredible. He is a singer; he just topped the charts with a song a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh, so just a pop idol.” Yoongi mused, biting his lip, trying to contain his disappointment.
Namjoon chuckled. “I mean, you could say that, but he is not just that. He’s been funding a youth art program in Busan, for young dancers and musicians and painters and more, very hush hush, he never talks to the press about it though.”
Yoongi saw Jimin laugh at something someone said, his eyes bunching up in a crescent form that made Yoongi’s fingers twitch as if he was sketching. In yellow. Definitely yellow.
“He studied contemporary art, and he weaves that dancing in his songs. Hyung, he is breathtaking on stage, it feels like watching air or water take a human form to dance.”
Yoongi turned to his assistant, lifting an eyebrow. “You sound like a fan.”
“I am, I won’t hide it.” Namjoon puffed his chest, unembarrassed. “His music is really good, you’d like it. He has a song, set me free, I think you’d like.”
Yoongi’s breath caught in his throat. What was the odd that this man, this vision named Park Jimin had a song named exactly the same as one of Yoongi’s old mixtapes songs? The music he created before pursuing a fashion degree. And for Namjoon to be so smitten with him, Park Jimin had to be no ordinary singer.
“He skipped an award ceremony one time to see the dance showcase of his old school.” Namjoon added as afterthought, like a fan ready to burst in trivia about their favorite artist at any given chance. “He is really, really sweet Yoongi. Everyone loves him.”
Yoongi could see why. Namjoon’s words cutting thought his defenses like a blade. Sweet. Art patron. Not shallow, nor empty as he had quickly dismissed, but more.
His fingers were still twitching, the cup in his hands shaking along. He could already imagine how fabric would fall over Jimin’s collarbone, how loose silk would frame the slope of his shoulders. It was infuriating to be sketching him in his head like a starving artist, when he hadn’t even exchanged a word with him.
A word. Fine. If Jimin was setting him on fire, he was ready to burn.
“Tell the driver to cancel the rescue.” He said, placing the cup above the bar, under the surprised gaze of Namjoon.
“What? Where are you going?”
“To introduce myself to your celebrity crush.” Yoongi said nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t scorching all over.
Namjoon grabbed him by the arm, stopping his escape. His assistant seemed scared, the thick black frame of his glasses skewed a little and his eyes wide.
“Hyung, you can’t just walk in there an introduce yourself. That’s not how these interactions work, and you know it. Let me find his manager for you and—”
“I don’t have time for all that bureaucracy.” Yoongi rolled his eyes, freeing his hand, already moving towards the idol like a moth to the flame. “I’ll be back.”
Yoongi, usually aloof and detached, crossed the room, grabbing the attention of a couple of people used to his reserved and stoic behavior. His heart was skipping, consequence of his reckless and rare impulse. But the closer he walked to Park Jimin, the hotter the flame grew and he knew he needed to be nearer.
He stopped in front of Jimin, who had found a small round table with ten other people laughing at something someone said, a champagne flute loose in his hand. Closer Yoongi scrunched his nose in distaste thanks to the clothes he was wearing, just a normal black suit over a white button up, and God’s sake a boring and skinny black tie. Whoever dressed him didn’t see Jimin was born to impress?
“You need better clothes.” Yoongi said, blunt as blade. Definitely not the introduction he nor Namjoon had in mind, but the words were urgent, slipping before he could catch them.
The whole table went quiet, eyes talking to each other confused by the interruption. Yoongi didn’t care about the people around; he was used to being criticized either by his work or his persona. He cared just for one person, and that person was staring at him, a brow arched in amusement.
“Do I?” Jimin tilted his head like a challenge. “And Min Yoongi thinks he can do better?”
Yoongi smiled. Usually, he hated to be recognized because it meant people had their opinions about him already set, right or wrong, it didn’t matter because at the end they only knew the tip of the iceberg. But with this human torch, Yoongi liked to be known. He liked to know he was already in his orbit and not just that, but Jimin wasn’t intimidated by him nor the numerous rumors made about him.
He licked his lips.
“I know I can. Because I’ve already designed three things for you in my head since you walked in. None of them deserve to stay on paper, but rather…on you.”
Jimin hummed, leaning forward, his smile feline. The champagne tilted dangerously in his hand as he locked eyes with Yoongi. Definitely yellow, Yoongi repeated, but also very much red.
“Prove it now. Show me your design right here.”
In a second a napkin was being pushed towards Yoongi on the table between them, a pen followed, retrieved by an inner pocket inside Jimin’s suit and it was that what made Yoongi accept the challenge, because the inner of the suit was glossy black. How insulting.
