Archive of Our Own

third floor on the west side, me and you

handsome, you're a mansion with a view

do the girls back home touch you like I do?

long night, with your hands up in my hair

echoes of your footsteps on the stairs

stay here, honey, I don't wanna share

delicate – taylor swift.

Being a man of his own space, given how much he enjoys doing things on his own, it’s definitely weird how much he misses being around his friends. Then he reasons that it’s only natural—must be—since they share a house, a job, and pretty much their whole lives, to miss the loud messes and strident laughing; with the house all by himself, he only feels tinier.

It’s not like he plans on staying two whole months holed up in a too big house, not at all. He’s already planned some trips; visiting his family, traveling abroad, meeting with old friends he hasn’t seen in some time. Bad timing and a dash of laziness resulted in his six other friends and bandmates leaving right the day after their official prolonged break was announced while he stays here. It’s not much of an issue in all honesty, he’ll depart in a couple of days to Busan, and truth is he might have been needing a bit of solitude—at least that’s what he tries to convince himself into believing. Yoongi had even offered to stay and postpone his own family visit, and then Hoseok offered the same, and Jungkook had to politely decline their offers before the rest joined and ended up staying as well. Namjoon had been the last one to leave the house, two suitcases, one in each hand, a hint of worry in his eyes when he told Jungkook not to hesitate in calling them in case he needed something—anything, he emphasized—, to which Jungkook only replied with a giggle and brushed it off, wishing him farewell after a quick hug.

He can’t complain, he knows how to appreciate the little joys in life. His friends love him, have raised him, and it’s obvious how much they care for him, no matter his age. The group chat they share is soon filled with commentaries such as already home, take care from Seokjin, or Taehyung sending pictures of paintings, presumably having visited a museum as soon as he stepped foot in another country. Jungkook makes sure to reply to each message, be it with a cute emoji or just a few words—just for now he gives them the benefit of his replies so they don’t feel as though he’s having a bad time all alone.

The only one who doesn’t text, doesn’t send pictures nor audio notes, is Jimin. Initially, he worries, because something could have gone wrong with his flight, or something of that sort. He was supposed to arrive around an hour ago, and Jungkook clearly recalls him telling Hoseok he’d let them know once he got to Russia. Perhaps he forgot, his more reasoning side eases him, perhaps he just told Hoseok about his landing. Nothing seems out of place, they’d have been notified had it been the case. Jimin’s just like that, anyways. He has a penchant for disappearing into thin air.

His spot on the couch he has been occupying for the last hour feels uncomfortable now, so he moves, springing up from and leaving his phone on the cushions. He could finish packing, and he could tidy up the place a bit so whenever comes back first doesn’t find a mess to worry about. Stretching his arms above his head, he yawns—taking a nap sounds more appetizing, even though he woke up not long ago. After a quick trip to the bathroom and a mental note he makes about cleaning it before he leaves, he returns to the couch, and ends up with his phone in hand again. He curses at himself under his breath for being unable to resist the temptation, weak as always although he hides it to the best of his abilities.

just text me you’re alright, he types out with quick thumbs, and sends it after closing his eyes. Regret dawns on him immediately, because he doesn’t want to come off as clingy or too much, although too much is what he’s been feeling as of lately. With a loud sigh no one’s around to comment on, he lies back, phone against his stomach, eyelids droopping tiredly. He’ll know when Jimin replies, the phone will vibrate against his t-shirt clad skin and wake him up, and that’ll be his cue to get things done.

It’s only after he’s cleaned the bathroom, finished packing, showered and made himself some dinner that the reply illuminates his phone screen. He can’t say he hasn’t been expecting it, yet can’t say he didn’t forget for a while—Jimin seems to have forgotten about his message as well, and he tries (almost succeeds) not to let that fact bathe his mouth with a bitter taste. sorry kook, arrived alright, told hobi hyung about it and forgot to text u back. It’s been hours, and it’s alright, Jungkook has no right to care this much. Jimin’s always been like this. He’s got this way of being as if his personality split into multiple ones; he can be warm and caring at times, contrasting with how utterly scary he can get when angry, and sometimes, which is version Jungkook likes the least, he can get distant, as if he’s never owed anyone anything, no explanations, not even an ounce of his time. It’s still difficult to understand Jimin doesn’t really owe him anything, he has to go over and over again that fact at least once a day.

It’s not easy to take Jimin out of his brain when he, ever the masochist, scrolls up his camera roll and finds their pictures from their trip to Japan. The knot in his throat tightens as he passes them by with his fingers—it’s ridiculous how many pictures he has of Jimin, the amount a lot larger than pictures of himself. There are more pictures of him than of Japanese landscapes or beautiful sights, even with how much Jungkook likes them. He likes Jimin more, and it shows, there’s proof.

It all started in Tokyo.

◈

Sleeping in the same bed as him doesn’t seem to be much of an issue to Jimin. He laughed when they stepped inside the room, slapping Jungkook’s chest and leaning against him as if it were the most comical, hilarious joke in the world how Jungkook just booked a room with a double bed, claiming it’s a weird mistake from the hotel staff and soon shrugging it off when Jungkook attempts to explain. It wasn’t on purpose, but the rooms with double beds were much better and prettier, he saw the pictures on the internet and didn’t think much about it before booking their reservation.

After a long night of sightseeing and walking around the beautiful and brightly illuminated streets of Tokyo, they crash at their hotel room, the double bed not a problem once again—on the contrary, Jimin’s a little too tipsy and cuddly still when they get under the covers, mumbling sleepily something Jungkook doesn’t quite catch before wrapping his arms around his torso. Jungkook lies there, immobile, not daring nor thinking about moving, taking a deep breath before accepting his faith and closing his eyes. The bed’s absolutely comfortable, yet he’s aware he’d sleep on the cold, hard ground if it meant Jimin would keep holding him against himself.

Friends sleep on the same bed, like, all the time. Some years back, they used to share beds, mattresses laid on the floor, and even couches. Most of the time it was just easier rather than an actual need. Sleeping on the same bed as Jimin does not mean he’s in love with him. Bringing him here after planning their trip for exactly a month, paying everything, surprising him with ticket planes for his birthday, maybe does. He can hear Taehyung’s voice reverberating in his head, advising him that this is stupid, that he’d only get hurt, heartbroken, his hopes crushed to ashes; it’s not any easier for him to sleep while his brain keeps sabotaging him this way. They’re friends before all, before Jungkook’s feelings can even try to get in the way, before his feelings matter more than the bond they have. Taehyung’s only being rational, but Jungkook knows better. He’d sew his mouth shut before he gets the chance to ruin it.

On the second night of their trip, Jimin comments on the double bed.

“Weren’t there other rooms available? I mean, not everyone that comes to stay here is married or dating.” His tone is almost too neutral for Jungkook’s liking. His body language doesn’t really matter at this point since he’s drunk off his ass, although surprisingly enough sober to utter a coherent sentence like this, sprawled out on the large bed, only one boot on his foot while the other lies discarded on the carpeted floor.

“I thought this was nicer than the other ones,” Jungkook admits. “I can talk to someone if it bothers you—”

“Doesn’t bother me,” Jimin interjects, lifting himself up from the mattress by digging his elbows on it, his weight reclined on his arms, although with some difficulty. He smiles at Jungkook who can’t think about anything but staying still, standing in front of him. “People just gon’ think we’re dating,” he says and giggles.

Jungkook bites down on the inside of his lip, looking down before speaking. “Wouldn’t want that, right?”

“I don’t care.” Jimin plops down on the bed again with a soft thud.  “Let them say whatever—let them think whatever they want.”

Jungkook nods, staring attentively at his friend. They’re friends, anyone can think whatever they want because they’re friends in their and Jimin’s eyes. They’re nothing but.

It’s the second night Jimin hugs him to sleep, only that this time, Jungkook hugs him back.

◈

His parents are brimming with joy when he enters their house. His brother and his fiancé hug him the same way his parents did at the airport, and it feels extremely nice to be back and experience the warmth of his family. He hasn’t been here in a long, long time, too long for his liking.

Lunch goes animatedly and his heart lightens with the first loud laughs that fill the house. He eats enough homemade food to last him at least a few months without complaining about missing it, and it’s only at night, once he’s settled in his old childhood room, that he recalls having a cellphone. The lights are all off, the only source of lighting being his phone screen flashing in his face as he checks his social media; his own private twitter account is much more boring that the band’s official one, he rarely even logs in nowadays, but it’s already on his phone and he figures it’s time for a quick glance at it. He’s not feeling like sleeping yet.

He regrets it as soon as he sees the little blue notification that signals there’s one inbox waiting to be read. He knows who it is before even tapping on it; no one suspects of this account, let alone with the fact that it’s on private. The only person that follows him and sends him messages is Jimin. The message dates from two months ago, and Jungkook recalls that day pretty vividly. That night, actually. you never check your dms here and right now you’re sleeping in my bed but you look so pretty that I need to tell you and I don’t want to wake you up. Another one follows right next. kook you’re the prettiest boy I ever had the chance to make mine.

The knot in his throat appears again and tightens so badly he almost wants to run to the bathroom and throw up. Or cry. He’s not sure which one.

That night they had the house all by themselves, a real rarity, and Jimin didn’t waste any time in taking advantage of it. Images of Jimin’s body pressed against his filter in his mind even as Jungkook tries his earnest not to allow it; his body, his mouth, his own gasped name rolling off his lips. He doesn’t need this right now. It’s not fair he only got to see this now that Jimin’s far from him in every single sense. It’s not fair he missed the chance to tell him how much prettier Jungkook thinks he is—knows—. It’s definitely not fair how things were easier two months ago.

The house is too silent for him to be talking on the phone, yet he doesn’t have enough energy to care. With his cellphone pressed to his ear, he waits for Jimin to answer, running his hands through his hair—it’s so long now, he likes it a lot, and Jimin likes it too. He calls twice, and earns nothing in return. Jimin’s too far away from him, in every sense, in every way.

It’s only after he huffs and throws the phone across the bed, chest constricted and eyes stinging, burying his body under the covers, that the mobile vibrates. It’s been minutes, long ones at that, that he spent yearning for sleep to take him, yet he rushes to find his phone and answer it.

“Kook—is everything alright?” Jimin’s voice sounds worried when he answers, too much that it should feel wrong yet feels nothing but right.

“I—yeah, I just—” he stammers. He takes a deep breath before speaking again. “I just found some messages you sent me.”

“Which messages? Jungkook—”

“DMs you sent me. I never got to read them until now,” he explains.

