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jimin is love.
when the sky is falling and atlas’s hold on the universe above collapses under the weight of it all, jimin is there and jimin is love. when the ground cracks open and sucks in everything it put forth to begin with, to grow, jimin is there and jimin is love. when the sun is too bright and extending tendrils of fiery heat that touches and burns and turns to ash, jimin is there and jimin is love. when the night is alone and the stars are together alone and jeongguk is alone, face buried in his pillow with shoulders shaking and sobs heaving, jimin is there and jimin is love.
jimin is love.
jimin dances like no one’s watching even when he knows that everyone is. he sings in aims of comfort and safety even when after, after faced by thousands of tearful eyes, discontent and criticism are what he rains down on his reaching voice.
(he cares in the smallest of ways and the largest of aids, whether it’s supportive touches or lilting words or knowing embraces and -
and.
and jimin is the umbrella you carry in the pouring rain, sacrificing dryness and warmth and himself to keep you from drowning under the crying sky.)
jimin is love.
♥
“gguk,” voice tiny, tone dancing with winked out stars and fading galaxies, jimin crumbles a little, but only a little, “hold me… please?”
jeongguk is willing. always willing.
the two of them are backstage, both of their frames adorned in billowing pastel fabric, creases tucked into the tight jeans, black and cradling their waist. flowers, small and fragile, litter prettily across jimin’s shoulders, ruffles outlining the gentle structure of jeongguk’s collar and running down his chest.
peony pink to serenity white.
as jimin dissolves into jeongguk arms and presses his face into the sheer bundle of frilled fabric at his collar, jungkook lets out a breath. against him, jimin is warm, pliant, relying on jeongguk’s fingers at the small of his back and chest against his and swirling universes caged on his tongue.
(jimin asked, jeongguk realizes a little later, after they’ve performed and taehyung’s timbre matched by seokjin’s sonority vibrates in his chest like a heartbeat gone rogue, ventricular fibrillation, ventricular fibrillation, ventricular fibrillation.
jimin never asks.)
he never has to.
♥
one night, taehyung tells him about it.
“he runs himself down,” the boy says.
jeongguk stills, having come upon the scene of jimin buried completely in taehyung’s arms, wrapped around him like a koala, clinging and clinging and never wanting to let go. he’s asleep, jeongguk can tell, watching the slender length of taehyung’s fingers carding gently through the faded blue of his hair as they lounge on the hotel room couch.
continuing, taehyung’s voice softens, “he gets like this sometimes, when things are too much. when he needs something he can’t give himself.”
(love.
jimin shares so much of it, gives away so much of it, that he rarely has any at all left for himself.)
taehyung doesn’t mention it again.
♥
when they first met, jeongguk was greeted by a flurry of gangly limbs and mochi cheeks and all-too lovely introductions.
“jimin,” brown hair swept prettily across his forehead, the boy smiled, eyes disappearing into crescents of mirth, “i’m jimin, but you can call me hyung.”
jeongguk flushed, hand held and shaken gently by the elder, their palms kissing too softly for him to think straight, “m’jeongguk. nice to meet you, hyung.”
“nice to meet you too, gguk-ah.”
days after that, jeongguk’s thoughts were full of crescent-eyed jimin and the lovely lilt of busan to his words. the memory nestled comfortably in his hands, where he then tucked it aside, pressing it into the safekeeping of his heart, hidden away and helped along, an awakening to the becoming of what jeongguk would soon call home .
♥
“jimin, would you please stop glomming!?”
the quiet outburst draws jungkook’s attention. paying half a mind to yoongi’s frame, cascaded in the shadows of the stage’s arch, he struggles to replace the batteries in his microphone. his hyung seems smaller, more retracted from the touch of the makeup artists as they fix his eyeshadow. his hands are shaky as he pulls back a bit from their brushes, fingers raising to curl in his hair.
behind him, jimin takes a step back, eyes laden with regret, arms tight around his stomach, “sorry, hyung. m’sorry.”
and as jeongguk watches, jeongguk realizes.
yoongi doesn’t often raise his voice. not like this. and never at jimin. so when he doesn’t respond to jimin’s soft apology, and jeongguk watches as the older boy’s chest starts heaving with violent breath, he sets his microphone aside, the object already forgotten about.