“Here.” He muttered, his head bent hand moving quick, sketching lines like he couldn’t stop himself, the clothes vivid in his mind now that Jimin’s strong perfume surrounded him. “The cut should sit lower. You need a vest that frames your chest, trousers that actually elongate your line—”
“Are you calling me short?” Jimin asked, but there was no bite in his words anymore. The challenge dripping like venom had gone away to be replaced with interest as he leaned over the table to look at the sketch.
The people at the table were intrigued as well, but silent, understanding they were mere spectators in their private dance.
“With my design, no one would lock in that detail.” Yoongi said and Jimin laughed loud and airy and completely yellow.
“So, you are calling me short.”
“Not my words.” He said lifting his gaze and finding Jimin already staring back, burning away his defenses. He was trapped the moment he saw him walk in, and yet he needed to finish the sketch to prove himself worthy.
He went back to his sketch, pen scratching fast over the napkin, his free hand smudged faintly with ink.
“Something fitted here, loose there, bare shoulders, fabric that moves when you do.” He muttered his thoughts as he went.
Lines curved and broke into forms. He didn’t even look at Jimin anymore, lost in the rhythm of creation, which might have been a mistake because just as he had thought, Jimin was born to be admired and ignoring him wasn’t an option.
Yoongi’s breath caught when he felt something brushing against his ankle, softly lifting the pants he was wearing. Once. Then higher.
Yoongi’s pulse quickened. He pressed the pen a little firmer when the edge of the shoe pressed firmer against his calf raising his skin.
“You’re awfully focused.” Jimin murmured, his tone low, teasing, only for him. “For someone who cornered me just to get my attention, if this is your idea of flirting, I’m not impressed.”
Yoongi’s head whipped up quickly, astonished.
Of course. He had come so abrasively, no introduction like the etiquette indicated, talking about low cuts and what not. Jimin probably thought he was just flirting. Jimin probably thought he was just another high positioned asshole trying to get into his pants. Yoongi had interacted with them in the past, he knew they were there waiting to catch impressionable new artists with promises of money and fame.
He had been quick to judge Jimin when he first was made aware of his existence, why didn’t he think Jimin would do the same with him? And he didn’t give him any material to think otherwise.
His pen stilled, his gaze dark and sharp locked on Jimin whose eyes were glinting with defiance, definitely shielding himself. How dumb he had been, thinking that just because Jimin was better interacting with the industry wasn’t as careful as Yoongi in his shell hiding next to the bar. They were the same, he found, just different textures who would need a bit of thread to show what a good combination they made.
He wanted him.
“You misunderstand me, Park Jimin.” He said voice steady, a hand catching Jimin’s thigh under the table, not rough but firm enough to still Jimin’s movements. “If I fuck you, it’ll be because you beg for it. But right now, I’m busy creating your next viral outfit.”
He saw Jimin blush across his face, the pink beautifully dressing the singer the way Yoongi knew it would. His lips were slightly ajar, plump and wet thanks to the champagne and the designer imagined a glossy lipstick would make quite a statement in the design he was creating for him.
Jimin’s knee jerked back, foot retreating. Yoongi watched him swallow and force a trademark smirk back onto his trembling lips.
“I don’t beg.” Jimin muttered.
Yoongi smirked, satisfied, and went back to sketching as if Jimin’s teasing had been nothing but background noise.
“Let’s revise that in a different time.” He murmured, dragging another line across the napkin. “For now, tell me what you think of this.”
Yoongi dropped the pen, turning the napkin around for Jimin to appreciate fully. Yoongi stared at Jimin as the idol inspected his work, noting how his eyes ate the lines with care, not like many others Yoongi had met who were quick to praise without thinking.
It was a sharp ensemble; a turtleneck sweater with long sleeves paired with a cinched vest and a belt that would fall down the hips of the idol, paired with trousers opened at the bottom like the opening of a skirt to bring the femineity of the artist, without needing to show any bit of skin. He added a rough sketch of a necklace, similar to one he already owned and never knew in which one of his pieces to add it.
“It’ll be all pink, like your lips.”
Jimin locked eyes with him, cheeks flushed the same tone as his lips and the tone Yoongi had pictured for his design. Because yellow would be for later, when Jimin had agreed to be dressed by him, after Yoongi could learn more about his story to make sure to create something worthy of him.
“That’s…too many clothes.” Jimin said at the end, but a finger traced the lines reverently as if he could feel the fabric.
“It’s called layering.”
“I have heard that’s your specialty.”