Silence takes over the call for a few heavy seconds, making Jungkook think Jimin actually hung up, until the latter speaks again. “Jungkook, it’s five in the morning here, can we talk tomorrow?”

“You don’t even check your phone. You won’t answer, I don’t even know why you called me now.”

“Because I thought something happened to you, Jungkook,” Jimin says with a serious voice. “And I don’t answer because I’m busy.”

“Were you busy right now?” Jungkook spits. His chest feels way too heavy, his words are laced with venom, and he hates it.

“Yes, I was busy. I’m hanging up now, talk to you tomorrow—”

“Who are you with?”

“No one, god, this is not the time for this. We’ll talk tomorrow, goodnight.”

Jimin hangs up without hesitation. Jungkook knows better, he knows him better than he feigns. Sleep comes to him as a defense mechanism, he thinks, thankful for the way his eyes get heavy so he can forget. It’s all he needs to do.

Yoongi had been the one to teach him not to pay any attention to the rumors about them that tend to circulate social media. It happens more often than not, fake and wrong information spreads like wildfire, especially on twitter; foreign fans sometimes are the ones that make them up, although he knows it’s also fans the ones that attempt to clear their images. Jungkook’s done a pretty good job in ignoring what people say about them, most of the rumors are wrong and taken out of context, yet the video he finds—because everyone found it, he couldn’t be left out—leaves no room for misunderstandings.

It shows Jimin the previous night, as the person who tweeted the video claims, and he’s laughing in a way Jungkook only recognizes to be that of a drunken Jimin. There’s a woman, a blonde girl, from what Jungkook can see amidst the blur of the images, that giggles in unison with Jimin, smacks her finger against his forehead in that typical playful manner, and Jimin only laughs, loud and bright. The video doesn’t last more than ten seconds, yet it’s more than enough to rub Jungkook the wrong way. He hates to admit how his mood darkens and can’t do anything to help it, even throughout the day. If his family notices, they thankfully don’t comment on it. The guilt in Jungkook doesn’t lessen, though.

Jimin doesn’t call him during the day, and neither at night, even after having sort of promised to do so. He’s in the backyard, too anxious and worked up to stay still in his bed, the night breeze brushing past him as he grips on the cellphone against his ear. It takes three rings for Jimin to answer, a dry and concise hello Jungkook already hates.

“You lied to me last night. You said you weren’t with anyone, but I saw the video—you don’t need to lie to me, hyung. I’d understand,” he spits out, his chest feeling an ounce lighter with each word he says.

“What would you understand?” Jimin snaps. “What is it exactly that you’d understand? That I’m having fun? That my life doesn’t revolve around you? Because that’s what you wanted, Jungkook. You can’t complain about me doing something you asked me to.”

“Are you seeing someone else?” he asks, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“I’m not seeing anyone. What I do in bed is only my business, not yours, not anyone else’s.”

Jungkook hangs up as soon as Jimin’s done speaking. He won’t hear about anything else he has to say, not about him having fun and not needing him, not about who’s getting to have him the way Jungkook’s meant to, not things that make his soul clench and his breath falter.

◈

“Taehyung told me about what you think of me.”

Jungkook’s blood freezes, effectively. He’s positive his heart has stopped as well, and that his lungs have stopped functioning properly since he feels like choking. Goddamned Taehyung and his big fucking mouth. “What did he say?” He asks, raising his eyebrows and cocking his head to the side, his voice turning higher, feigning dumb as he clears his throat.

“He said you had like, a crush or something.” Jimin’s got a smirk on his lips that Jungkook’s getting pretty confused by.

They’ve just finished eating, and they’ve been chatting lightheartedly over the remains of food and empty plates until Jimin dropped the bomb on him. The smirk on his lips doesn’t fade while he brushes the pad of his index finger against the rim of his cup, tracing it slowly—it’s weird how sensual he looks. He should be taken aback by what Taehyung told him. Fucking Taehyung and his inability to keep anything from Jimin.

“Well—uh, you’re hot. If acknowledging that means a crush, then half of the world’s population is crushing on you.” It’s so much more than that, but he won’t say. He doesn’t trust himself to say more than what he’s already said, although downplaying his feelings to merely feeling sexually attracted to Jimin feels a little insulting.

Jimin giggles in that coquettish way he has, throwing his head back, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re hot too, Kook. There’s nothing wrong in being honest.”

“That’s the sake talking, hyung.”

“You know it takes way more than a bottle to get me drunk.”

His initial plan of kicking Taehyung’s ass as soon as they’re back in Korea dissipates as soon as they’re back in their hotel room. He would have never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams, that Jimin would ever be the one to kiss him first. Yet here they are, Jimin’s pressing him against the bedroom door, strong hands on his shoulders as his mouth moves against Jungkook’s in a hungry way, in a delightful and frenzied way. Jungkook kisses back because he’s been needing to for the longest time and because he’s not that dumb as to not reciprocate—who in their right mind wouldn’t kiss Jimin given the chance?

He searches for Jimin’s hips with his hands, thumbing across the hem of his jeans, wishing nothing more than to make them disappear at the very moment. Jimin’s tongue is hot against his own, the kiss is wet and deep and Jungkook knows he wouldn’t mind passing out from lack of oxygen oxygen if it meant he wouldn’t have to quit kissing him. The elder’s fingers thread through the back of Jungkook’s hair, pulling just enough to earn a sigh from the latter, one that dies amidst their mouths. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to do this,” Jimin pants against his lips when he breaks the kiss, knocking their foreheads together as Jungkook presses him flush against his own body.

“Why couldn’t you do it first?” Jungkook retaliates, smiling at him.

“Well, I just did, didn’t I?”

Jimin’s the one that takes the lead, pretty much in every aspect of their shared lives, so guiding Jungkook to the bed and promptly pushing him against the mattress isn’t much of a surprise to him. Jimin straddles his lap after ridding himself off the shirt covering his torso; it’s a sight to behold, he belongs in those museums that Namjoon and Taehyung are so keen on visiting. Jungkook’s always known how beautiful Jimin is, yet having the elder in front of him in a way that he thought to be exclusive of his dirtiest fantasies is incomparable to anything else he’s ever experienced. Jimin’s hands lift his t-shirt, exposing his stomach with slow hands—too slow for how much Jungkook’s skin burns underneath his clothes. Jungkook takes the hint, sitting up enough to discard it under Jimin’s scrutiny, his half-lidded eyes that radiate a mixture of lust and need Jungkook never thought he’d find directed at him.

He can’t bring himself to think whether this is wrong or right—not when the rest of their clothes disappear and Jimin moves his hips so sinfully good against Jungkook’s own, their cocks brushing against the other’s, trembling moans and shaky breaths filling in the silence of the room. They don’t need to speak more than what’s crucial because they both know what they’re here for, as though every single thing they’ve lived through had led them to this moment. Jungkook has absolutely no time to spare in thinking about every opportunity they’ve wasted before, nor to think about how things will go from here; all he cares about is Jimin’s lips on his, on his skin, burning trails he leaves as he makes his way down Jungkook’s stomach. Funny how the elder has no idea of the knots forming inside of it.

Had he been with someone else, Jungkook would be tired of the teasing, of the pushing and pulling and wet kisses, yet he can’t do anything but enjoy all of it thoroughly. They spend a lot of time exploring each other, getting to know a new version of the other that seemed unthinkable of until now, and it’s time well spent, minutes he treasures and doesn’t want to end. Jimin’s body is glazed with sweat by the time they get to finally fuck, and Jungkook’s not doing much better. The room feels a thousand times hotter, although he’s aware that’s just the effect Jimin’s naked figure causes in him. Jimin makes sure to mess up the sheets under him with every thrust of Jungkook inside of him, his back bending and lifting bodily off them whenever it feels too good—Jungkook can only wish for Jimin to feel at least half as good as him.

Jimin renders him speechless, clenching tight around him when he least expects it yet needs it the most, stroking his face, pulling on his hair, panting his name, leaving no room for Jungkook to utter a single, coherent word. Jimin’s strong, long legs lock around his waist in a way that signals that they belong right there and nowhere else. His plump lips are red from too much messy kissing and from too much biting down on them (both his and Jungkook’s fault). Jungkook’s breathing heavily, panting Jimin’s name and forgetting every honorific, too focused on the tight heat engulfing him, on his arms wrapping around him and pressing him closer, too close, too much that he can’t breathe and doesn’t even mind.

“You fuck me so good, never want you to stop,” Jimin moans, voice wet and desperate. Their eyes lock to never look away, and Jungkook can relate wholly. He never wants to stop having him like this.

“Not gonna stop,” Jungkook assures him, chest full of pride and warmth, kissing his jaw, fucking him harder until the knots break loose.

They come almost together, bodies trembling in unison, broken pants getting louder, so loud that Jungkook thinks every other guest in the hotel can hear them. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t have a single care other than the man under him, squeezing and hugging him, moaning against his skin. Jungkook’s in a trance that lasts him even after they move away, once they get as clean as they can get and discard the condom somewhere he’ll take care of later, and Jimin’s lazy kisses on his clavicles, his chest, his face, don’t help his mind to clear up. They let sleep take them after pressing their bodies close, the same way they’ve been doing for the past three nights, because nothing seems to have changed—he hopes so, at least. There’s really nothing wrong with sharing a bed, let alone now that they’ve found in each other something else.

◈

Jimin and him don’t speak until a few days before Jungkook’s birthday comes. It’s not often that they fight, and their fights don’t last long—still, a week was enough for Jungkook to think that this fight was more serious than he thought. It wasn’t a real fight, anyway, yet he wouldn’t have expected for Jimin to text him out of the blue asking what he wants for his birthday. Jungkook might rather for Jimin to be angry at him still than him acting as if nothing happened; things happened, and Jungkook’s not wearing his heart on his sleeve just for kicks.

Still, the need to mend things with Jimin’s stronger than any force on earth. don’t want anything, don’t worry, he texts back. I miss you a lot, just want to see you he wants to add, but it’s not the time, not after having exposed himself in such a humiliating way, let alone when Jimin might not even miss him the same. I’ll get u something anyway, where will you be spending it? Jimin asks him, just a few minutes after Jungkook’s answer. I’ll stay at my parents’, he replies. He won’t, but Jimin doesn’t need to know that—he doesn’t have the right to when Jungkook doesn’t know so many things about him. Jimin doesn’t reply after that. Jungkook guesses he’s not that interested anymore.