“hyung…” but namjoon reaches yoongi’s side just before he does, the makeup noonas dispersing to give them room.
“breathe, yoongi-hyung, breathe, c’mon.”
the shadows darken slightly, staff doing a run-through of the lighting schedule, and jeongguk steps forward to rest a hand on yoongi’s back. he rubs. up and down, he rubs.
lowering to kneel in front of him, namjoon takes yoongi’s hands in his. his gentle eyes scan yoongi’s anxiety, scan the ferocity of his disheveled hair from clutching it so tight, scan the tremble across his skin, and after understanding, namjoon works to ease it.
jeongguk relaxes a bit, hearing the quiet whispers of encouragement that namjoon stands to press against the shell of yoongi’s ear, hands still twined.
he turns back, trusting the situation handled, only to find that jimin is nowhere in sight.
♥
“m’so sorry, yoongi-hyung, i didn’t mean…”
“you didn’t cause it jimin-ah. this attack has been building up for a long time. it’s not your fault.”
“still! i was being too clingy and i overwhelmed you and -”
“jimin… stop. stop now, okay?”
at this, jeongguk finds discontent on listening curl tight in his gut. a little sad, a little wanting, a little regretful, he departs to leave to his hyungs the process of working it out on their own.
♥
at first, jeongguk didn’t like jimin’s touches.
he was an immature, selfish teenager and he and six other boys he barely knew were running running running towards a dream they thought might never come true: a dream jeongguk thought might never come true. so, he was distant, shy, oddly so.
he got to know the others little by little, through their words and laughs and even their cries.
whatever they did they did together.
wherever the heading the were on it together.
the journey came with jimin, clingy and teasing, hands always searching for others to hold, arms always looking for shoulders to hang on. and jeongguk hated it. he loved jimin, of course, but not the way he pervaded jeongguk’s protective little bubble, touching and touching and touching.
jimin came to him most often, voice like the waves of busan and eyes glimmering like galaxies, and each time jeongguk pushed him off, cast him away, there was an ache that blossomed in his bosom. it made it feel a little harder to breathe, a little harder to be around the boy without his heartbeat beating that much faster.
(jimin got the hint, it seemed, after a while. his loose limbs and searching frame disappeared along with his mirth.
things got harder.
jimin grew farther away.)
jeongguk ached.
it was after their comeback show of danger, eyeliner thick above jimin’s lashes, expression hard, solid, the remnants of the concept lingering in his bones, that jeongguk acted.
sweet, short, and simple, jeongguk ran up behind him and wrapped his arms around his hyung’s waist, feeling the divets and strength of jimin’s toned abdomen beneath his fingers, “you did good, hyung.”
the smile that overtook mochi cheeks and cold eyes was rewarding, irises showing their starlight once more and busan washing back up on jimin’s tongue, “thanks, gguk.”
time. it took a lot of time and patience for jeongguk to be open open open. especially among the growing family that he’d been tossed into. but after time and talks and touches, jeongguk found that he didn’t want to be closed off anymore, not as his hyungs filled in the hollow parts of him one by one, adding and adding to his character until he was molded into person he’d always wanted to be.
box smiles, busan cares, guiding advice, sunshine dimples, determined wills, and broad aids.
jeongguk stopped thinking of jimin as touchy, as clingy.
but, as nurturing and loving instead.
and if he expressed that through warm palms and safe embraces, jeongguk learned that over time, he didn’t mind it so much anymore.
at first, jeongguk didn’t like jimin’s touches.
now, he knows that touches was only an incorrect way of saying love.
because jimin is love and jimin gives himself freely, gives himself gently, even if it means that sometimes, he gets rejected.
♥
jimin avoids them.
the incident with yoongi lingers with him, now forgotten about by the others.
and jimin avoids them.
he pulls out of taehyung’s side hugs, hoseok's arms around his shoulder, and shifts away when seokjin rests a hand on his knee. it’s hard. it aches. yoongi notices it once, asks about it once, but jimin only waves him off, passing off his questions and concerns.
jimin avoids them.
and jimin aches.
