Work Text:
‘a new show idea?’ jungkook asks.
‘a new show idea,’ boss confirms, typing quickly before spinning his laptop around for jungkook to look at. ‘taehyung and jimin came up with it. remember that video from last month? the pasta one?’
‘taehyung ate four plates of spaghetti and chugged ginger beer and then threw up in a bush, yeah. i remember.’
jungkook peers down at the screen, turns down the brightness. it’s a powerpoint, the title page littered with stickers of jimin and taehyung’s faces that frame a title, bright red, in comic sans: worth it. ‘that, but a series. it could just be the two of them but they had other plans.’
boss gestures to the laptop. jungkook moves to the next slide and—
‘no.’
boss blinks, frowns. ‘what?’
‘i’m not— i can’t—’ jungkook leans closer to the screen. it reads—
OUR PROPOSED TEAM:
kim namjoon — soundcloud rapper, wildlife enthusiast, put crabs in taemin’s fishtank last week aka brings spontaneity
min yoongi — videographer, set the office on fire in 2016 in a grape-related accident
jung hoseok — dancer, dressed as a flower for halloween aged 23, holds yoongi’s hand to make him cry
kim taehyung — the best person here admit it
park jimin — dancer, tiny, buys all the food because everyone else is irresponsible
kim seokjin — face of the group. the funny man. only responsible driver and even that’s a stretch
jeon jungkook — personification of that jack-of-all-trades option in mario olympics games, eats all the food but makes you pay for it, this is jimin btw you owe me fourty dollars
and underneath the list is a group photo of them from last christmas, hoseok holding up a broken tequila bottle and looking like his childhood dog just died, everyone else having the time of their lives—jimin on namjoon’s back, taehyung on yoongi’s—while fireworks go off through the window behind them, and then—
seokjin and jungkook, at either end of the line-up. both looking on the verge of tears.
‘i can’t work with kim seokjin,’ jungkook says, final, and shuts the laptop. he slides it back across the desk.
‘you see him everyday.’
‘i don’t talk to him.’
‘why not?’
‘we don’t get along,’ jungkook explains. this is a situation unlike any other. he’s been avoiding seokjin for months. ‘it’s like throwing a baby kitten into an alligator lake. it’s just gonna end in tears.’
boss frowns at him. jungkook stands, hands on the desk. ‘i’m the alligator lake in the metaphor, by the way.’
‘i’m sure you are,’ boss hums.
jungkook thinks of seokjin’s desk in the office, three rows up and four across from him, headphones a pale purple colour and always plugged in. ‘listen, i just— you can’t put us together. we’ll kill each other. we’ll wake up tomorrow with shaved eyebrows and two months to live, you have to understand—’
‘you better enjoy those two months,’ boss says, and searches through some files. he slams the drawer with a thunk and hands jungkook a page, a schedule. ‘we film the first episode tomorrow.’
‘what?’
‘cheesecake,’ boss says, and opens the laptop. he scrolls through the powerpoint to reveal a whole calendar, labelled with filming days and editing days, what they’ll eat, when and where. ‘you like cheesecake, yeah?’
‘what if i said i didn’t?’
‘then i’d say suck it up.’
jungkook deflates. he picks up a bouncy ball on his desk and bounces it against the polished wooden floor once, twice, before losing it and letting it roll out the door. ‘one p.m tomorrow, there’ll be a car out front. everyone else already knows. go on, you have that skydiving video to edit.’
jungkook’s about to have his life ruined. ‘i—’
‘jungkook,’ boss sighs.
‘he isn’t—’
boss picks at a stain on jungkook’s sweater. ‘dress nice.’
‘please—’
‘out!’
jungkook sees namjoon, hoseok and yoongi all gathered around his desk when he walks out. they immediately turn away from where they’d been listening. namjoon holds a book over his face, yoongi puts on his headphones. hoseok finds himself at a loss and clambers into yoongi’s lap.
jungkook collapses into his chair. namjoon’s on his right, yoongi and hoseok on his left. they all watch him with caution.
jungkook puts his head in his arms on the table and groans, loud enough to wake up a sleeping intern at the back wall. an empty, crumpled soda can gets tossed in his direction.
‘you got recruited too?’ hoseok asks, and yoongi pokes the side of jungkook’s head with a pencil.
jungkook hums, muffled by the desk.
‘it’s gonna be fun, jungkook,’ hoseok tells him, voice soft and sympathetic. a hand goes into his hair, probably namjoon’s. ‘we get to eat. as our job. for free.’
‘i’d rather starve,’ jungkook mutters, and gets poked by the pencil again.
‘it won’t be that bad,’ yoongi tells him. ‘just hide behind me and eat your cheesecake and it’ll be over before you know it.’
‘you don’t understand, yoongi,’ jungkook says, and opens his eyes, and sits up. the hand—which is definitely namjoon’s—drops from his hair. ‘the job is fine, everything’s fine, it’s just kim fucking seokj—’
‘anyone want cheesecake?’
seokjin is standing at the door to the kitchen, which has been noticeably open this entire time. he’s got a plate in one hand and strolls over, picking at the cake with a mini plastic fork, stopping at jungkook’s line of desks. ‘it’s lovely. take some.’
he holds out the plate in their direction. namjoon and yoongi pretend they didn’t hear him, hoseok lunges for the cheesecake and falls off yoongi’s lap, and jungkook. well.
jungkook drops his head back against the desk, bangs his forehead against it twice, and watches in abstract horror as his bunny rabbit desk clock (which has never failed him, lets him set timers, and moves its ears or body from side-to-side depending on the setting) tips over the edge and falls in slow motion before cracking against the wooden floor.
both of the ears break off. it makes a defeated little noise as the batteries fall out. jungkook nearly starts to cry.
‘see you tomorrow, jeon jungkook,’ seokjin calls out, already walking away. hoseok’s holding the plate and yoongi’s watching with mild concern as namjoon picks up the many pieces of deceased bunny. ‘dress smart!’
—
they arrive at the first restaurant. there’s a seating plan.
jungkook chokes around his water bottle. ‘why is there a seating plan.’
‘we need a seating plan,’ jimin tells him, scanning the table for his name card and pulling out the chair. he’s next to hoseok, and across from taehyung, and across from jungkook is—
‘a seating plan is just to keep us in check,’ namjoon says, thanking the flustered waiter with a smile before turning back to them with some menus. ‘please find your spot.’
hoseok’s set to interview the owner with namjoon. he’s taking off his coat, slinging it over the back of his seat, and everyone else is already sitting down. jungkook runs up to him. ‘hobi.’