His parents don’t really understand (and might not even believe his excuses) why Jungkook needs to leave instead of spending his birthday with his family. Thankfully enough, his brother reasons with them, saying how Jungkook’s young and that he doesn’t find those sorts of celebrations that enticing anymore, that he would rather travel abroad instead of some cheesy party. He’s twenty three already, Jungkook adds, and they all finally understand.

The only one he can’t lie to is his brother when afterwards he corners Jungkook in his bedroom and inquiries him about leaving. “You’re not traveling abroad, right?” Junghyun asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and pressing his crossed arms against his chest, a teasing and all-knowing smirk on his lips.

“Uh—not yet, maybe on Monday.” Jungkook’s packing now, as hurried as he can since his plane back to Seoul leaves at night, only a few hours from now.

“And you plan on spending your birthday by yourself? I know your friends are abroad.”

“I might spend it with someone else,” Jungkook comments, bobbing his brows suggestively.

“Hope you do, actually. I get that you’re too old for family birthdays, but you’re too young to spend them all alone.”

Thing is, spending it alone is what he wants the most. There’s no real need to make a big deal out of a normal day, and he’ll live through it as it is—a normal and typical day that he chooses to spend by himself. He’s getting used to the good kind of solitude back home. “It’s just any other day, and I need to pack stuff that’s back in Seoul so I can leave on Monday, so it’ll be easier.”

His brother doesn’t push it, and Jungkook’s extremely thankful for it. His brother has always been the best when it comes to understanding him without needing to pry much. At night, he’s the one that drives him to the airport after some heartfelt goodbyes he shares with his parents and a few promises of visiting more often. Junghyun hugs him tightly, wishes for him to have a good time and to enjoy his traveling, before Jungkook boards the plane. He’s never liked farewells, but he’ll be back as soon as he can, he promises that also to himself.

Once in Seoul, back in the house that’s just as empty as when he left, he doesn’t tell his friends he’s here again—they won’t like it, which makes sense, and he doesn’t want to worry them. He’ll leave on Monday to Japan, he’s already scheduled his flight, so he only has two days to spend here. If he lets himself think too much, he’ll end up opting for staying here until the end of their break.

There are some hours left until his actual birthday, yet the trendings and the birthday wishes are already all over twitter; their fans never fail to warm his heart up, and at times he finds it hard still to comprehend how much he’s loved, how many people around the world wish him well. He wants to give them something in return, anything to show how much he loves them back.

After the clock strikes twelve a.m., the first one to text him is Seokjin, wishing him a happy birthday earlier than he should and uploading the screenshot to twitter. Next one is Yoongi; contrary to the indifferent image he shows, or rather that people have of him, he sends him a long text and Jungkook ends up with glossy eyes and a need to cry he has to suppress, even when there’s no one around. The first one to publicly wish him a happy birthday is, other than Seokjin, Hoseok, and Namjoon and Taehyung follow after they all congratulate him in the group chat. All, but Jimin. Jungkook’s not that affected by it as he thought he’d be.

He falls asleep soon after thanking all of them, and it’s only after he wakes up at six in the morning, just to take a piss and have a glass of water, that curiosity takes the best of him and he checks the band’s shared twitter account again—it’s a little embarrassing how relieved he feels after finding Jimin’s post, the hashtags with his name, and even more to hear his voice and see his smile. It only makes Jungkook miss him even more. Jimin talks about not being able to make it to spend his birthday with him, and Jungkook hates it—he doesn’t need to mention how he’s far away from Jungkook, having a good time without him, because, really, why would he need Jungkook to have a good time? They already share a job and a house, they don’t need to spend every single minute together. They’ve been clear about this in the past, yet it doesn’t mean it hurts Jungkook any less.

Texting Jimin at this point is straight up losing the remaining traces of dignity left in him, but he doesn’t care. thank you for the birthday wishes, he sends, and it’s six in the morning but he has no idea what time it is wherever Jimin’s at. He tweeted at four, so he doesn’t feel as burdening as he could. He misses Jimin too bad for it to be brushed off the way he tends to do whenever the elder occupies his thoughts; it doesn’t work this time, he can’t go back to sleep, he can’t get out of bed because getting out of bed implies he needs to put effort in taking his mind off him, and he can’t right now—Jungkook, for the first time in a long time, allows himself to sulk, to miss and ache for him, to curse at anything and everything but mostly at himself. He reminds himself that the biggest reason for Jimin not being here is because Jungkook explicitly refused to let him in more than he could bear.

Sleep doesn’t come easy once again, and falling asleep for a whole hour feels as though only five minutes went by, too restless to sleep properly. There’re noises coming from downstairs, which were the ones that woke him up, and he’s confused for a moment because he’s supposed to be alone. Panic takes over him for a moment because what if someone broke in? He shouldn’t go down and check, but that’s exactly what his body guides him to do before he can even stop it. Perhaps it’s just one of the members, or a manager, yet he’s in too much of a hurry to find out to reason it.

The lights are dim in the living room, he turned almost all of them off before going upstairs, yet it’s easy to recognize the figure standing still, as if caught red handed, in the middle of the place. Jungkook would have to be blind not to recognize him, and even so, he bets he’d be able to, anyway. His feet make him run down the rest of the steps, his heart racing against his chest, his breath catching when he earns a smile from Jimin. He smiles and runs to Jungkook, meeting him in the middle, their bodies crashing in a hug; a tight one, too tight, as if Jimin knows he needs to keep all his pieces together. His hands around his shoulders and fingers threading through his hair glue him together again, and his warm breath against the side of his neck gives him life one more time.

“Missed you. Missed you so much, I needed to come.” Jimin speaks against his skin, still holding him tight while Jungkook does the same, arms squeezing his waist and pressing him closer to him.

“How—why? I didn’t tell you I was coming back.”

“I talked to Junghyun hyung yesterday, he told me you were gonna spend your birthday here. I had to come back.”

He breathes in the scent of Jimin’s hair before mumbling against his head. “Don’t want you to pity me.”

“Oh, fuck off, Kook,” Jimin replies, pushing at his chest in order to look at him. “I want to be here. I can only spend too much time away from you. You should know this by now.”

The knot in his throat that has been intermittently showing up for some days makes itself present again. “I thought—”

“Shh,” Jimin shushes him. “Don’t think. I got you a present, I even got you a cake, come on.” He pulls on Jungkook’s hand as he turns on his heels, pointing in the kitchen’s direction.

Jungkook pulls him back, pulls him closer again, cups his face with cold hands and kisses him. He’s been yearning to. Jimin tastes like mints and like the nostalgia that comes with wanting to go back to a specific moment in time, and he kisses Jungkook back, sighing into his mouth, grabbing the nape of his neck. As they kiss, Jungkook can pretend this is exactly where they both belong, pretends hard and long enough as their mouths move that he ends up believing it. It’s slow like the caresses Jungkook gives his back after shoving his hands under his clothes, and it’s sweet, because Jimin’s saccharine like that. They’re okay, this is okay, they’re better than they’ve ever been.

“Want you so bad,” Jungkook rasps, breaking the kiss only to let him know.

Jimin’s pliant under his touch, as if melting against him. “Take me. Want you just as much.” It’s a dare, it sounds like a test, and Jungkook accepts in a heartbeat.

They find their way upstairs without really detaching from each other, although it proves to be quite difficult—Jungkook’s hands don’t leave Jimin’s waist as the latter goes up the steps backwards, giggling in Jungkook’s mouth and betting he’ll fall although Jungkook won’t allow it. His bedroom is the implicitly chosen one, Jungkook shutting the door closed behind himself as he watches Jimin undo the buttons of his black shirt—he throws the lock on, just in case, even if he knows they’re all alone. Jimin’s back on him in the blink of an eye, kissing his neck, sucking filthily on the skin, as if to let everyone, including Jungkook, that he’s here. He’s finally here. Jungkook’s fingers run across his sides, brushing past the relief of the tattoo engraved against his ribs. He loves it so much.

He doesn’t want to think if someone else has gotten the chance to do the same.

Jimin’s skin feels the same under his lips, his legs wrap the same way around his waist when they fall against the bed, his mouth tastes the same—rightfully sweet—so he can’t worry right now. Not when Jimin belongs to him, at least for this heated moment. The rest of their clothes follow and join carelessly on the floor of his bedroom, Jimin’s naked body hot and delightful against Jungkook’s own. He’s hard already, and Jungkook’s not doing any better; he needs to be touched in the way only Jimin knows how.

After a few pleads mumbled against his skin, he earns Jimin’s hand around his cock, stroking him languidly while Jungkook hovers above him, biceps bulging with the effort of not crushing Jimin. “Can’t wait to have you in me,” Jimin sighs against his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick Jungkook’s lips, all while thumbing his slit. “Gonna fuck me like I deserve?”

Jungkook gasps, perhaps too loudly not to be considered at least a bit pathetic, yet he doesn’t care, nodding repeatedly. “Gonna fuck you so good you won’t be able to forget me.” Not even when someone else’s taking my place, he doesn’t say although the phrase almost drips off the tip of his tongue. Jimin kisses him as though he has nothing else to add, slow, wet and deep.

“Fuck me now, don’t want to wait any longer,” Jimin demands, pushing at his shoulders, getting Jungkook to sit back on his heels.

“Need to prep you—”

“Want it to hurt.” Jimin’s voice is unwavering.

Jungkook refuses, shaking his head, standing up from the bed and promptly reaching his nightstand to fetch lube and condoms before returning by Jimin’s side. “Not gonna hurt you. Where’s the fun in that?”

Jimin rolls his eyes and lets his body hit the mattress again, parting his legs open. “There’s a lot of fun in that, you’re just boring,” he teases. One of his hands reach to cup his own cock, stroking himself tenderly.

“You won’t get bored, I promise,” Jungkook replies confidently after pressing a kiss on the inside of one of Jimin’s thighs. Another one follows, and then a dozen more, just because he can.

Jimin welcomes his first digit with a smirk on his lips, welcoming Jungkook’s kiss on them as he moves it, stretching, feeling the tightness around it. The second finger enters Jimin with a lot more lube, just because Jungkook knows he likes it wet and dripping; he barely gets to a third one when Jimin squirms under his touch, stating that it’s enough, demanding for Jungkook to get over with it and fuck him. Jungkook can’t refuse at this point, gently pulling his fingers out and rolling a condom Jimin’s already opened down his cock, hissing at the need taking over him. As he coats his length with too much lube, he catches Jimin’s smile, the bite on his lower lip, his gaze focused on him, eyes bright and radiating lust.