♥
they perform. they laugh. they cry. they sleep. they eat. and then they do it all over again, fitting a little sightseeing and practice and filming in between. always busy, always doing something, going somewhere.
it’s normal.
and... not.
it’s also odd and unusual, but their stage presence is as loud as always, their rest as restful as it can be, their routine as common and unchanged as ever. so, jeongguk can’t put a finger on what’s not: normal, that is.
there’s an absence to it all, to the highs and the lows and the love jeongguk feels every waking second of passing days. an absence that burrows in his ribcage and hollows, hollows, hollows at each puzzled pang of missing.
something is missing.
♥
“hyung.”
(you know that i can’t)
jimin’s back is to him. he’s pulling creases of peony pink up over his head, the fabric dancing up his spine, revealing the manilla patches that embrace his sun-toned skin: a poor attempt to alleviate muscle pain.
“hyung,” jeongguk says again, less hesitant this time, less wary.
finally, jimin turns, a weariness to the ripple of a shift in his frame. his now purple faded fringe falls daintily over his dark eyes. oddly dark, oddly absent eyes.
(show you me)
almost wearily, jimin sighs, “yeah, gguk?”
then jeongguk finds it, what’s missing.
he asks softly, “are you alright?”
jimin takes his assigned outfit of white from a passing noona, silent at the question for a moment. they’re backstage, music pounding and pervading even all the way back here. the bustling of preparation for ‘mic drop’ is normal, comforting. the void of jimin’s voice and gaze is not.
“why wouldn’t i be?”
(give you me)
clothes are thrusted into jeongguk’s arms, startling him from the moment of wondering unrest that he and jimin share.
he watches as his hyung struggles to lift his arms and pull his shimmering white tank top over his head. jimin winces almost too faintly for jeongguk to catch.
jeongguk takes a step forward, outfit now pinned under his arm, hands outstretched to grasp onto the hem of the fabric jimin feuds with, “i can help - “
“no,” jimin pulls away from him, giving a huff when he succeeds in letting the shirt billow about his waist, “i don’t need help.”
after a moment, letting the tension that runs through the achy tendrils of jimin’s voice simmer down a bit, jeongguk responds, as soft as a whisper, “jimin, you don’t have to be so distant... what happened with yoongi-hyung wasn’t your fault.”
“not now, gguk.”
“you can touch us, hyung. it’s okay. you never hurt us.”
jimin snaps then, a bitterness to his tongue that’s so unlike him, “ jeongguk! not now.”
the youngest feels the room still at this, the bustling rest for less than a second. it’s over just like that, and jeongguk’s taken aback at jimin’s words, at the anxiety layered behind them, but he doesn’t have time to mull over it.
he only has time to watch jimin’s face fall before staff pull him away and rush him into changing into the pile of clothes folded in his arms.
(i can’t show you a ruined part of myself)
♥
why do they call it falling in love?
jeongguk thinks it’s more like flying. it’s the feeling of lifting off into the unknown, in search of the sun when you could very well find the stars, lovely and beautiful and alleviating all the same at what is found instead.
bangtan was running for a dream. a dream that had no guarantee of coming true. and when they lifted off, frames influenced by sultry beats, wings, alluring choreo, and blood, sweat, and tears, jeongguk lifted off too.
something stirred, something he’d tucked away since first meetings and crescent enhanced smiles. it rose to the surface.
and jeongguk learned that falling seemed so much more like flying.
why do they call it falling in love?
♥
jimin avoids.
jeongguk misses.
jimin is love.
jeongguk is in love.