‘yeah?’
‘can i swap seats with you?’
hoseok frowns at him. ‘but the seating plan—’
‘i can’t sit across from seokjin,’ jungkook whispers, looking at seokjin where his arm stretches over the back of the chair, legs crossed. he looks good. he always looks good, and jungkook wants to throw his stupid pretty pink hoodie in a river. ‘i can’t. i won’t.’
hoseok groans. ‘it’s just for an hour.’
'please.’
hoseok looks at him. looks at seokjin. frowns.
‘alright, you sit where my name is and we’ll swap the cards around.’
‘thank you,’ jungkook cries. ‘i’ll buy all your groceries for the next week. i’m forever in your debt.’
‘yeah, yeah, whatever,’ hoseok says, and smiles before namjoon calls him over.
everyone’s talking, so nobody really notices jungkook pick up his and hoseok’s name cards. nobody notices him swap them around, and they definitely don’t notice how he sits with a relieved sigh, reaching across the table for a menu.
and jungkook’s so busy being relieved that he doesn’t notice when kim seokjin stands up from his seat, rounds the table, and sits back down in the previously empty chair opposite jungkook’s new position. jungkook’s fingers go lax; the menu flops onto the table with a defeated, laminated screech.
jungkook clears his throat. when he speaks, his voice cracks. he becomes intimately invested in the chip in the table and not seokjin’s eyes or lips or face, or how at christmas, how they’d been so close to—
‘that isn’t your seat.’
‘and that’s not yours,’ seokjin tells him. he’s watching jungkook, trying to meet his eyes, smiling his dumb smug smile. ‘just an hour, yeah?’
‘yeah,’ jungkook says, and wonders how easy it’d be to go to the bathroom and escape through a window.
the last restaurant is expensive, and they have a budget but not much of a budget, so they decide to share cheesecake between them. two two’s and one three.
namjoon, jimin, and hoseok. taehyung and yoongi. and seokjin and jungkook, because jungkook was born to suffer.
but it’s even worse when they arrive, because instead of all seven of them being at one long table it’s three small ones. taehyung throws in the idea that they all pick their own tables to go to, that they don’t have to stay together, and everyone thinks it’s just great.
which is how jungkook ends up sitting across from kim seokjin next to the window of a little bakery, far away from any distractions, with one plate of cheesecake and two forks between them.
he decides he might as well get on with it: yoongi films his own table and then gets up to wander between each of them, the other camera guy settled nearby. jungkook shoots him a pleading glance. the cameraman snorts.
jungkook reaches for his fork, figures it’s better to get this over with, but then—
‘hey,’ seokjin says.
jungkook looks up.
seokjin holds out a fork with a heaping of cheesecake, right in front of jungkook’s face. under the table, his boot knocks against jungkook’s shin before he curls his foot around jungkook’s ankle. swings their entwined legs, just a little.
jungkook is confused. slightly terrified. mostly confused.
‘eat up,’ seokjin says, and smiles his dumb smug smile. jungkook opens his mouth, on autopilot. he can hear jimin’s exclamation of what the fuck from all the way across the restaurant as seokjin proceeds to feed jungkook cheesecake, smiling like he’s waiting for something, reminding him to swallow when jungkook’s mouth hangs open like a flytrap, an elegant hand on his jaw.
when jungkook finally comes back to himself, he turns to see every one of his friends watching him in various states of confusion, yoongi’s camera trained on him, and he can still feel seokjin at his ankle and at his jaw and— what.
‘um,’ he mumbles around a mouthful of strawberry cheesecake.
seokjin raises an eyebrow at jungkook above his milkshake, tempting him: what are you gonna do about it? , and jungkook feels his soul escape his body all at once.
—
so jungkook got to the office three years ago, yeah, and he was very new and young and good with a camera, but also good at talking. and next to him, he learned, was kim seokjin—most handsome man on the planet, occasional model, and focus of jungkook’s everything. and seokjin was so nice, too, odd and funny and lovely. jungkook would never tell him how it felt to be close to him, of course, but then two years later there were seven of them, seven best friends, and seokjin was still there, and still so lovely, and then christmas happened—
—
the rest of the shoot is awkward. when the seven of them collectively agree the second restaurant had the best variety but the first stop is their winner, it’s awkward. when jungkook looks around and sees everyone waiting for his reaction, his explanation of what just happened, it’s awkward.
everyone gets out of the car before them, jungkook tripping over his own feet when he jumps down onto the pavement. he rights himself and looks up, right into seokjin’s eyes.
‘what,’ jungkook begins, when everyone else has gone inside and it’s just the two of them on the sidewalk, ‘was that.’
seokjin just blinks, confused. jungkook almost punches him.
‘what was what?’
‘the— that whole day! you just spent four hours trying to ruin my life!’ jungkook snaps, ears gone pink, embarrassed.
seokjin looks at him, like he’s waiting for a catch. like the last day didn’t happen at all. ‘do you really think that’s what it was?’
jungkook crosses his arms, indignant.
seokjin looks back at the main doors where jimin’s watching them, head poking through the gap in the fogged glass. he sighs. ‘everyone’s waiting. we better get inside.’
‘what are you doing?’ jungkook asks, and doesn’t move.
‘maybe this is a game,’ seokjin grins, walking ahead, leaving the slightest touch near jungkook’s waist. ‘maybe i’m winning.’
—
‘tae?’ jungkook begins, head in taehyung’s lap on the couch.
‘yeah?’ taehyung says.
‘what do you do if somebody’s purposefully annoying you?’
‘i dunno,’ taehyung tells him, hand moving in jungkook’s hair, thumb at his ear. ‘annoy them back?’
—
it’s a game and jungkook’s going to win.
episode two is steak. he gets told the day before, again, and it’s the seven of them again, too, but this time he doesn’t will himself to melt into the ground: this time, he’s got a plan. a mission. he’s out to wreak revenge.
so the episode is steak, and jungkook’s dressed to impress. a tight dress shirt and tight jeans and hair pushed away from his forehead. the office goes a little silent when he walks in that morning, and one of the interns whistles. he exudes confidence. he looks like a man with his life together. maybe he loves it.
‘jesus, what’s the occasion?’ yoongi asks him, eyes wide and slightly concerned as jungkook collapses down into his chair. yoongi, in comparison and as usual, is wearing black jeans, black hoodie, black hat. he seemingly wants to become one with the wall.