It was. Some critics acclaimed his ability to layer clothes to create interesting silhouettes, others hated his vision thinking the pieces worked better separately. Yoongi saw the layers as part of himself, each one of them designed to tell a chapter of a story.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“You misunderstand me too, Min Yoongi. You claim to know how to dress me, but you only think about how to put your mark in me, when that design is not me at all.”
Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek, the statement hitting harder than any critic in an online forum.
“Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I wear clothes just to take them off.”
Then, slowly under the eyes of the designer, Jimin stood. He removed the dull black jacket Yoongi had despised, passing it along to a young man who was probably his manager, and turned around looking at Yoongi behind his shoulder to capture his reaction at the reveal.
What Yoongi had confused with a boring white button up had a special surprise. A dramatic open back, almost completely exposed in a diamond shape cutout running from the collar down to the waistline. At the top, near the collar, the shirt was fastened with a large, elegant bow, adding a feminine touch.
People around started to notice Jimin’s new attire, gasping and singing praises as they begged to take a photo and know the name of the designer.
Jimin was quick to entertain the curious spectators, slipping easily into the role he had set to be for the night. He was a performer, and his outfit was just part of the show, the undressing was a choreography he had planned before arriving, the steps unfamiliar to Yoongi. But he understood what Jimin said and understood how mistaken he had been to think he could dress someone like Jimin, an ever-changing flame.
“It was a pleasure to know you, Min Yoongi, but I have other people to meet.” Jimin dismissed him and before Yoongi could react to keep him around Jimin disappeared between the crowd, like a flame dancing in the night.
Yoongi’s world of baggy structured pieces suddenly felt too tight, too small. Jimin’s risqué, shameless and dazzling world unraveling him thread by thread.
The humiliation sat uncomfortable on his stomach, his ego not used to get hit.
And then, he noticed the napkin had disappeared, missing in the moment his eyes were captured by Jimin’s backless outfit and cold dismissal. Just another part of the show.
Yoongi smiled. He had underestimated and misunderstood Jimin, but this? He understood loud and clearly.
He hadn’t been rejected entirely.
He went in search of his assistant, ready to leave for real now, because he had work to do, dozens of ideas shining yellow swimming in his mind.
[VOGUE ONLINE]
Idol’s showstopper
Park Jimin turned heads at Desirees Roguin’s after-party last night with a daring backless shirt paired under a sleek blazer. The look sparked an instant frenzy across the attendees. Even the normally elusive designer Min Yoongi in attendance was caught in the idol’s orbit, his gaze rarely drifting far from the nation’s sweetheart according to some sources. Is this the start of a new ship?
Jimin opened the door to his hotel room, his eyes forgoing every commodity and luxurious item already searching for what he knew he would find at the bottom of the bed. He could be wrong, of course, and would have to convince himself that the feeling inside his stomach was not disappointment, as at those times he had looked and couldn’t find it with a first glance.
But not this time, because the moment his eyes fell on the bed, he found the now familiar black box tied with an elegant yellow ribbon.
Jimin had been confused the first time he saw it. He had arrived at Japan earlier in the day, whisked away to an interview and later a dinner, arriving to his hotel until the night. The black box had been a strange sight to receive him. Jimin had sent a message to his manager, inquiring about the box before daring to open it. He had unpleasant memories of ‘gifts’ in the past that his team were unaware of, so he knew to act with caution.
His manager Taehyung assured him the box was safe, and a gift that Jimin would like. His manager had even added a winky emoji that had Jimin intrigued. Still, he waited until the last minute to open it, preferring to take a shower first and calling his mom to let her know about his day before finally sitting in a butterfly position to open the box.
The box was almost empty, just a silk pocket handkerchief folded like a rose, the pale pink color contrasting loudly against the velvet black of the box. Jimin touched the silk slowly with a finger, admiring the detailed edges, embroidered in gold. The singer had never worn a handkerchief of that color, and his fingers itched to try it.
But why was this at his hotel?
He didn’t have to look long, because under the cloth laid a rectangular card, black as the box. In white lettering, with sharp strokes looking almost like a scar the words ‘NEVERMIND’ were engraved. Jimin gasped in recognition, Min Yoongi’s brand name impossible to confuse.
Quickly he turned the card around to find a message: Good luck at the Sowoozoo awards.
Jimin had stared incredulously at the six words, as if more would suddenly appear. No signature, although it wasn’t needed. The message as enigmatic as his owner.