It’s Jimin—it’s always Jimin—who takes the lead and makes him lie back before straddling his hips. He wastes no time in inching down on his cock, throwing his head back and letting out a shaky moan as Jungkook enters him fully. He will never get enough of this. Jimin rolls his hips after a few seconds of waiting, although tortuous enough, moving with expertise, searching for Jungkook’s hands even with his eyes almost closed and interlacing their fingers. Jungkook groans, not able to detach his gaze from the man on top of him, basking in the tightness and warmth of his ass around his cock, rejoicing in every dirty moan that slips out of his mouth, running frantic hands against every inch of skin he gets.

The pace turns intense in less than he’d expected, Jimin bouncing on his cock, each thrust punctuating a loud moan, brows furrowed together in an expression Jungkook knows is of utter pleasure—he’s proud, he’s the one that gets to make him feel like this, and there’s no room for anyone else. Jimin moans his name amidst his mixed groans and whines, only tempting Jungkook to dwell deeper into everything Jimin has to give him. Jimin’s fingernails leave red traces on his chest and abdomen as he fucks himself down, looking at Jungkook and making it impossible for the latter to look away. He never gets tired of the adrenaline fucking Jimin injects into him. He lets Jimin do whatever he pleases with him, control the rhythm, the pace, the pleasure he allows Jungkook to experience. Jimin has absolute control over his entire being.

“Making me feel so good, baby,” Jimin praises, pressing his hands on Jungkook’s thighs behind himself, leaning back just enough for the new angle to rip a litany of broken whines out of his throat. “Missed this so fucking much—ah, fuck, fuck, Kook—”

“Me too, shit, Jimin, I’ve been going insane without you.” He bares his heart, guessing there’s no better time to do so than now that he’s verging on insanity. He might not be able to be held accountant afterwards.

“Show me—show me, baby, fuck me like you’ve missed me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Jungkook sits up just enough to snake his arms around Jimin’s waist and bring him closer against his own chest before he bends his legs at the knee, plants his feet on the mattress, and fucks up into him, hard and fast, like they both yearn. Jimin gasps his name, his voice dripping honey against Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook roams one of his hands, the one that’s not holding Jimin’s body steady, down the curve of his ass, squeezing the plump and taut flesh, daring to pad against Jimin’s rim, feeling how his cock enters him again and again. It’s filthy and the best thing Jungkook’s ever had the chance to experience; Jimin as a whole, it is.

He entertains the idea, as cheesy as it is, that they’re so in synch that they even come together. He doesn’t have much time to elaborate on his theory, not when Jimin’s trembling above him, clenching around his cock, moaning his name as he comes; he comes untouched, spilling hot ropes of cum across Jungkook’s chest, spine arching under Jungkook’s hands. It’s Jungkook’s downfall from there. Jimin’s fucked out sobs, along with the way he fucks harder and faster into him, bring him to his release, squeezing the elder like a vice against himself as he shuts his eyes, figures of every color appearing behind his eyelids as he fills the condom, moaning Jimin’s name enough times to taste it.

Jimin’s not next to him in his bed when Jungkook wakes up, a mild panic of some sort taking over him at a quick pace until he hears the shower running down the corridor, his door ajar. It’s almost two p.m., and as much as he’d like to stay in bed a little longer, the urge to see Jimin again is stronger. Lazy feet bring him to the bathroom, and he knocks out of habit, mostly—Jimin’s voice comes chirpily, telling him to come in over the sound of the water falling. He’s seen Jimin naked more times he can bring himself to recall, yet the novelty never wears off—the droplets dripping down his skin, his wet hair, the steam inside the room giving him an unreachable aura.

“Wanna share a shower with me?” Jimin asks, sliding the shower stall glass door open. It’s good that Jungkook’s already naked as the day he was born.

They make out a lot under the shower spray, which is only mandatory; Jimin’s softer now, gentler, both his movements and whispered words, as if their morning activities had pushed his buttons down. This is another version of Jimin he loves with every bit of his soul. The shower is quick, thankfully since Jungkook doesn’t think he could spend another minute pressed to Jimin’s body without his dick getting hard, and it’s not the time now. Later, perhaps. They dry off together, enough not to make a mess of the parqueted floor around the house as they walk barefoot out of the bathroom, only a towel each around their hips. Jungkook dresses in his bedroom while Jimin does in his own, and they meet in the living room once they’re presentable again.

“Your hair’s so long, I love it, have I told you?” Jimin comments as they sit on the couch. Too close, they’re sitting with no space in between to spare, Jimin’s hands automatically playing with his still wet hair.

“You mentioned it, I think. I’m gonna let it grow a little longer.”

“You’ll look so good—I mean, you already do.” Jimin messes with his hair, closing the distance between them when Jungkook least expects it and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Hey, I didn’t tell you! Happy birthday, Kook,” he says, cupping his face, pressing another kiss this time on the corner of Jungkook’s mouth.

“Thank you—” Jungkook kisses him properly, square on the mouth. “—you did, though. In your video.”

“I recorded it before I got in the plane. And I didn’t tell you in person, it’s not valid.”

“It’s fine, it’s actually just like any other day, if you think about it.”

“I like celebrating my birthday, you should let me celebrate yours as well. And I got you a present, and a cake.” Jimin stands up from the couch, and Jungkook has no other choice but to follow him all the way to the kitchen.

Jungkook observes him attentively, how he takes a beautifully decorated cake out of the fridge—under further inspection, Jungkook realizes it’s The Smurfs themed, so cute and so like Jimin to get him something like this. He can’t help but smile greatly at it and at Jimin, and the latter mimics his smile. “You’re too much, hyung.”

“Do you like it? I thought it was funny, it’s really cute.”

“I do, really, I love it. Is it chocolate?”

Jimin gives him a cocky smirk. “Of course it is. Oh, the present—” Jimin grabs a box Jungkook had just eyed, not too big yet not too small, covered in gift wrap, and slides it across the counter so Jungkook opens it.

Jungkook obliges, biting down on his lip as he rips the wrap open under Jimin’s expectant gaze. It’s hard to decipher what it is without taking it out of the box, yet he’s pretty quick to understand it once he’s got it in his hands; a figurine, a rather large one, from the movie The Nightmare Before Christmas. Flashes of their trip to Japan appear before his eyes as he recalls how much he had wanted to buy one of these back when they visited Tokyo’s Disneyland—he couldn’t, they were no longer available by that time. His cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling too big and too much. “Hyung—how did you get this?” He asks, looking at Jimin before returning his gaze to the figurine.

“Had to practically beg some people. I knew how much you wanted it, and I know it’s been some time, but it’s a pretty difficult piece to find.” Jimin looks just as happy as Jungkook does as he speaks.

“I love it, can’t believe you got it for me.” Carefully, he places the figurine on the counter’s surface before walking closer to Jimin and pulling him into a hug. “Thank you, I love it,” he says happily against Jimin’s shoulder.

Jimin’s fingers find his hair again, carding them across the brown, long strands. “I’m happy you do.” Jimin’s the one that kisses him as soon as they move apart, pulling Jungkook back against himself just long enough to capture his lips. Jungkook’s positive he’ll end up becoming an addict sooner than later.

They giggle when they break the kiss, as if there were something funny to laugh about; there really isn’t, but Jungkook’s happier than he’s been in some time. A part of himself screams that he shouldn’t be so dependent on Jimin, yet the other side reasons that it’s only natural to act like this when you’re head over heels. They shouldn’t, but once again, they’re back in each other’s arms.

“We should make a toast,” Jimin suggests out of the blue, slicing through the silence that’s overtaken the house.

“It’s two in the afternoon,” Jungkook points out.

Jimin stares at him with his brows raised. “And? Back in Russia, we’d drink at any time. Alcoholic culture, in my opinion, but it was fun.”

Jimin moves away from him in order to get some glasses and then a bottle of rosé wine Jungkook has spotted before in their fridge. “Who did you hang out with?” Jungkook asks, trying not to let the elder knows the mere mention of that place rubs him the wrong way.

“Just some friends, remember Minhyun? We met there, and met some other people.” Jimin speaks nonchalantly, and Jungkook only nods, watching him pour the liquid evenly on two glasses.

“Can’t say I remember him. I’m glad you had fun, though.” He forces a smile and wishes for Jimin not to see past it.

Jimin doesn’t comment on his casual jealousy outbreak from more than a week ago, much to Jungkook’s relief—in fact, he doesn’t comment on anything else concerning that matter. He offers Jungkook a glass, gifting him a smile when Jungkook takes it. “Happy birthday, Kook. Cheers for you and your happiness.”

Their glasses clink, and Jungkook feels warm all over, well aware of how Jimin’s wishes are pure and true.

“My brother is such a snitch. Can’t believe he told you I was coming here,” Jungkook comments, brushing his fingers across Jimin’s hair while the latter rests his head on his lap. There’s a half full glass of rosé wine in his other hand. “Did he call you?”

“I texted him to see how you were doing. Didn’t really feel like talking to you after—you know. Sorry.”

“It makes sense, I guess. What do you plan on doing next week?” Jungkook asks tentatively.

“Gonna fly to France. Minhyun will go, too. Your brother told me you’re going to Japan on Monday,” Jimin points out.

“I mean, yeah—if you stayed, I’d stay too, though.”

Jimin looks up at him, slowly sitting up. “That’s no fun. We have our whole lives to spend together, traveling is great, you can’t take back your plans.”

Jungkook knows it means I won’t take back mine. “We’re just—in a good place now, aren’t we? I don’t want to leave if it means we’ll get stranded again.”

“Yeah, we’re good now, but this is about what we got going on.” Jimin gestures with his hands, quickly pointing at himself and Jungkook a few times. “You know it, Kook.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me, damn,” Jungkook snaps.

Jimin cocks his head to the side, frowning at him. “You were the one that panicked at the simple thought of something else happening between us. I get it, you don’t want anything serious—even if I were able to offer that to you.”

“I don’t, you’re right,” he lies, clenching his jaw. “That doesn’t mean I want to keep arguing with you.”

“Then just don’t, Kook. I don’t really understand you sometimes. I don’t think you understand yourself that well, either.” Jimin springs up from the couch as if driven by anger.

“I don’t understand you, Jimin hyung,” he shoots back, raising his voice enough for the elder to hear him as he makes his way upstairs. “You like to disappear, have your fun, go out with everybody you want, and don’t give me the right to question it—and I get it, I really don’t have the right to ask anything of you, but why do you keep coming back?”

Jimin’s standing on the second step of the stairs, staring at him blankly, silent for a couple of seconds. “Because you’re still my best friend, you fucking idiot. You should know this by now.” Jimin turns around and resumes with going upstairs, not glancing back at Jungkook, not uttering another word. Jungkook chest burns, flames threatening to break through his rib cage and burn everything surrounding him.