‘nothing much,’ jungkook says. smiles.
seokjin struts out of the kitchen, hands on a mug (a reindeer mug that jungkook bought for him a few years ago, and it’s heat-sensitive, and the nose goes red when it’s hot, and seokjin laughed when he saw it, and he looked so pretty ), and he’s talking to namjoon when he suddenly stops, tripping over his feet.
jungkook feels seokjin scan him, eyes trailing up and down. ‘hey, jin,’ he calls out, and smiles a little wider. yoongi’s gaping next to him and taehyung’s leaning over his desk in anticipation. ‘ready for today?’
seokjin swallows. nods, jittery.
‘of course, jeon jungkook,’ he says, and composes himself as best he can: broad shoulders and a tidy smile, head tilted just a little to the side. the rest of the office watches them. jihyo throws a piece of popcorn at the back of jungkook’s head. ‘i’m ready. i’m prepared to eat so much steak i die. will i— we— will you be there?’
‘yep,’ jungkook says, all smiles, stretched out on his chair, legs crossed and top shirt buttons undone. his editing tab lies dormant, the same 4 second clip of hoseok collapsing into a heap on the ground after parachuting from a plane playing on repeat. ‘can’t wait.’
‘that’s, yeah, that’s—’ he takes a deep breath, stands up a little straighter, jumps from one foot to the other like he’s about to run a marathon or really needs to pee— ‘good. that’s great.’
he looks down at his mug of black coffee, shrugs, and barely winces when he downs it. the room’s awfully quiet. he clears his throat. someone mimics him.
‘i just remembered that park jimin needs me to help wash his car,’ he says, blushing. jungkook’s in heaven. ‘i will return shortly. or not. thank you for your time.’
it takes all of four seconds for him to switch his and namjoon’s mugs, drinks half of namjoon’s coffee, press both of the mugs into namjoon’s hands, and jog toward the main door. hoseok enters just as seokjin leaves, watching the door with mild concern.
taehyung snorts. ‘jimin doesn’t own a car.’
yoongi snorts with him. ‘he doesn’t even drive.’
hoseok drops his bag down onto his desk. ‘why did i just see jin walk into the glass doors?’
yoongi cackles. ‘oh my god.’
this is the best day of jungkook’s life and it’s only noon.
they get to the second steak restaurant at three, and jungkook’s still thinking about the ride up—how seokjin was drives, and jungkook leans over the back of the seat to initiate their first conversation in months, whispering near seokjin’s ear. they nearly die at two different sets of traffic lights. jungkook’s on top of the world.
yoongi keeps giving him weird looks, though. little knowing looks, furrowed brow and concerned pout, camera in his hands, but jungkook just shrugs.
i’m just having fun, is what he’ll say, if he needs to say anything. a taste of his own medicine.
according to their seating plan, a new seating plan jungkook helped with, he sits right next to seokjin. and the restaurant is small and comfy and busy, so they end up pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh on two barstools without any wiggle room. seokjin’s been blushing all day.
‘are we sharing?’ jungkook asks, just because he can, and he can almost feel the air move with how fast seokjin whips around to glare at him.
‘do you want to?’ namjoon asks and scans the menu.
‘why not?’ jungkook suggests, and leans forward on the table. he’s all muscle in this shirt. he chose it for reasons. ‘you and hobi share, tae and jimin and yoongi, me and jin—’
‘i’m sure that isn’t necessary, jeon jungkook,’ seokjin cuts in, rushed. ‘i’ll eat a plate on my own. you’ll eat a plate on your own. what a silly plan, you silly man—’
‘we’ll have three steaks, please,’ namjoon tells the waiter seokjin hadn’t noticed wandering over, and his face contorts.
‘we’ll have what now.’
‘we might as well share,’ hoseok says, pouring his milkshake into the glass. ‘we still have one more restaurant to go. save money, yeah?’
‘yep, great,’ seokjin says, and burns holes into the side of jungkook’s head. taehyung laughs into his hand. ’frugality. amazing.’
they get their food minutes later, plates passed around the table to the various groups. the other crew sit at tables across from them.
they start recording.
jungkook breathes in. looks at seokjin for just a moment, and then gently places his hand on seokjin’s knee under the table.
seokjin flinches, makes a noise, bangs his knee into the table and rattles all the plates. namjoon’s beer nearly falls to the floor. he murmurs a shaky apology.
jungkook starts eating, picking at the steak with his fork in one hand and then slowly, slowly moving the other where it sits on seokjin’s knee. fingers tip-toeing up seokjin's thigh until he can spread his palm out across it.
seokjin, drinking from his glass of water, chokes and sputters.
jungkook holds his fork in front of seokjin’s mouth.
(if this had been two years ago, jungkook wouldn’t have made it out alive. if this was two years ago, he’d be running into the bathroom with a blush like sunburn to text yoongi the very intimate details of his and seokjin’s interactions, big or small. but this isn’t two years ago. this is now. and jungkook’s winning.)
‘eat up,’ jungkook says, and smiles. seokjin glares at him for a moment, only taking the meat off the fork when he notices the camera trained on them from the corner. he tries to smile his dumb, smug smile: as if to say you can’t outwit me. but then jungkook smiles back, squeezes seokjin’s thigh, rubs his thumb against the fabric.
and seokjin, in the middle of a public restaurant on a wednesday afternoon, lets out a tiny, high-pitched squeak. a whispered ‘oh my god’.
the whole table goes silent. seokjin looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe. he excuses himself to the bathroom, and jungkook laughs so hard he doubles over.
—
they are seven episodes into the season. it’s their most popular series. they get pizza delivered in when the first episode crosses ten million, and then twenty. jungkook never thought the youth would enjoy watching a bunch of gay, adult men eating food in restaurants too fancy for them to even look at, but what does he know.
the season’s getting popular. jungkook’s over the moon. so he’s only slightly concerned when yoongi, after the rest of the office has gone home and it’s just the two of them working late on their respective projects, calls jungkook over for a talk.
a min yoongi talk is unlike any other talk. you usually feel the need to get your life together halfway through it.
‘jungkook,’ yoongi yells to him from where jungkook’s sitting on the kitchen counter. he hurries back in, munching popcorn. a few stray pieces fall to the floor around yoongi’s desk as enlarges his editing tab, and points an accusatory finger at the screen. he hits it so hard the colours warble. ‘what is this?’
‘huh?’
he spins around to jungkook with the eyes of a man on a mission. ‘what are you doing?’
jungkook frowns, peers at the screen. it’s a clip of him and seokjin from the next episode, mac nd cheese. there’s nothing very… weird about it. ‘i dunno?’