During their encounter Jimin had thought Min Yoongi had wanted just to slip into his bed, like many others had tried before, wrongly assuming that Jimin was easy just because he was an idol. He had heard of the designer, the kind of man who dismissed everyone acting like his attention was a gift. Jimin thought that Yoongi pouring his attention into him at that party was just a tactic to make Jimin feel important and therefore fall to his charms.
But then, oh, then Yoongi saw Jimin. He sketched him in mere minutes, studying him not as a prize or a stack of bills like others, but as a piece of art that needed its dedicated time. Jimin had seen himself in the sketch, and the color Yoongi promised to dress him with had flashed behind his eyelids, a color that would definitely suit him. The color of the rose handkerchief Yoongi had gifted him.
Jimin felt himself smile, excitement bubbling under his skin.
Was the designer just flirting? His words when Jimin had set a trap were still present in his mind. Yoongi hadn’t said no, he just made it clear it would be under Jimin’s terms. And now, with the gift, that was a clear sign that he was still interested in pursuing Jimin for his art and maybe more.
Jimin took the handkerchief and wore it during the award ceremony, causing quite a stir on his socials when people looked it up online and couldn’t find which brand it belonged to. Jimin waited to see if Yoongi would contact him or if he would take claim of the piece. Instead, Yoongi had sent a second gift box a couple of weeks later when Jimin was working in Los Angeles, this time a colorful bandana with yellows and blues and reds.
“Serendipity might be my favorite song.” Yoongi had written and Jimin found himself kicking his legs on bed, shamedly acting like a teen with a crush, but it was a glaring sign that the reclusive Min Yoongi was in a strange way courting Jimin, trying to win him over through fabrics and seams, sweetening his eyes and his ears talking about his music and following his activities close.
And now Jimin arrived at every hotel expecting to find the little black box with the yellow ribbon, his heart racing at the sight knowing not only that inside he’d find an item that matched him, but also that somewhere a man had paid special attention to him and was willing to wait until Jimin made the next step.
He was in Paris now, his schedule packed with fashion events during the month, and he found himself wishing he could cross paths with his fashion pen pal. His manager had called him obvious when he asked about the designer, but Jimin didn’t care, having no space in his heart nowadays to feign disinterest. He was interested.
Jimin opened the box in haste, finding a gorgeous double-stranded pearl choker necklace along with a red silk scarf with yellow accents. The scarf was tied in a knot around the necklace, and Jimin wasted no time trying it on, admiring the way the fabric covered one side of his neck while the other side looked exposed only adorned by the pearls. Layers upon layers. Unmistakably Yoongi’s style.
“I heard you were looking for me.” Yoongi’s card read. “If you have agreed to be fully dress by me, call me. xxx-xxx.”
Jimin laughed out loud alone in his room.
Yoongi was so sure Jimin had fallen for him and his brand. Yes, he wore the pieces he had sent but he wasn’t fully convinced that Yoongi could represent him with clothes, not after it had taken him so long to understand his own color.
He needed just a little bit more to decide. He wouldn’t call Yoongi just yet, but in the meantime, he thought as he saved Yoongi’s contact in his phone, there was not a rule that said he couldn’t send him a message.
[VOGUE ONLINE]
Park Jimin’s Mystery Accessory Streak
Fashion watchers are losing their minds over the singer’s recent string of uncategorizable style choices: a silk pocket rose at the Sowoozoo awards, a napkin-folded ribbon tied around his wrist at a gallery opening, a yellow-colored bandana at the airport. No labels, no explanations.
Fans are speculating these pieces come from an unnamed underground designer. Whoever they are, their understanding of Jimin’s palette is eerie.
[FAN FORUM – JIMIN NATION]
Blondeking_Jimin: does anyone know the brand of the scarf Jimin wore at Incheon yesterday??? I’ve never seen that shade before 😭😭😭
Imyourfilter: not tagged in any brand credits = custom??? who’s dressing him??
minniemin: whoever it is…they KNOW him. look at his skin tone?? perfection.
The Genius Lab was silent except for the scratch of Yoongi’s pen. He usually worked with music, but lately he’d been listening to only one singer. It was becoming a problem because not all of his pieces needed to be connected to Park Jimin. Or at least, not yet.
He was mid-sketch when his phone buzzed with a message by an unknown number. He would’ve blocked the contact and forgotten about the ordeal but attached in a message was a single photo.
Jimin.
Yoongi got up from his chair quickly, only to take a sit quite shortly after, excitement thrumming in his veins, the flame constantly simmering under his skin catching fire with the knowledge of being perceived.