He’s the weakest man in the universe when it comes to Jimin, and it doesn’t take him more than forty minutes of downing the rest of the wine to search for him again. His heart weighs a ton, it’s almost impossible for him to carry it all the way to Jimin’s room, yet he does, not bothering in knocking and just pushing the door open. Jimin’s lying in his bed, phone in hand above his face, lights turned off except for the little lamp on his nightstand. Jungkook doesn’t speak, just inches closer slowly until he’s sitting right next to Jimin’s figure, and Jimin scoots over, leaving Jungkook enough space to lie down next to him. He has no idea what kind of game they’re playing, too much pushing and pulling making his brain twist and hurt, yet he can’t stop; he can’t help the way he can finally breathe when Jimin discards his phone and turns his body to him in order to drape an arm across Jungkook’s chest. He can’t quit breathing in Jimin’s scent, spice, a bit of fruit thrown in there, mixed with Jungkook’s own perfume. They don’t speak, presumably for the best since every time they do, nothing seems to want to go right—they communicate with their bodies, hugging each other in a way that would make anyone think they’re insane. They might just be, just in case Jungkook’s not the only one.

◈

There’s no need to mention how they spent the rest of their Japan trip fucking, more than anything whenever they weren’t busy sightseeing or shopping or eating out—their friends ask how it went, and they specifically omit the parts that involve too much making out and too much sex (which are a lot, in fact). Once back in the house, they’re tempted to act in a similar way to how they did back in the confines of their private hotel room, but they can’t; personally, Jungkook feels as though he were a kid with a new toy, wanting to play with it every single minute of the day. Only that he isn’t a kid, and Jimin isn’t a toy, and fortunately enough, they’re both on the same page. They both can’t get enough of discovering each other in the filthiest and most intricate ways.

It becomes their escapade. Kissing behind closed doors or drawn curtains, sneaking out to have a bit of each other which always results in fucking in cars or empty dressing rooms. They’ve had sex while the rest of their friends were in the house, as wicked as it is, and staying silent proved to be the hardest thing they’ve had to endure. It’s natural by now, they gravitate towards each other whenever they need to unwind, which is more often than not. Their friends, other than Taehyung, haven’t shown any signs of being aware—they had to tell Taehyung, it was only fair to let him know since he was somehow the culprit of this. He takes it well, tells them he’s glad they finally got around to release all the pent up sexual frustration they apparently seemed to exude whenever they were together. What Jungkook doesn’t mention, not while Jimin’s around, is the fact that he would much rather have this than to confess and fuck things up between him and Jimin, he doesn’t need to confess, they’re friends who just happen to fuck whenever they need to. It doesn’t hurt Jungkook as much as anyone that knew would think.

It’s fun, more than anything, to have this going on. Jungkook prides himself in being very self-disciplined, not allowing for his heart to dictate what his brain is in charge of doing. Nothing much changes to the public eye, he guesses—their friends tease them sometimes, their managers every once in a while warn them that people might get the wrong idea, whenever Jimin’s touching him too much or Jungkook’s own mouth is hovering too close to Jimin’s—people, their fans, mostly, are not actually getting the wrong idea whenever they state how they can see how badly they want each other. It’s not far from the truth, in fact. They’re having fun, they’re not hurting anyone.

Jungkook just hopes he’s not the one that ends up getting hurt.

A year passes until Jungkook can no longer bear it. Jimin’s always been a social person, too charming for everyone’s own good, too enthralling, too bewitching—Jungkook should have seen it all coming. Keeping his feelings in check gets way harder when Jimin’s not gyrating around him any longer, or at least not in the way he used to; he can see it, can sense the distance that has been making its way in between them. Seeing Jimin laughing and having fun with men that aren’t him makes it all so much more difficult, just like watching him being touched and caressed by other people, hearing him coming home when dawn comes, noticing marks on his skin he’s never left. And he knows he doesn’t own Jimin, he wouldn’t even want to, and knows the man doesn’t owe him not even a single word in explanation, yet at times, reasoning is not enough consolation for how badly his chest burns at the realization that he’ll never be the one Jimin chooses. Not anymore.

Their schedules get way too crazy with all the concerts and all the flying from country to country, rehearsing, interviews, more rehearsing, getting a few hours of sleep. He can count the times Jimin and him have had an encounter with the fingers of one hand. It’s obvious, they don’t have enough time and they don’t have the ability to make what little free time they have last longer; the band comes always first, they’re all standing on the same ground of professionalism. Still, now that the tour’s coming to an end, Jungkook can relate to his friends and how they’re looking forward to relax and have their own fun. He really wants to have a few days off to just take his mind off the things that worry him, hang out with friends and pretend he’s a normal person with a normal life.

Be it either because the universe has granted his wishes or because their management has noticed how worn out they are, they are granted with a few days off after their last concert abroad. They return to Korea with the gratification of having a week to do whatever they please before the finale of the tour; Yoongi decides to stay in Seoul, as well as Seokjin and Jungkook, while the rest choose to visit their families for some days.

Jimin’s one of the ones that announce he’ll be flying back to Busan until the concert, claiming he misses his relatives. It’s not that unusual to Jungkook, but what really surprises him is the elder coming into his room at night and offering for Jungkook to tag along with him to their hometown.

“I didn’t—I wasn’t planning on going. I want to stay here and work on some music,” Jungkook comments while Jimin moves to the sides sitting on Jungkook’s desk chair

“Come on! We haven’t had a trip together in so long,” Jimin insists with a pout. “Besides, I want you to meet Minhyun.”

They’re not as close as they used to be. Jimin’s got other people that have taken his place, so he doesn’t know what use it’d be for him to pretend Jimin wants him the same. “Who’s that?”

“A childhood friend, he lives in Busan still, we recently got in touch again so I’ll be seeing him. It’d be nice if you came.”

It’s irrational, and he’s well aware, how bad he reacts at the mention of Jimin possibly going out with someone else; it becomes realer, the fact that he’s the one whose feelings are out of place. He might be going crazier each passing day. “I don’t think I should. I’d have nothing to do there.”

Jimin cocks an eyebrow at him. “What does that mean?”

“Means that I can’t just show up with you without knowing your other friends. It’s not my place.”

“But we’re also friends, Kook,” Jimin replies, voice soft. It sounds as if he were pitying Jungkook.

“I don’t want to condition you or anything while I’m there,” Jungkook states. He can’t look at Jimin at this point.

“Why would you condition me? I don’t understand, please be clear to me.” Jimin stands up from the chair and moves to the bed, sitting in front of Jungkook.

“It’d be harder for you to have fun while I’m around. I know you don’t want me to feel bad or anything, and I don’t want to keep you from going out with whoever you want.”

Jimin’s expression twists in seriousness in the blink of an eye. “You think I’d take you on a trip with me just to make you watch me sleep with someone else?” He asks, words sharp. When Jungkook doesn’t answer, he speaks again. “You really think I’m that much of a jerk?”

“Not a jerk, and it’s what you’ve been doing, anyway—and you’re free to do so, there’s nothing between us. This is stupid,” he sighs, throwing his head back.

“What I’ve been doing? Jungkook, what the fuck are you saying?” Jimin’s voice gets louder, angrier. “I don’t think I owe any explanations, but if it helps you sleep at night, I’ve only been involved with you for the past year. I can’t depend on you and I can’t expect you always be there whenever I need to get off.”

“And I can’t depend on you, that’s what you mean. It’s true, and I think it’s better off that way. We shouldn’t be involved any longer.” It’s like ripping off a bandaid; doing it hurts like hell, yet he knows it’s something he must do in order to air out his wounds and get them to heal better.

“If that’s what you want, then I have no say in it.” Jimin’s tone is dry, and he’s out of Jungkook’s bedroom in a matter of heartbeats.

◈

Jimin’s in Paris, from what he knows. They haven’t talked since Jungkook left their shared house first, not a call, not even a text, and he knows where the elder is because Taehyung commented on it the previous day when he and Jungkook texted, his friend reaching out to check on him. He shouldn’t bring himself to care about Jimin’s whereabouts outside the context of friendship, he should have enough with knowing he’s doing well and having fun, yet he can’t stop thinking and thinking, over and over again, about what he might be doing without Jungkook. It’s pathetic, he’s supposed to have his own share of fun, to meet new people and try to get him out of his every brain cell. Jimin might not even spare him a thought every once in a while.

His friends don’t ask about his gloomy mood the night they go out together after he’s reminded of Jimin; Jungkook rejoices in the benefit of the doubt, by knowing whether it’s because of the barrier language (although Jungkook’s japanese has improved and they get around with their korean) or just because they don’t want to know for a variety of reasons. He’s thankful, anyway, for it and for the way they try to make him unwind.

He gives kudos to himself for being able to socialize with people better than he used to, although alcohol does help a little bit. He lets his friends take him to a get together, a sort of private party at the house of someone he doesn’t know nor cares about finding out. Everyone’s pretty chill about his presence, treating him kindly as though he belongs to their group of apparently longtime friends; everyone knows each other but Jungkook, and it’s not as much of an issue as it’d had been in the past. He’s predisposed to have fun tonight, and the people around him are helping him greatly. There’re more drinks, a wide variety of them, for everyone to drink, than there’s food, which sounds like a bad idea since he barely ate during the day and he knows drinking on an empty stomach isn’t exactly ideal—still, he doesn’t go against his friends’ suggestions and drinks, tries new combinations and new flavors he’s never tried before.

Drunk enough as to lose sense of time, all of his remaining inhibitions fade. There’s a girl sitting next to him on the leather couch he’s been on since he arrived; her Korean isn’t the best, yet they make it work, talking casually about stuff Jungkook can’t recall the next minute. She’s charming, smiling widely as Jungkook speaks and doesn’t care about the mistakes he might make in japanese. She’s cute in an unconventional way, not the one he’s used to finding girls appealing—he guesses she has more tattoos than she recalls, her arms and legs are peppered with them, and there’s even one on the side of their face. Her blond hair is short, and her lips are too red, contrasting with the paleness of her skin. Jungkook learns she’s a tattoo artist, and jokingly suggests she tattoos him some time, to which she agrees in all seriousness. By the time she invites him over to her private studio the next day, he’s too out of it to think twice before agreeing.