‘yes you do. it’s in every video,’ and yoongi pulls up a few more tabs: one of jungkook and seokjin sitting close on a sofa, eyes steely and determined as hands wind around waists and brush over knuckles while namjoon chats with a waiter. another of them at a noodle bar, and jungkook vividly remembers seokjin pulling a lady and the tramp until the two of them got so flustered that jungkook nearly fell off his chair.
there’s nothing wrong with it. nothing out of the ordinary for jeon jungkook and kim seokjin.
except they’ve been doing this since episode one and haven’t told anybody. haven’t explained it to a single person, haven’t even explained it to themselves.
but jungkook’s still winning and seokjin still hates him, so.
‘you keep being weird together,’ yoongi explains, and loops back a clip of the mac nd cheese episode: jungkook leaning close to seokjin’s face, hand on his knee, rubbing gentle circles into skin, a bowl between them on the table. off to the side, hoseok watches them like they’ve each grown another limb. ‘you’re never together. it’s the big office mystery. why jungkook and seokjin haven’t spoken in anything other than passive-aggressive sarcasm in six months. and now this?’
and only now that jungkook has to explain does he realise how dumb the whole situation may seem. ‘we have, uh…’
he stutters. looks over at the wall, at seokjin’s desk, at the holiday dog calendar. clears his throat.
yoongi gasps something horrified.
‘are you doing it?’ he asks, and leaps up from his seat with his revelation. ‘have you contaminated the supply closet?’
'no! what the fuck yoongi, we’re not— doing it, what—’ jungkook slaps at yoongi’s arm until the older sits back down, and jungkook flops down into his own office chair. spins around to face yoongi, who raises an eyebrow.
jungkook sighs. ‘i think he started….a bet.’
‘a bet?’
‘except there’s no money.’
yoongi nods. ‘a bet without a prize. go on.’
‘in the first episode he kept acting weird,’ jungkook explains, remembers it, vivid, ‘feeding me and sitting next to me and everything. and i think he still hates me because of christmas.’
‘in the same way you hate him because of christmas, go on.’
‘i don’t hate him,’ jungkook mutters, and wraps his sleeves over his hands. ‘he said that this is a game, and he’s winning. and i can’t let him win.’
yoongi blinks.
‘so you just decided to moan very loudly into his face and bat your eyelashes in a public restaurant.’
jungkook grins, and looks back at the video on the monitor: sees seokjin blush a startling shade and then drop his head into his hands and feign a headache. ‘it worked, didn’t it?’
‘if by it worked, you mean he forgot how to speak for three hours,’ yoongi murmurs. ‘then— yes. it worked.’
jungkook throws a triumphant hand of popcorn into his mouth. he stands from his desk and grabs his coat. ‘good. i love winning.’
‘i mean, i’d call it sexual tension, but—’
jungkook skids to a halt. ‘what.’
‘i’m just saying.’
‘nooo, no, no, hold up.’ jungkook storms back over, grabs the arm of yoongi’s chair and swivels him around. ‘there’s no sexual tension.’
yoongi hums.
‘i’m doing all this to win,’ jungkook reminds him. ‘it annoys him.’
yoongi squints. ‘it…annoys him?’
‘yeah?’ jungkook says, and shrugs. it’s obvious. it’s the one thing jungkook knows, for certain. ‘you just said he refused to talk for hours when i moaned in front of him. he hates it.’
there’s a moment of quiet.
and then yoongi’s standing, dumping his headphones on the desk and storming off into the kitchen with a low, ‘oh, jesus.’
‘what?’ jungkook follows him up to the coffee machine, watches him lean his forehead against the cabinet while the water heats, looking pained.
‘have you watched the videos?’ yoongi asks.
jungkook frowns. ‘why would i watch episodes i was in?’
‘oh, jesus.’ yoongi crushes two packets of sugar in his hand with a pitiful cry.
‘i see seokjin hate me in real time, i don’t need to see it again—’
‘go home and watch the episodes,’ yoongi says, forgets about his coffee, and shoves jungkook into the hall with a hand balled in the back of his hoodie and a constipated look on his face. ‘please. for my sake. for everyone’s sake.’
—
jungkook goes home and watches the episodes.
for the first few, he doesn’t notice anything. it’s just he and seokjin acting like they always have—spiteful, awkward, trying extra hard to get in each other’s faces. he waits for a catch but doesn’t find one.
it gets late. he drags himself into the kitchen for coffee and leaves the playlist on. by the time he gets back episode five’s running and jungkook’s tired enough that he almost starts to watch it not as himself, not as someone in it, but as someone outside of it all.
and that’s when he…realises. sees it in a different light.
he sees himself scoot up close to seokjin, almost in his lap. seokjin holds an ice cream cone in front of him. jungkook takes a bite. they look determined. smiley. happy.
jungkook knows it’s just them trying to one-up each other. but when he takes that away, it looks like he and seokjin are—
on a date. dating. flirting. doing things they mostly definitely aren’t, but nobody knows they aren’t doing those things. nobody knows anything. and if this is what yoongi thought was going on then more people must, too, and—
oh.
it looks like they’re boyfriends.
jungkook should - he should do something about that.
—
jungkook does not do something about it. in fact, by all accounts, he makes it worse.
it’s the cocktails episode. three different bars at three drastically different prices. instead of filming during the day they’re filming at night, and the day’s been long, and they tumble through the streets without a car because the bars are so close.
the first one’s fine, a little rundown but cheap and good. the second one’s too fancy for jungkook’s taste. and the third one, the most expensive, is nice - and not that expensive at all.
so they finish filming, wrap up the episode sitting out on the curb in front of the last bar. they’d have to wait for a taxi. they’d have to wait for a car.
‘we should just wait inside,’ namjoon says, shivering from the thinness of his jacket but warm where jimin rubs hands across his tummy, wrapped around him from behind. they go back inside, because it’s better than nothing.
they’ve already had more than enough today, so one more drink won’t hurt, they decide.
jungkook isn’t sure where one extra turns into him downing a dangerous-looking pink mixture that fizzes over the rim of the glass with a slice of lime on the side. and he definitely isn’t sure how that turned into taehyung lining up jello shots along the edge of the table.
it’s safe to say he’s more than a little buzzed when he stands up, rounds the table, and collapses into seokjin’s lap. spreads his legs until they’re on either side of seokjin’s hips. hums, low and dizzy and giddy, and leans up near seokjin’s chest.
namjoon and jimin are in a similar state on another couch at another table, but it’s different for them. they’re dating. they’re boyfriends. they can do things like hug and kiss and cuddle.
jungkook and seokjin are not dating. they’re not boyfriends.