The photo wasn’t a glossy one, not a paparazzi shot, this one was raw and close. Jimin was sprawled on a hotel bed, blond hair messy from a day out, lips pouting in a peak that resembled a baby chick. Draped around his neck, tight and secure was the pearl scarf Yoongi had mailed just a week ago.
Jimin wrote a message beneath the photo:
“Not bad. Still, not convincing enough. Try again, min genius.”
Yoongi smiled, staring. He had seen the airport pictures earlier, the scarf flashing in the crowd, fans already dissecting it online. He had been smug, satisfied, almost unbearably proud like all the other times Jimin had quietly worn his pieces. Worn him. The world was watching Jimin wear his work, and nobody even knew.
But this was Jimin sending it directly to him. An acknowledgment. An invitation.
He could make an invitation too.
He pulled another sheet of paper forward, his chest throbbing with something hot, disbelief and exhilaration twisted together. He loved how Jimin tried to dismiss him even while playing his game.
Another sketch took form. Sleeker lines, sharper cuts, tighter silhouettes. His hand moved with manic energy, each stroke a vow.
Finally, after he was done, he typed back.
“Careful, sweetheart. Keep taunting me and I’ll design something so perfect you won’t ever take it off.”
Read receipt. Three dots. Then:
“Clothes are meant to come off, Yoongi. Don’t forget that.”
Yoongi laughed, low and satisfied, the sound echoing in the empty studio. Every time he thought Jimin was pulling away he realized Jimin was only pulling him deeper. A game of cat and mouse Yoongi wanted to win. But more than that, he wanted Jimin to admit he was never losing in the first place.
“Maybe I need you to remind me. I’ll be waiting for you.” Yoongi wrote and attached an online invitation to his newest fashion show, an invitation no one had received yet.
It was alright, because after all he was more interested in one specific spectator, especially now that he had his final piece sketched.
NEVERMIND
Dear Jimin,
I’m pleased to invite you to view the NEVERMIND spring 26 show October 6th 2025 at 3pm.
The lights dimmed and the chatter of the crowd died like a curtain dropping.
Jimin leaned back in his seat, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, a flute of champagne in one hand. Reporters had been ecstatic to find him among the socialites invited to the Nevermind show. One after another, they asked about his connection to the brand: was he planning to switch? Was Yoongi’s style catching his interest? Was he ready to experiment with a new style?
Jimin had answered all politely, his sweet smile never faltering even as his heart pounded. His fingers toyed with the bracelet on his left wrist as he answered, Yoongi’s latest present, a gold-colored chain on one side, connected to a yellow patterned fabric similar to the bandana of before, tied into knots on both ends. A gold heart charm dangled from the fabric, smaller hearts embossed within. He felt the bracelet would give him away, even if he answered with: oh, I’m here just accompanying my good friend Hoseok, did you hear Nevermind designed the pieces for his latest tour?
He redirected each question, pretending he wasn’t here for his own interest but just as a plus-one. No one seemed to question it, most of the photographers were just glad he had appeared to capture photos that would spark engagement.
But Jimin knew the truth. Jimin was there for Yoongi, not to accept his offer but because after weeks of gifts he needed to thank him in person, not through cheeky photos and messages only, although he knew Yoongi had liked them, but with the courage he deserved. Maybe even dinner. Maybe more, if Yoongi was still willing. “If I fuck you, it’ll be because you beg for it.” Yoongi had said in their first meeting, and Jimin wanted to see how close he could get to it without having to beg.
“It’s starting!” Hoseok half whispered half yelled at Jimin when loud and angry music bombed in the room.
Pulsing bass, metallic, almost violent. The first models stormed the runway in jagged silhouettes, sharp edges of fabric over fabric looking like armor, no patch of skin available to the public.
Jimin brought a hand to his chest drinking the dark colors that swallowed the models whole: blacks, blood red, bruised purples. Each piece was rage stitched into cloth, a man spitting his fury at the world.
He knew the language, not of fabric but of feeling. It was the same raw edge he’d heard years ago when he was starting in music and had come across some underground tracks of an album titled ‘Agust D’. Later he found the music belonged to Min Yoongi, before quitting music. Jimin realized Yoongi might have changed the medium, but the story remained.
The collection shifted. Anxiety crept onto the runway: suits wired too tight at the seams, metallic thread glinting like warning signals. Collars rose high, cuffs bound wrist, belt cinched too snug. The models moved like they were grasping for air, shoulders rigid, eyes unblinking. Jimin’s throat went dry, goosebumps racing up his arms.
He was like it at one point, the fame all consuming and flittering but dragging him down to the ground with questions. Was he deserving of fame? Was he doing things correctly? Was he going to disappear into anonymity?