By the next morning, he’s got a new number saved on his phone contacts. After dealing with an inevitable headache, he decides to head to the studio of the girl that invited him the previous night. The look on her face when he arrives to the private studio signals that she probably wasn’t expecting for him to drop by, smiling widely and ushering him inside; the place is big and pretty crowded, yet she informs him that she’ll take a break from tattooing so they can eat, assuring Jungkook not to worry about it as the latter tries to interject. She’s nice, treating him as if they were longtime friends, introducing him to some of her colleagues that also work here before all of them eat together. She’s funny, making him laugh out loud at her jokes, even without alcohol in his veins. She’s pretty touchy, and that’s fine, because Jungkook’s a sucker for intimacy, even if it means nothing else. He’s not sure yet he wants it to have a deeper meaning.

Afternoon turns into evening, and he’s not surprised to see one of her coworkers offering beers to them. Jungkook agrees. One of them, a younger girl with lots of tattoos, admits to be a fan and shyly asks Jungkook for a picture—everyone appears in the picture when Jungkook agrees, squeezing closer so they fit, and his new friend doesn’t comment on the way he casually wraps his arms around her waist from behind while Jungkook doesn’t comment on the way she relaxes against his chest. He can’t see the wrong in this, and hopes no one sees it either. When the girl invites him to see the room she uses to tattoo her clients, a tiny one rather secluded from the public, Jungkook agrees. He’s too gone, once again, to go against the flow, even when alcohol isn’t the culprit now. The walls are filled with pictures of different designs on different parts of bodies, all of them very artistic and beautiful, and the place is overall very nicely decorated.

“Would you like to get your tattoo done now?” She asks with a smile.

“Uh, don’t think so, I haven’t thought of any designs. Besides, I’d have to mentally prepare first,” he says with a chuckle.

“Where would you want it? Have you thought about it?”

Jungkook glances at her tattooed arms, hands and knuckles. “The knuckles seem like a good spot,” he says, examining his own hand.

She takes it, running her thumb against the bony knuckles. “I have some henna, maybe you’d like to try it out before diving into real ink?”

He agrees, and she promptly guides him to a chair, resting his hand palm down on the armrest. He’s tried henna before, and thinks it’s pretty cool. He comes up with something off the top of his head, something cheesy as it is; initials of his members combined with ARMY plus some little symbols she throws in just as suggestions yet Jungkook ends up liking. “Looks really cool, I’m sure that whenever I finally decide to get it done for real, I’ll come here,” he compliments her.

“I do hope you come here. I don’t want to stop seeing you,” she says softly.

Jungkook can relate. “I will, I’ll come back whenever I have a few free days.”

She nods and lets out a breathy laugh, looking down. “I think you’ve already noticed I like you. Hope you don’t have anyone waiting for you back in Korea.”

Jungkook hasn’t thought about it, yet it all makes sense now, making him feel like a complete idiot. His smile fades at the realization, and she seems to notice, her own doing the same. The only one he wishes to be waiting for him back in Korea isn’t even in Korea, and isn’t even waiting for him. Silence gets disturbing amongst them, and there’s no other way out of this situation than to inch forward and kiss her—it’s different than what he’s used to, mostly because he hasn’t kissed someone that isn’t Jimin in the longest time. The fact only makes him feel little. She kisses him back, slowly yet evidently eager, and it’s not the same, she’s not what he expected, simply because she wouldn’t turn into Jimin, no matter how much he wishes for it. Jungkook makes a mental note not to be so impulsive in his daily life since it doesn’t make it any easier to live.

“I should get going,” he whispers against her mouth when he breaks the kiss. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t move. He stands up and flees.

Pictures of him hugging the blonde girl quickly spread all over the internet in a matter of hours. It’s only ten a.m. when his phone begins to ring without showing any signs of stopping. He has to answer his manager, well aware of the scolding he’ll get for being careless; he rolls his eyes, takes a deep breath and answers the call. “Please, you have to tell me what’s your relationship with this girl, your fans are going insane. The company has to post a statement,” his manager basically begs for him to tell him the truth, and Jungkook does just that. They’re friends, he wouldn’t have thought there’d be stalkers around that would snap pictures of him even at private places like a tattoo studio. They’re just friends, he clarifies, and the statement they release stays true to his words. His members’ messages arrive a little later, all of them complaining about obsessive sasaengs and suggesting Jungkook to be more careful. All of them but Jimin. Jimin doesn’t utter a single word, doesn’t write, doesn’t comment on the situation. It might just be what Jungkook deserves.

Three days later, he leaves Japan without contacting her again.

The house isn’t vacant when he arrives back in Seoul. There’s a mess of clothes that welcome him as soon as he enters through the door, and he recognizes them along with the suitcase lying open and half empty in the middle of the living room. It’s hard to pretend he doesn’t know who the owner of the perfume filling the place is. His heart rate picks up without him having a say in it. He ceases to have control over his own body and movements, being taken against his will to the kitchen only to find Jimin sitting by the table, looking up from his phone to meet Jungkook’s widened eyes. “Didn’t know you were coming,” he mutters. He doesn’t stand up, doesn’t budge even, doesn’t welcome Jungkook with a hug and a kiss the way he’s always done.

“Didn’t know you were back,” Jungkook replies. He doesn’t really know what to do now, can’t bring himself to move as though he were anchored to the tiled kitchen floor.

“I saw the pictures.” Jimin locks his phone, discarding it rather harshly against the surface of the table.

“So did everyone. The company has already dealt with it.”

“I saw them, I guess you achieved what you wanted.” Jimin lifts himself from the chair, arms crossed against his chest as he walks up to Jungkook and stands in front of him. Daring, ready to fight.

“I didn’t achieve anything, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re just doing all of this to make me mad, paying me back for what you think I’ve done to you.”

Jungkook lets out a dry and short laugh, irony lacing his words. “Not everything I do is related to you.” He turns on his heels and exits the kitchen.

Jimin follows him suit. “So you’re just sleeping with the first girl you see for kicks? Just because you can?”

“And what if I do? Haven’t you been doing the same? I don’t have shit to explain to you,” Jungkook snaps, facing the elder again.

Jimin’s mouth opens, yet no sound comes out, closing it again before speaking after a second or two. His frown has been wiped off his face and replaced by a taken aback expression. “So it’s true? You fucked some random girl,” he says, suddenly breathless.

“As if you weren’t doing the same,” Jungkook spits with disdain.

“You didn’t want me anymore, you fucking asshole!” Jimin raises his voice enough for it to be considered screaming. “You said it, what am I supposed to do? Cry over you not wanting to sleep with me any longer?”

“You were the first one that got away, Jimin. You told me you couldn’t depend on me—why do you care? Why are you making such a scene when you have plenty of people dying to fuck you?” He hates how aggressive he’s getting, hates the knot in his throat and the hurt that paints over Jimin’s face.

“Make up your damn mind,” Jimin hisses, inching closer to his face, his breath hitting Jungkook’s cheek. “You don’t have the right to care.”

He acts without thinking, cupping Jimin’s face with his thumbs while the rest of his fingers press against his nape in a rather strong hold. “You can’t complain about what I do.”

“Was she good, then? Did you enjoy fucking her the way you did with me?” Jimin demands, fisting on the fabric of the t-shirt covering his chest. “Because I haven’t found anyone that fucks me like you did.”

Jungkook loses all types of restraints, crashing their mouths together, still holding his face while Jimin now pulls on his hair; it’s harsh, wet, full of craving and pent up frustration from both sides. Every single one of his nerve endings is ablaze, his blood burns as it rushes through his veins, and it’s no one’s but Jimin’s fault. He’s the only one that can drive him completely insane. “You won’t—no one’s ever gonna make you feel like I do,” Jungkook rasps after pulling away, bringing his hands to grab onto Jimin’s waist and pulling him so close that there’s no space in between their bodies. His confidence roots in the anger imagining Jimin with someone else provokes in him.

Jungkook’s bedroom is where they end up, as usual, as though nothing ever changed. They practically run upstairs, lust overtaking and moving them. Jimin gasps sultrily when Jungkook pins him to the door and squeezes the back of his thigh, the elder letting him raise it up around his waist before moving his hand to grip his ass. Their groans spill out automatically when their hips meet, the friction not enough, the harshness in their movements not slowing at all. “You’ve always wanted me just as much as I do,” Jimin grits, arms on Jungkook’s shoulders, foreheads knocking together.

Jungkook doesn’t answer, he won’t let Jimin know how right he is. He kisses Jimin again, tongues meeting in the filthiest manner, moans mixing with each other’s. He aches for this. There’ll never be anyone like Jimin. They don’t waste any more precious time, Jimin motioning for Jungkook to let him down before his fingers pull on his clothes; Jungkook gets the hint immediately, both his t-shirt and Jimin’s getting thrown far away from them as well as their pants and underwear. He can’t hold back, littering wet kisses down Jimin’s stomach, sucking on the skin and leaving reddish marks—he does the same with his hips and the inside of his thighs and, once he faces Jimin again, he makes sure to mark his neck as well.

“Want you to fuck me so hard I can’t think about anything else—want you to make me yours—” Jimin gasps as their hips crash again, cupping his face, speaking between kisses he lands on Jungkook’s mouth. “Kook, please, please,” the elder pleads, rushed hands pressing down on Jungkook’s ass and prompting for him to keep rolling his hips.

Tremors run down Jungkook’s body, sighing with the friction of their erections rubbing together. If only he knew how badly Jungkook wants for Jimin to belong only to him. “You’ve ruined it for me, I can’t even think about anyone else,” he spills.

“Ruin me back, then. Come on.” Jimin swiftly shifts positions, ending up on all fours in front of Jungkook, ass on full display. Jungkook can never get enough, it’s impossible, unthinkable of.

Luck is, at least now, on his side, so he manages to find lube and condoms quickly before returning behind Jimin; he trails kisses down the expanse of his spine as he coats his fingers with lube, padding gently at his asshole. Jimin’s spine arches when the first digit enters him, filling Jungkook’s ears with that sweetness he craves every second of his life. He doesn’t recall Jimin ever being this pliant under his touch, never once having been completely at Jungkook’s mercy in this way, panting his name and begging for more, not demanding, just asking, and who’s Jungkook not to grant his wishes? He doesn’t wait any longer as soon as Jimin assures him his ready, three fingers later and lots of lube, rolling the condom down hastily and finally burying himself deep past the still too tight ring of muscles. Jimin’s arms give out, chest hitting the mattress, cheek pressed against it too. Jungkook holds his wrists behind his back, pulling on them as he gives in and fucks into Jimin hard and fast, the way they both yearn.

“Fuck me like a man—shit, make it hurt so good,” Jimin moans, voice half muffled against the sheets.

“Bet no one knows how to make you scream, they don’t know how fucking insatiable you are,” Jungkook groans, canting his hips forward harder than in the beginning. “Bet they couldn’t make you come as many times as me.”