(they could’ve been, but-)
‘hello, jeon jungkook,’ seokjin says, only a little startled. he still holds his drink, his other hand down at his side and far away from any part of jungkook he could touch. ‘what’re you doin’, there?’
‘i’m sitting in your lap, stupid,’ jungkook mumbles, pouting.
seokjin’s eyes drift down to - dangerous places.
‘you spilled wine on your crotch,’ he remarks, quickly looking at the wall near him with a gentle blush. he squeezes jungkook’s hip, nervous, and jungkook looks down.
‘ah,’ jungkook murmurs. the stain’s more on his upper thigh than his crotch, but. technicalities.
‘unless it’s not wine,’ seokjin says, and clears his throat, and then clears his throat again, ‘and have fun with that! sexual freedom.’
jungkook looks at him. ‘it’s wine, jin.’
seokjin empties his glass, slides it back on the table, and grips jungkook’s waist in both hands. it’s comfy. warm. he presses pretty fingers into jungkook’s skin, cold through the thin glittery fabric of jungkook’s shirt. ‘nice.’
‘are you drunk?’ jungkook asks, and he’s overheating at seokjin’s touch, the proximity, everything. he doesn’t know what he’s doing, why he’s sitting here, why he hasn’t been pushed off.
jungkook was supposed to be fixing things. talking things through. now he’s just—floaty.
‘probably,’ seokjin says, and huffs out a laugh. jungkook grips at his shoulders. ‘you?’
‘i’m in your lap, so.’ he focuses on forming words instead of watching seokjin blink. he thumbs at seokjin’s collarbone like he used to. his mind’s a constant loop of the memory of him and seokjin up against a wall. ‘probably.’
seokjin nods. ‘nice.’
jungkook nods back at him. ‘nice.’
the music sounds waterlogged in jungkook’s ears. all the others have wandered off which leaves the two of them alone for the first time in months. it’s never been just them. it’s making jungkook’s head spin.
‘hey, seokjin?’ he murmurs, a slight slur to his words, slowing him down.
seokjin looks up. his mouth twitches with a hidden smile. ‘yeah, jeon jungkook?’
‘i gotta - i gotta tell you something,’ he manages, and scoots closer. he struggles to say sitting up, gripping seokjin’s shoulders tight, pressed near his chest.
‘oh dear,’ seokjin murmurs, giddy-drunk, and he shifts his grip on jungkook’s waist for his hands to wind around him. he spreads his palms on jungkook’s back.
jungkook leans close, mouth near seokjin’s ear, a heavy hand near his jaw to keep him there.
‘yoongi thinks—’ he giggles into the words at first, and tries again. ‘yoongi thinks we’re dating.’
‘hmm,’ seokjin begins, and for a moment his hands still, burning warm into jungkook’s skin. ‘that’s, uh— why?’
jungkook laughs again, more of a cackle. ‘because of our bet.’
‘what bet?’
‘our bet, dummy. the bet, the- the fuckin—’ his tongue’s heavy in his mouth, and he grumbles before trying again. his whole body feels weighted and seokjin’s so comfy. ‘we flirt with each other to break composure. that bet.’
‘....that bet,’ seokjin repeats, and nods like he doesn’t believe it, which is dumb, since he started it.
‘it was kinda rude at first, y’know,’ jungkook admits, and the words just fall out of him. everything he hasn’t mentioned since things happened, things the others don’t even know about, ‘at christmas. after you, like, basically dumped me before i was even dumpable. and then made me hate you. that was silly.’
seokjin frowns, drums a pattern near jungkook’s ribs. ‘run that by me again.’
jungkook pouts. he tries for a shove to seokjin’s chest but actually just runs his hand down his shirt fabric. that doesn’t seem angry at all, which is what he was going for. that’s their thing.
‘i would’ve liked a warning. or at least, like, for you not to kiss back,’ he shrugs. seokjin stays frowning. it looks all warbled with the low yellow light from the bar. ‘that’s a sign, but there were no signs in our situation. you were just there and—then you weren’t.’
‘jeon jungkook,’ seokjin says.
‘hm?’
‘you’re the—’ he pauses. considers. sighs, and then pulls jungkook back closer with equally uncooperative limbs. hands back on jungkook’s hips, and this straddling position should be uncomfortable but it’s not. jungkook wants it to be. he wants to hate seokjin. but he’s drunk and silly.
‘you didn’t want to be with me,’ seokjin finally settles for. the words are quiet. none of the kim seokjin bravado from the office or the videos. ‘you were drunk. you’re also drunk now, which isn’t reassuring.’
‘why don’t you like me, jin?’ jungkook asks.
‘i never said that, jeon jungkook,’ seokjin tells him. ‘i hate you. i don’t not like you.’
jungkook doesn’t know what that means, and now he’s blaming the static in his head.
‘that’s too many contradictions,’ he sighs, and goes boneless. he flops down so he and seokjin are completely chest-to-chest, and tucks his head into seokjin’s neck. breathes him in, sweat and lingering cologne. the closest they’ve been in so long.
he feels his dumb, traitorous heart beat double-time when seokjin’s hand trails up his spine to catch in his hair and pet at it absentmindedly.
‘why do you hate me, then?’ jungkook prods.
seokjin hums and jungkook feels it through his chest. ‘because feelings suck. can’t have those around.’
there’s something there jungkook should ask about, but he can’t figure out what.
‘mm, cool.’ he closes his eyes. ‘still sucks, though. i wish you’d liked me. at least i hate you as well.’
seokjin sighs.
‘you really don’t remember christmas, do you?’
‘i do!’ jungkook insists. he attempts to push himself up but his arms are droopy and useless. ‘you led me on. you pushed me away. very mean.’
‘do you remember what you said before that?’
jungkook huffs. ‘i didn’t say anything.’
‘i see,’ seokjin murmurs, and resumes the hair-petting.
‘why?’ jungkook asks, content against seokjin’s solid chest. his hands are nice and gentle in jungkook’s hair. ‘did i say something? i didn’t. i’d remember it.’
‘this isn’t a conversation for drunk jeon jungkook,’ seokjin decides. he turns his head, effectively pressing his cheek to jungkook’s temple, and jungkook sighs. deflates. ‘comfy there?’
‘mmm,’ jungkook mumbles, and his arms wind around seokjin’s waist so easily.
‘do you hate me, jeon jungkook?’ seokjin asks.
‘mostly,’ jungkook tells him.
‘that’s good,’ seokjin assures him, and scoots up on the leather seat. takes jungkook with him. ‘a little hatred is always productive.’