And then, release.
The music cracked open, strings and piano flooding the space. The clothes softened. Silhouetted widened into flowing shapes, liberated forms shedding the multiple layers present in the rest of the collections; fabric spilling like water, light catching on translucent silks. Jimin’s mouth gape opened at the sight of bare shoulders, throats exposed, the models floating in the runway, movements unrestrained. It wasn’t armor anymore, or chains. It was freedom. It was breath. It was Yoongi laying himself bare in a language Jimin understood.
The music softened to its closing notes, the audience already preparing to clap, and then the last model stepped out.
The room held its breath.
It was yellow, the sun rising after the storm. An elegant dress, floor length made out of a sheer fabric flowing gracefully. It had an asymmetrical design with a single off shoulder sleeve on one side, adding a dramatic flair. But the dress wasn’t the statement, rather the accessories layering a new story Jimin knew everyone would be able to decipher, because it was him.
There was the pink rose handkerchief stitched to the left. There was the bandana Jimin had worn, tied around the blond waves of the model as she made her way into the room, flashing lights capturing each step and not just her but Jimin as well. He was being captured as well, his reaction preserved because everyone knew.
Jimin saw the pearl necklace he had proudly worn at the airport, the ribbon in one wrist and the bracelet in another, an almost exact copy to the one Jimin was wearing, only missing the heart charm Jimin’s had, separating him from the piece in a way it made Jimin’s heart race.
Every swatch Jimin had once dismissed as ‘not me’ Yoongi had been quietly collecting them into him. And now, on the runway, they were whole. They were a story.
It wasn’t just a garment, but a portrait. A love letter.
It wasn’t inspiration. It was prophecy. Yoongi wasn’t asking if Jimin would wear him. He was declaring that Jimin would. That his collection, his story, would continue and Jimin was already written into its next chapter.
Jimin sat frozen, chest tight, champagne forgotten in his hand. He had come expecting to be entertained, interested only in reaching out to Yoongi. Instead, he was undone.
The model turned and disappeared, the applause erupting like thunder. Cameras flashed, critics scribbled, people stood to their feet.
“That was amazing, don’t you think?” Hoseok asked Jimin, his hands clapping as loud as everyone else’s, as loud as Jimin’s heart pounding in his throat. “He is a genius, isn’t?”
Jimin nodded, incapable of forming words because Yoongi stepped out next, calm, steady, bowing once, his gaze cutting across the crowd. For a fleeting second their eyes met and Jimin felt scorched by the quiet certainty there.
[VOGUE ONLINE]
Min Yoongi’s collection ended with a statement piece that stopped the room cold.
A rose pocket handkerchief, a pearl necklace and yellow-colored bracelets eerily reminiscent of accessories Park Jimin has been spotted wearing over the past months. Coincidence? Only those living in a rock would think so.
Yoongi just made one of the boldest artistic declarations of the season: he has a muse, and he’s not afraid to show it.
Backstage was chaos: assistants running, models half-changed, racks of clothing clattering as they were wheeled away. But it all blurred when Jimin stepped through the curtains.
Yoongi was surrounded by staff congratulating him, photographers craning over shoulders for a shot. But the moment Jimin entered, the noise dimmed in Yoongi’s mind, like a spotlight cutting through the dark, following the flame burning everything in its path.
“You.” Jimin’s voice was low, sharp. He pushed past everyone until he was standing in front of Yoongi.
The designer couldn’t hide his excitement at seeing him, a smile stretching across his face. Jimin was wearing the bracelet, looking as if he belonged to the runway, matching with all the pieces Yoongi had created.
“Enjoy the show?” Yoongi asked casually, as if Jimin’s expression wasn’t murderous.
“You’re so full of yourself, writing me into your story like I belong to you.”
Yoongi chuckled and lifted a hand, catching Namjoon’s eye. His assistant was quick to understand, quickly ushering reporters and photographers out of the room. Jimin’s arms were crossed over his chest, one foot tapping against the floor.
“Follow me.” Yoongi said, turning towards a back room. He knew Jimin would follow, because there was a thread tying them together.
“You really think I’ll let you dress me?” Jimin said once they were alone.
The dressing room was an empty one; the mirrors framed with lightbulbs reflecting the angelic image of Park Jimin. His golden hair glowed like a halo causing Yoongi’s heart to skip. It had been months since the last time he had seen him in person, the photos pale in comparison.
“I missed you.” Yoongi said, cutting Jimin’s question short.