Jimin shakes his head repeatedly, taking Jungkook hard and deep, broken sighs punctuated by each harsh thrust. There’s something excruciatingly good about letting out their anger on each other, fucking in a frenzy, letting lust consume them wholly. Jungkook brings Jimin up to his knees, sneaking a hand around his torso and pressing him flush against his chest, keeping him in place along with a hand perched on his hip. Jimin throws his head back, one of his hands pulling on Jungkook’s hair. Jungkook pistons into him with abandon, breath faltering, moans getting inevitably louder just like Jimin’s, mouthing at the skin of his neck as they rock together in synchrony. He can’t bear to think someone else got to experience this, he can’t bring himself to imagine a scenario in which Jimin isn’t giving his all to him. Jimin’s skin is glistening with sweat, his cheeks are red just like his chest, his lips parted in order to let the sobs roll off freely. He can’t live without Jimin.

By the time his orgasm gets nearer, Jungkook hugs him closer, announcing his approaching release with a raspy moan against Jimin’s skin; the latter begs for him not to stop, to keep fucking him so good, to bring him near the edge of insanity as well, and he does, pushing Jimin down against the mattress, his front flush against it, and pounding into him for enough force to make the bed creak. Jimin takes it, clenching around him, gasping Jungkook’s name in the way only he knows how, making him lose every last bit of his mind. He comes hard, blacking out for a second as his hips still, the only thing he can perceive being Jimin’s voice claiming him, praising him. It doesn’t take long at all for Jimin to fall down with him, body trembling as he comes against his sheets, back arching and ass clenching so deliciously around Jungkook, sobbing loud enough for him to never be able to erase it from his mind.

“Don’t move—don’t leave, don’t move away,” Jimin asks breathlessly after Jungkook pulls out of him with the last of force he finds in himself, turning on the bed and pulling Jungkook against him again once he’s discarded the condom. Jungkook sags against him, allowing himself to melt against Jimin, to drown in his touch and his caresses against his back. They shouldn’t, Jimin shouldn’t pretend he loves him back enough to hold him like this, yet Jungkook’s always been too much of a sucker when it comes to him—so he lets it happen, lets him pretend and kiss him sweetly like he means it, holds him just as tightly as he’d do if Jimin loved him back.

They’re too hazy to move properly, so they end up cuddling under the sheets Jungkook draped over both. Jungkook basks in his warmth, his never changing scent, the softness of his skin, and decides he’ll deal with the consequences of their reckless behavior in some time.

“Can you look at me? Quit avoiding me.” Jimin’s sitting in front of him across the table, knocking on the surface with his knuckles.

“I’m not avoiding you, we’re having breakfast together,” Jungkook says although he is, in fact, avoiding Jimin’s gaze to the best of his abilities.

“Look at me, then—that’s better,” Jimin adds after Jungkook sighs, rolls his eyes, and locks gazes with him. “Good morning,” he says with a smile.

“We already said good morning,” Jungkook comments around a spoonful of cereal.

“No, I told you hi and you groaned something intelligible back and hugged me for another twenty minutes.”

It’s ridiculous how embarrassed domestic things, such as what Jimin relates, make him. They’ve been involved in far more compromising situations than waking up together after cuddling—cuddling after a good dose of intense fucking. The mere memory tints his cheeks a pink color, he bets, because he can feel blood rushing to his face. He’s definitely acting like a dumb, hormonal, head over heels teenager. “You’re the cuddler, if anything,” he mumbles, an inevitable smirk forming on his lips.

“And I’m proud of it,” Jimin announces with a triumphant smile. “Hey, we need to talk—for real.”

Jungkook braces himself. “We’re already talking—”

“Jungkook.”

“Can’t really see what you want to talk about, honestly. The sex? The fighting? We’re always doing both.”

“And why is it that?” Jimin inquiries. His coffee cup is discarded in front of him, half empty, gone cold by now. “I’m all for the sex, but I hate the fighting.”

“I don’t like fighting, either. I can’t really control myself sometimes,” Jungkook sighs. His bowl of cereal doesn’t look that enticing anymore, his stomach clenching shut.

“If you think about it, there’s no logical reason to our arguments,” the elder points out, and Jungkook nods in agreement. “But we’ve got some unresolved things we’ve yet to deal with.”

“I—no.” His first instinct is to deny it, although he knows it’s a blatant lie.

“Kook, I’m not blind.”

He feels as though he’s been ripped off his armor, left completely exposed in a way that makes the recurrent knot appear in his throat once again. His heartrate quickens because Jimin’s implying he knows about everything Jungkook feels for him, every ounce and inch, and everything indicates they’re not on the same page. “I don’t feel like having this conversation right now,” he states, voice coming out thinner than he expected.

“Don’t think I’m an expert about this. Have you ever thought about why we keep coming back to each other?” Jimin’s voice doesn’t falter like Jungkook’s does, so he doesn’t believe that the elder isn’t an expert. He might just be real good at breaking hearts, so much that you don’t even realize.

“I’m gonna say sex, but you know it isn’t.”

Jimin shakes his head slowly. “We both know it. One of the reasons is the fact that we’re best friends—Kook, nothing ever has to change about that, we’re practically family and that’s stronger than anything else. We’re always going to keep coming back together.”

Jimin’s too sweet and too delicate voice does nothing to help the need Jungkook feels to cry. His eyes begin to itch in that characteristic way, and he hates this wholeheartedly; he’s about to experience the greatest humiliation of, probably, his whole life. He knows what comes next, he can taste the gentle and subtle rejection, the shame of hearing Jimin explain how he already knows about Jungkook’s feelings and can’t reciprocate. He guesses it’s better off this way, and he wants it to be quick so he can attempt to move on with life as soon as possible. “Then what’s the other reason?”

The elder’s lips shut in a tight line, a puff of air coming out of his nose. It’s selfish, but Jungkook’s somehow glad that this is just as hard for Jimin as it is for him. Jimin closes his eyes for a moment, breathing in slowly, before he parts his lips to speak. “I’m in love with you—there, I said it, god,” he groans, hands covering his face.

Jungkook feels as though he just stuck his fingers in an electric socket. He frowns at Jimin, eyes widened in utter confusion. “No, you’re not.”

“I think I know how I feel,” Jimin tells him, dropping his hands on the table and looking at Jungkook with a pissed off expression.

“Shut the fuck up—oh my god.” Jungkook clumsily stands up from the chair, wanting to run out of the house and yell at the sky because this only feels like a twisted joke. He doesn’t move, though, stays standing and looking at Jimin and at how he pales. “You’re—are you being serious?”

“Yes, Jungkook, I’m being serious. You don’t have to be such a fucking asshole about it,” Jimin spits.

“No—” Guilt overtakes him first, followed by the realization that Jimin really isn’t lying to him. “I’m sorry, I’m just in shock—”

“Yeah, I can see, you can be pretty insensitive when you want,” he replies snidely.

“I just thought—hyung, I thought you were about to tell me how you knew about what I feel for you, and that you were about to reject me,” he explains, plopping back on the chair, shuddering, all the little hairs in his body standing upright.

Jimin’s eyes widen. “I thought you were rejecting me,” he says oddly calm. Jungkook shakes his head. “I think we should stop thinking a bit.”

Jungkook stares at him and lets out a breathy laugh. “I don’t know how to proceed from here, honestly.” His hands are clammy and cold, and there’s a smile that creeps up his face without anything nor anyone being capable of stopping it. “This is insane, I never thought you’d love me back.”

“I didn’t realize until not long ago, honestly—I’ve always loved you, you’ve always been my best friend, and we have been sleeping together for quite some time now so it was difficult for me to notice I had…fallen, I guess?” Jimin speaks with a shy smile that only gets more difficult to hide as his words flow. “I think you distancing yourself made me realize. I missed you too much and it hurt too bad for it to be just casual or just friendly feelings.”

“I had to do it, I knew—well, I thought—that you’d never feel the same. And I was so ready to give up on what I felt just to preserve our friendship and everything in between. Watching you having a life and falling in love with someone else wasn’t something I wanted to experience, so I thought it’d hurt less like that.”

“Did it work?” Jimin asks, brows furrowed although not in anger, but in anguish.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Not at all. I can’t forget you just like that.”

Jimin’s expression softens as he stares at Jungkook, not breaking eye contact as he lifts himself from the chair and rounds the table, nearing him and sitting on his lap; Jungkook’s arms wrap around his waist instinctively while the elder’s hands cup his face, the tips of their noses brushing together. “We’ll make it work from here.” He places a kiss on Jungkook’s lips that triggers a thousand shivers down his spine. Jungkook believes him wholeheartedly.

He can’t say things change, because nothing significant does. The only thing that has mutated is how he no longer feels as though the time Jimin gives him is borrowed; he knows now that they stand on the same grounds, how they’re both compromised to do better and make it work. He even knows that Jimin loves him, a lot, a whole damn lot just like Jungkook loves him, it’s crazy, yet at the same time, it’s always been there. They don’t speak about labels, he knows it’s a too complicated subject to deal with at the moment, but Jimin’s caresses and kisses have a deeper meaning now—not different, they just leave a sweeter aftertaste in his mouth. Nothing changes because nothing needs to, not when they’ve both always stayed the same, even with their intricated ways of dealing with their suppressed feelings.

They don’t have to run now. They stablish that they’re free, nonetheless, to do whatever they want and spend the rest of their break however they wish, yet they also agree that freedom only leads them next to each other. Not traveling again turns out to be their choice, at least for a few days—they have a lot of better things to be doing rather than packing luggage and boarding planes. Their empty house grants them the liberty to let their fantasies unravel, every corner of the place playing as their spectator for the loving kisses they can’t stop sharing. With little to no guilt, plenty of surfaces witness their heated encounters—they have no time to care about the spots they’re desecrating with how much they crave each other. They do make sure to clean up after fucking, that’s for sure.

Their friends need to know about them—about whatever they are and about what they’ve been doing, mostly because they’re family and keeping their secret still a secret feels wrong. Jimin nor Jungkook know how to tell them, or when, but they agree on waiting until the break’s over to break the news.

Turns out, they don’t need to break them to Yoongi. Their hyung finds out pretty easily.

Blame it on their lack of decorum or on the fact that Jungkook’s senses dull whenever he’s kissing Jimin (although Jimin seems to experience something similar). None of them notice the door opening, the steps, the tiny suitcase wheels against the floor—the only thing that makes them quickly separate as though they hadn’t been sucking face in the middle of their sofa is Yoongi clearing his throat. Jimin’s eyes widen as much as his own as they face the elder, although Yoongi’s expression is rather nonchalant. “Uh—I think I’m interrupting something,” he comments, squinting at them in an almost comical way.