‘i hate you a lot,’ jungkook assures him, and his slur is from the exhaustion rather than the alcohol.
‘wonderful,’ seokjin murmurs. ‘you know our bet?’
‘mm?’
‘what makes you think it’s a bet?’
‘because it is,’ jungkook replies, eyes closed. ‘because you hate me. we’re arch nemeses.’
‘you silly man,’ seokjin says, and pets his hair again, and the music’s very far away.
—
hoseok
@jhope
“hey @jjk was his lap comfy
[jinkooklives.png]”
09.43 am - 28 aug 2018
jungkook @jjk ● 27s
when??? how??????
rj’s father @seokjins ● 43s
i’m gonna throw your phone down a drain
kim seokjin’s child @lgbtkookjin ● 56s
THEY LIVE!!!!!! FJFDJHFDFDD
—
and christmas happened quick, right, so one minute jungkook was doing secret santa, resting between seokjin’s legs where he was on the couch and jungkook was on the floor—
and the next he was pressing his lips to seokjin’s neck in the upstairs bedroom and pressing seokjin back against the door, and seokjin was there, he was breathing heavy, he was tilting jungkook’s head up to kiss him back, full and heavy on his lips— and then he was pushing jungkook away, and saying you don’t know what you’re doing, and i don’t want this right now, pushing him back, back, back, and—
—
jungkook finds out that they’re all staying in seokjin’s house thirty minutes before they’re all supposed to get there.
season one is filmed, edited, done and dusted. their wrap party got scheduled right in with the office’s halloween shindig, so not only does jungkook actually have to show up but he also gets bullied into a robe and a phantom of the opera mask that hoseok and jimin pulled out on jungkook’s doorstep.
jimin's decides on his usual fairy costume, and hoseok brings out his flower hat again, and namjoon strays from the nonexistent theme to show up in a version of lena waithe’s met gala outfit by pinning a rainbow flag to his job interview suit. yoongi shows up costume-less, but steals a pair of cat ears off the table within seconds of seeing them. taehyung shows up at jungkook’s that evening to steal a pair of butterfly wings and an old red tutu from jimin’s bin bag of halloween items past.
seokjin throws on dungarees and an obnoxious pink plaid shirt and a sunhat and calls himself bob the builder, so. nothing new.
someone does bodyshots and someone else carts a disco ball into the middle of changbin’s living room, the interns all flock around each other, daring each other to go into the lobby and press all the buttons on the vending machine, and jungkook is significantly less drunk than he planned to be. especially since this is the first time he’s been near seokjin since the bar.
and now he’s going home with him.
they all pile into seokjin’s and hoseok’s respective cars, and jungkook ends up in seokjin’s passenger seat because everyone hates him. when they get to seokjin’s, covered in face paint and stuck in their costumes, they’re told the sleeping situation.
‘well, i have two bedrooms,’ seokjin reminds them, fishing his keys from his pocket while everyone else bounces around the hall to keep warm, ‘two couches. please make do. three in a bed or two sleep on top of each other on the couch, i don’t care, there are curly fries with my name on them in the fridge.’
‘you just ate your weight in food, jin,’ namjoon says when they all rush through the door. jimin immediately sits on the radiator. they all start ripping off costume pieces, fairy wings and capes cluttering the floor.
‘thank you for reminding me,’ seokjin shouts, trailing down the hall to open doors and turn on lights, ‘but i’ve been wanting curly fries all week. don’t ruin this for me. go decide who’s sleeping where, please.’
he disappears into the kitchen.
‘c’mon, you know the drill,’ hoseok says, and holds out a fist.
everyone immediately starts arguing over who’s going where, forgoing the usual rock-paper-scissors democracy, and jungkook’s still trying to comprehend that he’s staying in seokjin’s house. kim seokjin, ruiner of lives. ‘wait, so—’
‘dibs the long couch,’ jimin whines, and pouts, and pushes his face into namjoon’s neck. namjoon laughs and curls a hand around his waist.
‘yoongi?’ hoseok asks.
‘he’s the shortest, he should get the small couch,’ taehyung shrugs, and then squeals when yoongi kicks him in the shins, and then hoseok drags taehyung into the other bedroom. yoongi seems content with the small couch, anyway.
so that just leaves two people. two- wait—
‘wait. wait- waitwait wait,’ jungkook shouts, and hurries after yoongi, jimin and namjoon where they’re retreating to the living room. ‘where do i sleep, then?’
‘i’m back!’ seokjin announces at the exact same time, throwing open the kitchen door. ‘what’s the deal?’
‘you and jungkook are sharing!’ jimin announces, and pulls namjoon down onto the couch next to him. yoongi sits down on the floor. jungkook and seokjin are alone in the hallway. ‘have fun. c’mon, put on a movie. put on enchanted, please, yoongi, or the one with the button eyes—’
jungkook looks at seokjin. seokjin looks right back.
‘uh,’ jungkook says.
‘hm,’ seokjin agrees. ‘movie?’
‘yes,’ jungkook says, and vaults himself onto yoongi’s couch, willing to suffocate between the cushions.
—
they watch the movie until nobody’s paying attention: jimin pressing himself close to namjoon’s back, curled up on the couch. yoongi’s got his feet in jungkook’s lap, quietly dozing.
it’s only he and seokjin awake, settled on opposite couches, watching the movie just so they don’t have to look around. every few seconds seokjin crushes some popcorn in his hand and stuffs it in his mouth. he ums and ah’s and oh’s? at parts of the movie he already knows about, because they’ve watched coraline every year, and he used to curl up next to jungkook on his bed when he got nightmares after watching it sometimes.
(it’s just animated, jungkook would tell him, and pet at his hair, seokjin’s head on his shoulder or his stomach or the pillow itself. nobody’s gonna try sew buttons where your eyes are. that doesn’t happen.
it hasn’t happened yet, seokjin would murmur and pout. what if i’m the first?)
‘you alright, jeon jungkook?’ seokjin suddenly says, and jungkook looks over but avoids his eyes. ‘not gonna throw up on my carpet?’