The singer flushed beautifully, the redness climbing and staying in his cheeks.
“Don’t distract me!” He whined, a pout blooming on his plump lips. “What was that out there? You are really so sure I’ll switch brands to be dressed by you?”
“I know you will.” Yoongi said softly, stepping closer. “Because I already have. You just haven’t realized it yet.”
Jimin laughed breathlessly but didn’t back away. “God, you’re insufferable.”
“And you’re mine.” Yoongi said, eyes darkened. His hand found Jimin’s wrist where his heart dangled.
Jimin’s eyes lowered to their joint hands, his frown easing, breath escaping. Then, just like at that party months ago, Jimin challenged him:
“Prove it now. Show me your design right here.”
Yoongi smiled. He had been waiting for this moment since he’d first seen Jimin descend those stairs at the after party.
“Didn’t you say you wear clothes just to take them off?” He inquired, his hand tracing up Jimin’s forearm, feeling the rapid heartbeat on the skin. “Shouldn’t we do that first?”
Jimin’s back hit the wall with a soft gasp, Yoongi’s mouth already pressing hot kisses along his jaw, his throat. Fingers tugged impatiently at buttons, sliding fabric away until Jimin’s chest was bare under the dim light.
“Fuck.” Yoongi breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him. His hands skimmed over Jimin’s ribs like he was memorizing the touch. “You’re even better than I drew you.”
Jimin smirked, trying to hold on to his control, his head tilting so. But the rapid beat of his pulse gave him away.
“Told you. Clothes are just meant to be taken off me.”
Yoongi’s lips curled, dangerous and amused. “You think that’s all I want? To strip you bare?”
Was he still thinking that’s all Yoongi wanted? He would prove him otherwise.
Instead of rushing, Yoongi slowed. He kissed each inch revealed: collarbones, sternum, stomach, thighs and the hollow behind his knees. As he undid every fastening he murmured soft praise against the heated skin. Jimin shivered, every kiss a promise, every brush of fingers too reverent to be casual.
When Jimin was trembling, skin flushed and ready, Yoongi pulled back. His eyes drank the body he uncovered, marveling. Like a Greek statue, each muscle defined and lean. And his face, God, it was sinful. Jimin’s pupils were blown wide, his jaw slacked with gasps Yoongi had stolen with each kiss.
“Are you going to keep staring?” Jimin asked, voice hoarse with desire. “Or are you going to do something?”
Yoongi laughed. How he loved Jimin’s defiance. He knew it would keep him on his toes. He couldn’t wait.
Instead of doing what Jimin wanted (and what his dick begged for), Yoongi reached for an ensemble he had stored in the room.
Jimin blinked, breathless. “What are you doing—”
“You think the prize is undressing you.” Yoongi’s tone was steady. “But the real honor is to dress you. Properly. In mine”
Piece by piece, he slid fabric over Jimin’s body again. He deposited an apologetic kiss above the hem of the pants, above where Jimin was hard and under his belly button. He slid a shirt that fit snuggly hugging the muscles of Jimin’s chest and arms, short to free a patch of skin, the skin acting like just another layer in the outfit combination.
He added a leather jacket, structured to frame his body and trousers loose where they should be and snug where they needed to be.
Every button fastened came with a kiss. Every belt loop tugged was followed by a hand sliding along his thigh.
By the time Yoongi pulled the collar into place and smoothed it against Jimin’s neck, Jimin was trembling, lips parted, eyes dark.
“Yoongi.” He whispered.
Yoongi brushed his thumb over Jimin’s jaw, smirk tugging at his lips.
“I didn’t hear you beg.”
“Fuck you.” Jimin laughed but the mirth in his eyes didn’t match the harsh words.
“Later.” Yoongi leaned close, mouth at Jimin’s ear. “But for tonight, you’ll wear me. We’ll see how long you last before you beg me to undress you again.”
Jimin swallowed hard, heat coursing through him, and realized with a shudder for the first time that being dressed felt dirtier than being stripped bare.
[VOGUE ONLINE]
NEVERMIND has a new ambassador
Park Jimin closed the night not as a spectator, but as the statement. The nation’s idol arrived at the Nevermind after-party in a full Yoongi look, silencing weeks of speculation when his team confirmed: Jimin is officially parting ways with his old fashion house and joining Nevermind.
The choice is bold, given Yoongi’s reputation for heavy layering. Nonetheless, Yoongi’s collection’s finale hinted at a new era of exposure and liberation. With Jimin as his muse, the designer’s evolution feels already underway.