“Hyung—I’m sorry—” Jungkook stammers, face heating up as he tries to fix his clothes.

“That was easier than I thought, honestly,” Jimin comments, fixing the stray hairs on his head Jungkook managed to mess up, looking at Jungkook and shrugging.

“Oh, so you were planning to tell us anytime soon?” Yoongi inquiries, a dash of amusement and irony lacing his tone. It definitely doesn’t help with the redness coloring Jungkook’s whole face.

Neither Jimin or Jungkook answer immediately, their expressions turning confused at the same time as they stare at Yoongi. “At some point, yeah,” Jimin explains softly, squinting at him. “Why are you so unfazed?”

“We’ve known for a long time, guys,” Yoongi comments, making his way to the stairs, giving them a bored look as he walks past them. “We’re not that oblivious—or deaf and blind, for that matter.”

Jimin lets out a big puff of air as soon as their hyung is upstairs and out of sight. Jungkook’s still trying to process what Yoongi just said, his brain working out the fact that, apparently, they suck at hiding even when he’s always been extremely convinced about how coy they’ve been. “Guess we have pretty smart friends,” Jungkook jokes, earning a soft smile from the elder next to him. “I’ve always thought we’d never get caught. Thought we were so good at sneaking out.”

“I think we weren’t that bad at it. I think he’s talking about something else.” Jimin brings a hand to the side of Jungkook’s face, tender fingers brushing a strand of hair off his cheek and tucking it behind his ear.

“What is it?” Jungkook asks, leaning into the touch until Jimin’s thumb full on caresses his cheek.

“Taehyung told me once that I seemed too in love with you—it was a joke, I think. At least I took it as one, because I had no idea what he meant. We weren’t even sleeping together at that time.” Jimin’s voice softens considerably, as if he were telling a secret only for Jungkook to listen. “I didn’t understand then, but it makes sense. Imagine how I must look like to the rest now that I’m well aware of this.”

Jungkook’s throat tightens, although in a very pleasant way; it’s not the need to cry, or the ghost of an impending heartbreak the likes of which he’s experienced in the past. It’s something better, hearing Jimin say it out loud, explain he’s in love with Jungkook just like he’s with Jimin. It’s something that doesn’t hurt, doesn’t burn badly but sweetly inside of him and grows fiercer each passing minute with Jimin next to him. “I wonder how I look to them, and why everyone but us has always known.”

“Guess we just didn’t want to see it. It’s good, though. Everything that led us here was worth it.”

Jungkook nods, the shivers only increasing their force up and down his body, making him almost tremble. “I fully agree,” he states before closing the distance between their faces and pressing their lips together. Jimin kisses back slowly, gently, and they’re soon smiling into a kiss Jungkook never wants to quit.

◈

“Those rings are awfully similar, I’ve just noticed,” Yoongi comments with a smile. He’s teasing, pointing at both Jimin’s and Jungkook’s hands resting side by side on the surface of the table. Yoongi’s sitting in front of them, Hoseok and Seokjin next to either side of him automatically looking at said rings while Jungkook contains the urge to hide his hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

“Casualty,” Jimin retorts, laughing and covering his toothy smile with his other hand. The one resting next to Jungkook’s not moving an inch, as if glued to the wood of the table.

“Did you—what the fuck, are you engaged or something?” Hoseok asks and a loud cackle follows.

“Don’t give them any ideas,” Seokjin adds.

“They were just cute, thought we could get some matching rings,” Jungkook explains, although with some difficulty. As aware as he is that the rest of their members know about them, to some extent, it’s still pretty hard to muster the right phrases and break the news to them.

A nice get together, dining out in one of their favorite restaurants in Seoul, right before they commence their activities as a band again seemed to him and Jimin like the perfect occasion to tell their friends. They’re not engaged, the rings weren’t supposed to draw any attention, they’re were just a gift they gave to each other on their last trip together to Japan a few days prior to their break ending—anyways, it’s kinda good that Yoongi pointed them out.

“We’re fucking,” Jimin blatantly states, shifting his arm to drape it around Jungkook’s shoulders as the latter chokes on nothing but air.

Their friends seem more worried about his insistent coughing than at Jimin’s statement. No surprise, none at all, takes over their features, no questions are asked, no one inquiries them about Jimin’s recent words. Namjoon and Taehyung, as well as Jimin, pat on his back in order to get Jungkook to breathe properly and clear his throat, all while Jungkook shushes them away flapping his arms and assuring them he’s alright. “We’re fucking, is that normal to you?” Jungkook asks, just a tad scandalized, locking eyes with all of his hyungs, one at a time, searching for a coherent answer.

“These aren’t the news you were about to give us, right?” Taehyung asks him. Jimin had probably talked to him about finally disclosing some details about the new turn their relationship has taken.

“But we’ve known for some time now, you’re both late,” Namjoon comments, getting comfortable in his seat next to Jimin once again and fetching the beer glass he discarded before with eagerness.

Jimin looks at him, slightly shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Jungkook bites down on his lower lip, suppressing a smile. Yoongi had been right some weeks ago when he said everyone’s known about them sleeping together. Jungkook takes a deep breath through the nose, looking away from Jimin and facing his friends again. “We’re dating.”

Five pairs of eyes widen in a millisecond, all of their gazes digging into both him and Jimin. He sees how Seokjin’s jaw drops, how Hoseok chokes this time, the way Yoongi pales even more, the way Taehyung’s big eyes match how his mouth widens in evident surprise—the funniest reaction is Namjoon’s and how he stares blankly at the table, mouth opening and closing slowly as if he didn’t know what exactly to say. “Can’t believe that’s more shocking to you all,” Jungkook hears Jimin complain to their bandmates.

“So you’re really engaged after all, damn,” Hoseok points out, earning giggles from the rest of his friends. “Can’t say I saw it coming, but it makes sense now. Good for you, guys,” he says in a sweet manner only Hoseok can own.

Taehyung’s smiling big at them, eyes bright as though he had been waiting for this. “I knew it, I knew it was only a matter of time. Can we make a toast?” He suggests.

The tips of Jungkook’s ears are itching with heat, yet he agrees, just like all of them. His chest fills with something warm and soothing at how the smiles soon make their ways on all of their bandmates’ lips. Yoongi wishes them the best in a very expressive way that lets Jungkook know he’s a little tipsier than he feigns. Namjoon gives them a few congratulating words, not without adding that they need to have a real talk later about the band and other things Jungkook and Jimin are well aware are crucial. Seokjin jokes at how they’ve been practically married for year and congratulates them as well.

Right after the toast and all their glasses clinking together, Jimin holds his face out of the blue and plants a kiss on his lips; the cheers don’t take longer than a second to fill the secluded space they’ve been given inside the restaurant, and Jungkook kisses back, holding Jimin’s waist with the hand that isn’t holding his glass of beer.

It’s only once they’re back in their home that he realizes what he said and everything it entails.

Jimin’s sleeping next to him in Jungkook’s bed, too tired out by their outing and the alcohol he had been ingesting during the whole dinner, drowsiness winning over him. He’s completely unaware, thankfully, of Jungkook’s racing heart and anxiety creeping up on him at a rushing pace. They’re not dating, earlier he just came up with the idea and rolled with the label but they’re not—they haven’t specified what they are, they haven’t found real need to. They’re not dating, but they’re so much more involved than they’ve been in any of their previous relationships. Jungkook knows it, and knows Jimin was telling him the truth when he confessed the same. They love each other so much, but then again, they’ve loved each other for years, prior to catching different sorts of feelings. Nothing has changed, nothing will, yet dating holds a weight he’s not sure they’re ready to tolerate.

In a selfish whim, he shakes Jimin awake, pushing at his shoulder a few times until the elder opens his eyes and groans at him. “Hyung, I need to talk to you,” he hisses as Jimin attempts to bury his face in the pillow again.

“Tomorrow, Kook, I’m sleeping,” he says groggily.

“No, please, it’ll be quick,” he insists.

Jimin groans purposefully loudly and turns his body to face Jungkook, letting out a huff as he blinks a few times to focus on him. “It better be real important,” he warns in annoyance.

“Yeah, it is, for me at least.” He takes a deep breath under Jimin’s expectant gaze and sits up on the mattress. “I told the hyungs we were dating.”

Jimin lifts his brows in a rather pissed off expression. “I was there, remember? I know.”

“No—I know, but we’re not dating.”

Jimin sits up as well, now his brows knitting together. “We’re not?” He asks casually.

“I mean, not specifically? I just said we we’re dating because I had the feeling they’d find that more surprising, but we never established any of that, we’ve never labeled our—”

“—Kook, wait a second,” Jimin interjects him, bringing a hand in front of Jungkook’s face as he shakes his head. “I thought we were, I mean, I get that dating is a big word and holds a big meaning, but I didn’t think we’d need to discuss it. I just assumed we were.”

Jungkook’s lips form a circular shape. “Oh.”

“Maybe it was wrong of me to assume it, I never considered you might not like the label, and we can just not use it,” Jimin clarifies.

“So you’re my boyfriend?” Jungkook asks with a side smirk. The word tastes sweeter than it is heavier on his tongue.

“Uh, I can only be your boyfriend if you’re mine. That’s how it works.” Jimin’s straight up smiling now, making Jungkook feel tingly from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head.

“Then it’s fine by me,” Jungkook tells him, no longer able to hold back the smile that mimics Jimin’s own.

“Yeah, I bet it is,” Jimin teases. “Give me a kiss, boyfriend of mine.”

Jungkook obliges, one hundred butterflies going apeshit inside his stomach, pressing their mouths together and pressing Jimin back against the mattress. He falls on top of the elder, Jimin’s arms closing around his torso and stroking his back underneath Jungkook’s t-shirt. “Love how that sounds,” Jungkook says before landing another kiss on Jimin’s lips.

“Love you,” Jimin replies. He brings a hand to Jungkook’s face, brushing his hair off his face, tangling his fingers in the long strands.

“That I know. And I love you.” Jungkook presses a kiss to the inside of Jimin’s hand, and then another to the inside of his wrist.

Jimin smiles, holding him tighter, a heads up that he won’t ever let go—Jungkook trusts him, and vows just the same. No words are exchanged, they don’t need to in order to let the other know. They kiss and hug under the covers, and Jungkook knows that will suffice. They’re not bound to change, they’re the exception, the rule breakers, the owners of their own world.