‘i’m not drunk, jin,’ jungkook mutters. ‘why are you awake?’
seokjin shrugs. ‘why are you awake?’
because i’m being held captive in your house, jungkook almost says. because we used to go to parties and get drunk and sleep in your bed all the time, but now you get some sadist kick from confusing the everloving fuck out of me with your eyes and your hair and your weird eating noises—
jungkook yanks yoongi’s feet out of his lap and runs out into the hall, shouting toilet and bathroom at the same time so he just lets out a muffled shriek, the door swinging closed.
he almost slips on the polished wood in the darkened hall. he breathes. it gets tangled in his throat.
he can’t do this, jungkook realises, he can’t be here. he can’t forget how enamoured he was with seokjin when he was younger, trailing after a guy who was somehow the perfect combination of dumbass and gentle, sleepy, reassuring puppy, right there when you needed him. he can’t forget how he threw that all away. he can’t forget how seokjin made him do so.
jeon jungkook can’t forget how in love with kim seokjin he used to be. how maybe, maybe in a way, maybe there’s a part of him that, shit, that still is.
and now it’s halloween, and it’s the season one wrap party. and there’s video evidence of them play-flirting in public restaurants under the guise of making each other break. he’s trapped in seokjin’s house, and he used to be in love.
maybe that love never left. maybe it just hibernated for a while.
jungkook presses palms to his eyelids and sees stars.
he can’t leave. the door’s locked, he doesn’t know where the keys are. he can’t go steal a spot in one of the other beds because then there’ll be all these questions asked in the morning, and more space between him and seokjin, and jungkook doesn’t know when that space started bothering him again.
he’s in a sticky situation.
which is why he steals a towel from the bathroom, goes into the kitchen, and lies down on the cold tiles behind the island.
it’s fine. he can deal with it. he would’ve been doomed to a bad night’s sleep anyway, what with seokjin and seokjin’s bed and seokjin in seokjin’s bed, so a tiled floor isn’t so bad in retrospect. in fact, after stealing the cushion off a dining table chair, it’s pretty comfy. and he’s pretty tired. so maybe—
—he’ll get woken up by someone stepping on his stomach.
‘oh,’ a familiar voice says. jungkook’s eyes fly open to see a blurry figure in a pastel shirt clinging to a large teddy bear, walking over him to open the fridge.
jungkook is forced into a sitting position, feeling his stomach roll. he holds the towel like a blanket, tight near his chin. ‘fuck—’
‘sorry,’ seokjin provides, humming as he roots through the fridge, cold air floating out in wisps. ‘i think i stepped on you, there.’
‘i think you broke my fucking rib,’ jungkook whines, and thumps his head against the island. this night can’t possibly exist. jungkook’s drunk, or high, and hallucinating in the backseat of a taxi. he’s sure of it. there’s no way he’s on the floor of seokjin’s kitchen with what feels like a punctured lung.
‘i just wanted my curly fries,’ seokjin says, and indeed - he takes out a plate of leftover curly fries from earlier than evening, and leaps over jungkook’s crumpled body toward the microwave. he sets the timer and looks back at jungkook, quizzical. ‘what are you doing on my kitchen floor?’
jungkook thumps his head against the wooden panel again. ‘sleeping.’
‘i see that,’ seokjin says. ‘we have beds.’
‘yeah, but—’
and jungkook stops. he doesn’t know what else to say.
seokjins crosses his arms. ‘but.’
there’s a few minutes of horrifying silence. it only ends when the microwave dings, and seokjin makes an excited noise when he pulls out the plate. he eats a curly fry. he makes his dumb eating noises.
‘i’m going to bed,’ he announces. ‘you’re welcome to join me.’
seokjin walks out with his plate. the door’s left open: an invitation.
jungkook stares at him as he leaves, one, two, three seconds. then he’s on his feet, trailing after him down the hall.
—
so christmas wasn’t actually christmas, right: christmas happened a few days later, their party happened on december 23rd, what with jimin going home for holidays. but it was their day, the most important one, so jungkook was all hair gel and makeup and a figure to show off with his jumper tucked into his jeans. and seokjin had dressed up too, hair pushed back, tall and strong and lovely, so they all got to the drunk side of tipsy earlier than they’d planned.
they start secret santa, presents all lined up under seokjin’s fake tree with its baubles and messy tinsel. there isn’t enough room on the couches so jungkook hauls himself onto the carpet, settles between seokjin’s legs. seokjin’s hand finds a way into his hair and pets at it absentmindedly.
there was a price limit, but they all go over it. taehyung gets a teddy bear and a framed painting from namjoon. namjoon gets a pretty custom-made cardigan from hoseok. hoseok’s santa is yoongi, who hands him a pair of sneakers in their box, the gaps filled by badges, pins, seeds for the flowerpots in hoseok’s windowsill.
jimin buys yoongi a new lens, a box of peppermint tea and a neck pillow. seokjin buys jimin the denim jacket he’d seen with pretty patches on the back and arms. taehyung buys jungkook some rolls of film for his polaroid and a few vinyls from the place he always looks in but never buys from.
and jungkook - he gets seokjin a touch on the knee and a hand brushing against his as he murmurs, ‘i left yours in the other room.’
there’s a chorus of oo’s and ah’s as seokjin stands, taehyung leaning over the couch to try and shout after them as jimin grabs him and hauls him back down. there’s a yell of lovebirds, another of the walls are thin.
they get to seokjin’s bedroom, familiar walls and mattress, and he sits down. seokjin sits on the other side, and they face inwards, and between them sits a bag, one of those happy birthday ones, but jungkook crossed out the birthday and replaced it with christmas in sharpie on the way over.
inside the bag there’s a hoodie, one seokjin had been looking at but would never buy for himself, over his budget. a pretty pink hoodie with lace for drawstrings. its oversized. long sleeved. perfect to cover seokjin’s hands in the way he likes to.
seokjin touches it gently, holds it in front of him, smiles. smiles up at jungkook.
‘hey,’ he says, calls jungkook’s attention, and rests the hoodie on his lap. he fiddles with the hood, just as something to do. ‘thanks, jeon jungkook.’
(it’s a game that started way back when: jungkook would introduce himself to seokjin just like that, full name, every day for a week just so he’d remember it, and it stuck.)
‘do you like it?’ jungkook asks.
seokjin nods. his cheeks are warm from the heater and the alcohol. maybe even shyness. ‘it’s great.’
‘i’m glad,’ jungkook smiles.
a moment. the hoodie in seokjin’s lap, jungkook’s drink on the nightstand, their legs pulled up onto the duvet.
seokjin leans in.
(or jungkook leans in.)
(to be honest: neither is sure who initiates it. who kisses who.)
—
‘we need to talk,’ jungkook whispers with the lights off, curled under seokjin’s covers, wearing seokjin’s clothes. they’ve turned the heater off so the room’s silent, save for the cars passing outside. fireworks down the road. seokjin’s quiet breathing, legs moving against the cotton sheets.
he’s not asleep. jungkook’s intimately familiar with how seokjin sounds and moves when he’s asleep, and this isn’t it. ‘ seokjin.’