[FAN FORUM – JIMIN NATION]
blondeking_jimin: jimin?? in nevermind??? I’m not breathing rn
petitmochi: but yoongi’s clothes are so layered??? he’ll disappear 😭
sunrise_pjm: did u SEE the finale dress?? yoongi’s literally moving toward lighter silhouettes. jimin’s gonna kill it trust me
minniemin: muse behavior. he already belongs there.
Jimin was nervous, Yoongi could tell by the rapid tap of his foot. His lips, normally plump and glossy were bitten raw, something Yoongi chastised him for normally but right now decided to ignore in order to calm his boyfriend’s nerves.
“Off.” Jimin said hastily, slipping one button free from his shirt.
Yoongi’s head snapped up from where he was adjusting the cuff of his jacket.
“No.” His voice was low, firm. “We’ve talked about this angel. You need to trust my vision, this outfit is fine, just like all the other you wore the last couple of weeks.”
Jimin pouted, his lips begging Yoongi to kiss him. But he had to be strong.
“Besides, you get to undress just in my bedroom.” He tried lifting the humor, but Jimin was not in the mood.
“But today is different.” Jimin complained. “It’s the red carpet of the MAMA awards. People expect something specific from me tied to my album and this—” Jimin pulled at the yellow shirt. “Although I love it, does not represent the Jimin that wrote the songs I’m nominated for.”
Yoongi hummed, closing his eyes. He understood what Jimin was saying, it was like him dressing the way he did when he first wrote his mixtape years ago now that his persona had changed completely.
But.
“Without the shirt, no one will know you’re wearing me. It’ll just be you, naked, obviously, but that’s not my work.”
Jimin smiled, dangerous and sweet, fingers already at the next button.
“Exactly. Isn’t that the point? Don’t you want people to see me?”
Yoongi swallowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening as Jimin slid the shirt down his arms and tossed it aside. The blazer now framed bare skin, collarbone sharp under the light, chest rising still with uncontrolled nervousness.
“They’ll think you dressed yourself.” Yoongi muttered, half to the floor, half to the way Jimin was looking at him. “They won’t see me in it.”
Jimin turned to the floor as well, his flirtation evaporating.
Yoongi knew it wasn’t his boyfriend’s intention to reject him, but it still hurt to know he wasn’t vital.
“What if we give them something they can’t ignore?” Jimin said softly, lifting his head. “Something that proves it’s you.”
Jimin then walked to his bag, hands searching for something with a concentrated frown in his head.
Yoongi arched an eyebrow. “Angel, what are you on?”
“You’re afraid they won’t see your mark in me, so go ahead, write it on me.” The idol said lifting a permanent marker from his bag.
Yoongi blinked, disbelief cracking through his composure.
“You’re serious?”
“You know I am.” Jimin held his gaze, unflinching. “Your handwriting. Your words. Right here.” His hand pressed flat over his chest. “So, when they stare, when the cameras burn through me, they’ll know I’m wearing you.”
Yoongi grabbed the marker, and slowly, reverently, he reached towards Jimin until his fingers brushed skin. The contact was blazing, the temperature between them never decreased. The marker trembled slightly as he lifted it, but when the tip kissed Jimin’s chest, the letter came steady, each curve and stroke sinking into skin like a secret vow.
Jimin shivered, not from the ink but from the way Yoongi’s fingertips traced a path across his skin as though he was both canvas and confession.
When it was done, Jimin glanced down, lips curving.
“Now,” He whispered, leaning towards Yoongi like a moth towards the flame. “No one will forget who dressed me.”
Later, Jimin kissed Yoongi breathless, the designer pulled apart, layer by layer, by his muse.
And before they could get lost in each other Jimin stepped toward the light of the red carpet, blazer framing bare skin and the ink still fresh, shining like a promise by Yoongi’s hand.
[FAN FORUM – JIMIN NATION]
agustjimin: HELLO??? THAT’S MIN YOONGI’S HANDWRITING. I’D RECOGNIZE IT ANYWHERE.
serendipitous: are you telling me…jimin has YOONGI’S WORDS permanently on his chest????
setmefree: first the scarves, then the fabrics, now THIS…they’ve been telling us a story all along 😭😭😭
[VOGUE ONLINE]
The final piece
Park Jimin closed the MAMA Awards night not only with trophies in hand, but with a declaration that eclipsed them. On stage, he thanked Min Yoongi directly, calling him his partner and inspiration. Hours later, cameras caught the pair at the after-party, kissing in a corner, a yellow unseen jacket draped over Jimin’s shoulders.
It seems the designer has truly found his final piece.