♥
“i think i’m in love,” jeongguk whispers, the sentence coming out low and weak, quiet under his breath.
against him, yoongi starts, “what?”
he’s drunk. they both are - alcohol and jokes of irish bombs flood jeongguk’s system. so, maybe jeongguk’s a little vulnerable, a little wanting. his thoughts are heady and his vision is hazy and yoongi’s warmth against him is so, so coaxing. in a silent, wanting way, jeongguk says it again, “i think i’m in love.”
the bar is loud, fluorescent lights too bright with existing energy that’s both lulling and alluring and jeongguk… jeongguk doesn’t know what to do with it all. so he turns to yoongi and leans even heavier into him, a buzz in his ears and a stutter in his heart.
“you... you think?” slurs yoongi, hesitance in the quieting of his gruff voice.
jeongguk corrects himself, “i know ... i know i’m in love.”
“oh, bun…” and it’s said almost sadly, almost dismally.
yoongi’s arms come up around him, hold him close, and jeongguk sighs. he sighs and fights through the drudge of strawberry wine and smoked whiskey and jimin’s lacking smiles. he tells yoongi about it, whispers, “it’s jimin. i’m in love with jimin,” against the plaid of his flannel. it pours out of him like rain from the sky, shining with starlight and waves washing against busan beaches, “i love him.”
later, the two cuddle in jeongguk’s hotel room, the bustle of the bar in the lobby giving way to comforting silence. and usually yoongi’s not so lovable, shows his care in different ways than this, but now jeongguk is curled in his arms.
maybe it helps that they’re wasted. maybe it helps that jeongguk’s emotions are reeking out of him like the scent of alcohol on his breath.
when he’s on the verge of sleep, yoongi jostles him a bit, presses his lips to the youngest’s forehead, mumbling his drunken advice, “you should tell him.”
“really?” the word is thick on jeongguk’s tongue, “but he’s so distant and quiet right now and - “
“and you should tell him. he needs something that he won’t let us give him.”
(“he gets like this sometimes, when things are too much. when he needs something he can’t give himself.”
love.)
yoongi sighs, letting his head fall back, eyes trained on the ceiling, “but maybe he’ll let you, gguk. maybe he’ll let you.”
♥
jimin is tired.
there’s a drag to his step and a grimace to his smile.
“c’mere,” jeongguk says, gently grabbing jimin by his wrists, faded galaxy eyes slowly moving up to meet jeongguk’s gaze, “hold me,” jeongguk continues. he wraps jimin’s arms around his neck, soothing the pad of his thumb across jimin’s skin as small encouragement. he does this until the tension around his shoulders relaxes, until jimin is hanging on him, keeping as close to him as possible.
as they walk, jeongguk takes out his in-ear, careful not to disturb the normalcy of jimin and his touch.
i’m in love with you , he thinks. i wish i could help you , he thinks. i wish you would talk to me , he thinks.
“you can talk to me,” he murmurs.
jimin shrugs.
jeongguk understands. after all, he’s in love.
♥
the touches return gradually after that. jimin doesn’t avoid them from others, doesn’t openly gift them as much as he usually would. but that’s okay. it’s something. it’s progress. it’s jimin.
♥
softly, jeongguk raps his knuckles against the wood of the door, the number 327 in bold beside the frame. “jiminie-hyung,” he knocks again, “could i just get my earbuds back from earlier?”
(he let jimin borrow them on the way to the hotel.)
it’s cold, the chill of the hallway pervading jeongguk’s skin, so he knocks again, waiting for a response.
maybe he shouldn’t expect one. it’s two in the morning, and frankly, he should be sleeping. but after such a love-given concert, it’s hard to. he’s been scrolling through twitter for the past hour while eating pork flavored ramen and sipping banana milk. it reminds him of seoul, of home.
(still, that was his extra pair - taehyung stole away his headphones a month ago. and jeongguk wanted to watch iron man on his phone but…)
the door opens, his fingertips leaving the wood, arm falling to his side as jimin’s tired face greets him. and jeongguk’s muddle of thoughts float away.
“hi,” jimin says, voice oddly hoarse, eyes oddly red, nose oddly runny, “i - “
it bursts out. because jimin is lovely, even like this. jimin is lovely and jimin is love and jungkook is flying so far, so high, and didn't realize it until now.