‘mm?’ jungkook hears. they’re facing away from each other on the bed, curled close to the edges, avoiding touch.
‘we need to talk,’ jungkook repeats.
seokjin hums. ‘we’re talking right now.’
jungkook kicks behind him and meets seokjin's knee, who moans and groans and calls jungkook an asshole with cold feet. 'please.’
‘alright,’ seokjin sighs, resigned. ‘say your piece, i’ll listen.’
jungkook breathes in.
‘you don’t actually hate me, right?’ he asks, before he can stop himself.
seokjin sits up. turns on the lamp. the room glows a dull, warm yellow. ‘pretty sure you’re the one who hates me,’ seokjin tells him.
jungkook sits up too, gathering the covers around his waist. ‘i didn’t mean that.’
‘why did you always say it, then?’ seokjin asks. ‘when did we decide to stop being nice to each other?’
and that’s the crux, yeah: they didn’t just get over it, or stop talking. they just stopped being nice. and that’s strange, for both of them.
it’s not like there wasn’t a reason.
‘christmas,’ jungkook says.
‘yeah.’
‘you pushed me away,’ jungkook reminds him. it’s scary to think about: the seokjin-shaped scar that’d been left behind, no explanation provided. ‘you said i don’t want this right now, and you left. and we stopped talking. that hurt.’
‘you were drunk,’ seokjin tells him, like it solves everything.
‘i wasn’t that drunk,’ he mumbles, ‘and i had a plan. if you thought i was drunk and then you said no then i could trick myself into—’
he stops. he’s giving too much away. this is too honest—
but seokjin’s hand tiptoes toward his under the covers, fingers at jungkook’s palm. warm. ‘yeah?’
and he continues: ‘i could think that maybe you just didn’t want me when i’m drunk. maybe that’s not how you wanted it to start. maybe you’d still like me otherwise.’
seokjin’s silence makes him nervous. the palm now pressed against his own lessens the nerves, just a little.
‘i stopped you at the party because i didn’t want you to regret it,’ seokjin tells him. he’s looking away. he’s nervous, jungkook can tell, and it’s the smallest amount of vulnerability but still the most present he’s been around jungkook in a long time. ‘i was afraid that you only kissed me because you wouldn’t have to remember it. i didn’t want to be the only one who, um. well—who felt—’
a laugh falls out of him, flustered, and he shuffles around under the covers. he knows what to say, isn’t very used to saying it, or doesn’t know if it’s the right time.
‘you kept telling me how drunk you were when you kissed me,’ he says. jungkook doesn’t remember that part. ‘it made me feel like—i dunno, like you’d only ever kiss me drunk? like you weren’t serious.’
guilt settles like a stone in his stomach. jungkook curls his legs up to his chest. ‘i was so serious.’
seokjin looks at him. ‘i was, too.’
they’re just looking at each other. holding hands under the duvet. admitting secrets like it’s nothing.
maybe it doesn’t have to be spectacular. maybe that’s the lesson in all of this.
‘yoongi got me to watch the videos,’ jungkook admits. ‘i think we were - i think we hated each other a lot less than we pretended to.’
‘i think i just missed you,’ seokjin says.
‘i’m sorry for saying i hated you,’ jungkook says, instead of i missed you too, so much— ‘and for only ever kissing you drunk. i didn’t know how to be around you without getting nervous.’
‘i’m not really used to big statements,’ seokjin tells him. ‘i’m sorry for not being more obvious. i thought you knew how i felt, already.’
jungkook sits up a little straighter. he edges over on the mattress, close enough to see the blush on seokjin’s cheeks, the marks of the pillow lingering on his arms. ‘how did you feel?’
seokjin opens his mouth. closes it again. repeats this while jungkook rubs a thumb on the back of his hand.
‘the bet,’ seokjin says. ‘i was flirting with you.’
and jungkook—he feels so much, right then. ‘that wasn’t flirting.’
‘i can’t be skilled in every department, kook,’ seokjin rolls his eyes. ‘i was trying to flirt with you.’
‘by humiliating me at work?’ jungkook jokes, instead of saying anything else: i flirted with you for two years, or i was going to ask you out that night, or we’ve wasted so much time.
seokjin slaps at his shoulder. ‘you did the same thing!’
‘we could’ve just talked about it,’ jungkook groans, thinking in heartbeats, palms getting sweaty. ‘now half the fanmail i get is about what promise ring i’m getting you, because everyone thinks i’m getting you a promise ring.’
‘i get interrogated about that picture of you on my lap six times daily. it’s torture.’
‘it was my mission to embarrass you,’ jungkook grins. ‘i never get to. it’s the most fun i’ve ever had.’
he holds seokjin’s hand near his chest, warmth between his collarbones. he shivers, just a little. from the night or the gravity of his current situation or the old t-shirt and shorts he’s wearing, he doesn’t know.
‘are you cold?’ seokjin asks, pouting, cute.
‘it’s fine, i don’t—’
but seokjin’s already up and across the room. he grabs his hoodie, pretty pink, lace drawstrings.
‘here,’ he says, and dumps it on jungkook’s lap. it’s worn-in. well-used. loved. ‘just put it on.’
jungkook does put it on. it falls big on him, hands completely hidden, down past his thighs. he feels safe, like he can let himself be hidden. he smiles. ‘it’s - soft.’
‘yeah,’ seokjin says, and smiles back at him. his hands go to jungkook’s legs, palms pressing warmth down into them through the hoodie, squeezing at his thighs. ‘it’s my favourite.’
(how did they get here? how did it come to this?)
‘yeah?’ jungkook says.
‘yeah,’ seokjin tells him.
(why did it take so long?)
‘can i kiss you now?’ jungkook asks. he looks small, in the reflection from the window. he feels small, drowned in fabric. his heart’s never been bigger, flopping about in his chest.
seokjin nods. ‘yeah,’ he murmurs. ‘you can.’
(they both lean in, this time. it’s clear, and certain.)
—
seokjin kisses jungkook awake, that morning. leans over him and brushes the hair from his face. moves from his forehead to his cheeks, nose, lips, jaw, bruising behind his ear, nosing at the mark. jungkook wakes slow and lazy, feeling under seokjin’s shirt for the fuzz and warmth of his belly, where it gives, thumbs moving across it, squeezing at his waist.
‘hey,’ jungkook says, deep with drowsiness.
‘hello,’ seokjin smiles, and pulls him out of bed.