“i’m in love with you.”
the rush of words leaves jeongguk breathless, cheeks quickly flushing pink upon the realization of what he’s said, what he’s done. he takes a step back, averting his gaze from jimin completely. goose bumps arise on his skin, crawling up his arms and making him all that more aware of the silence that fills the space between them.
idiot.
jeongguk is an idiot.
“sorry! god - god, sorry. i just came here, came here for my earbuds and i shouldn’t have… i’m sorry, hyung. i didn’t - “
but then his flushed cheeks are being cupped by warm, gentle hands, and lips are pressed plush against his. the first thing jeongguk notices is how jimin tastes: soft and sweet, like caramel sweetened coffee and whip cream, which leads jeongguk to believe that jimin ordered something from the 24 hour cafe downstairs and oh -
jimin nips at his bottom lip, throws his arms around jeongguk’s neck and tangles his fingers in the boy’s hair, stained cocoa brown. letting out a soft noise, almost relieved, jeongguk’s hands find their way around jimin’s waist, pulling him closer, closer, closer.
god, closer.
until his back is against the wall of the hallway, jimin’s lips, pretty and peach, pressing open mouthed kisses, lovely and sugary on his. jimin becomes jeongguk’s breath, his mouth gentle and kind, fingers running through his hair making jeongguk feel heady, knees shaking beneath him.
“i am too,” jimin parts from him for a moment, frame haloed by faint light from the open door of his hotel room, “in love with you.”
there’s a shake to the love in his voice, a scared truth finally being told, and jeongguk nods, eyes watering, lilting forward to press his lips to jimin’s again. he feels a little braver now, chest to chest with love, melting into its tenderness. but this kiss is shorter, not as deep, not as wanting, just a push of mouths and small nips and quiet noises of found delight.
after, when jimin pulls back to catch his breath, his hands lower to cup the nape of jeongguk’s neck, eyes so, so brown, simmering with shooting stars amidst the pretty color of oak.
“we should…” jeongguk glances towards the hotel room, suddenly aware of their vulnerability.
jimin hums, “yeah,” and gives the smallest of smiles, all soft edges and gentle curves. he finds jeongguk’s hand, one of them still resting on his hip, and twines their fingers together, long fingers slotting with his.
they allow themselves to break away from the hallway of sudden confessions and shared kisses, jimin tugging him into the room and pulling the door behind them.
“why were you crying?” jeongguk asks quietly, words tentative. he squeezes jimin’s hand.
it’s a sudden change to the atmosphere, innocence turning sad, a little bittersweet.
jimin’s lips form a thin line, “well, i just - i…” he looks at jeongguk’s chest, fingers gripping jeongguk’s a little tighter, hoping. hoping for understanding despite the stumble of words and shaky breaths.
“you miss us,” realizes jeongguk.
mostly, he misses touch.
and jimin crashes into him, arms winding around jeongguk’s back, hands finding their way under the plain white of his shirt, trailing delicately across his skin. he presses his nose into the divet of jeongguk’s collar and presses tight against him. presses and presses and presses. the touch relaxes jimin, draws out a sigh from his chest and summons warmth to his palms.
“you could’ve told me, told us.”
there’s a sigh, a puff of breath against jeongguk’s neck.
jeongguk holds jimin tighter, “i love you, hyung.” the phrase comes easy, comes true and loving and full, “so much. always have.”
“love you too, gguk.”
(jimin is love.
the hand that you hold when you need it most. the light in the dark when there doesn’t seem to be one. the umbrella that keeps you dry in the pouring rain.
jimin is love.)
“hold me?”
“yeah, hyung,” and jeongguk drags them over to the bed, letting jimin touch and press and love, evermore, evermore, as they collapse on the sheets, ignorant of everything that exists outside of them, outside of togetherness, “always, hyung.”
(jimin is love.
jimin is… jimin is home.)
jeongguk breathes in freshly done laundry, the scent of the duvet they lay on, breathes in cafe americanos tinted with caramel, breathes in hints of vanilla, breathes in lavender, the lavender of jimin’s shampoo. he breathes in jimin.
and then jeongguk tells him, shyly, softly “you never have to ask...”