Chapter Text
First thing Jimin sees as he opens his eyes is a gold wedding band.
Huh. That’s weird, his sleepy mind thinks to itself, but ultimately dismisses the observation in favor of falling back to sleep. The bed is so, so soft and very warm, a weary sleeper’s dream. Jimin’s slipping under again, the fluffy gates of dreamland already opening in front of his eyes—
But something’s nagging at him, demanding his attention through the pleasant haze. He frowns with his eyes closed, but the uneasy feeling keeps spreading, demanding more and more attention.
A whiff of unfamiliar cologne filters in through his nose, leaving him a little light-headed. Jimin goes still, lying rigid on the soft bed. Wait... He knows that scent. The world shifts, rearranging his thoughts, flicking through his memories until one comes to the surface, one that bears the same scent. Attached to the cologne is a blurry image of a smirk, dark eyes and jet black hair.
Somewhere in the distance, warning bells go off, but Jimin ignores them.
"Mini."
Jimin jolts at the memory of someone speaking his name. As his body begins to wake up, the hazy feeling of sleep begins to drift away and brings his attention to his head that is killing him. Jimin doesn’t drink often or a lot, but now he can taste the bitter tang of alcohol on his tongue. His lips feel raw and sensitive, like he’s been biting them all night long. His body aches: everything hurts like he’s been hit by a truck. There are fucking hickeys on his neck and his back hurts—
Someone who isn’t Jimin groans in their sleep.
Oh.
Oh, no.
He keeps his eyes closed, pretending he doesn’t already know what he’ll find once he opens his eyes, evading the inevitable just a few more breaths longer.
He’s not alone in this foreign bed.
Finally, Jimin can’t put it off any longer. Where the hell am I? flashes in his thoughts as he opens his eyes and doesn't recognize his surroundings.
The room is dipped in the calming, cozy hues of beige and ivory, with specs of gold. He's lying on a king-sized bed, warm underneath a thick duvet, nothing like the one he usually sleeps with in his studio apartment back home. There are classy abstract paintings on the pristine white walls and the room opens to a comfortable patio area. Left of Jimin stands the glass door to a spacious balcony with a jacuzzi.
Only the presence of a non-smoking sign on the balcony door reveals the place to be a hotel room and not a wealthy person's residence. Jimin peaks at the view of the city through the windows, relieved when he recognizes a landmark. At least he's still in the same city.
A soft puff of air against his neck wakes Jimin up from his stupor. Sleep is ripped from him with a cruel realization. The softness, the warmth he’s felt is not due to some luxurious bed, it’s because the other person in the bed is someone snoozing on top of him, arm around his waist.
Panic floods his system, barging through him like a pack of lost dogs. Someone else is there and they're holding him in their sleep. He forces his brain to think back, to search through his memories, but the night's a blur of gambling, starry skies and wicked smirks. As hard as he tries, his brain refuses to relive the previous night.
It's time. He needs to know.
Carefully, carefully Jimin struggles in the stranger's hold and turns around to face them.
Right there, tangled in those fluffy white sheets, sleeps Jeon Jungkook.
Jeon Jungkook, son of Eunha and Kihyun, brother to Junghyun. Jeon Jungkook, the heir of a billion dollar company. Jeon Jungkook, Jimin’s worst enemy.
Jimin has to slap a hand to his mouth and bite down on his fingers, hard, to keep a blood-curdling scream from escaping.
What the fuck happened last night?
Why is he sleeping in the same bed as Jeon fucking Jungkook? They hate each other. No amount of alcohol would make Jimin bury the hatchet, so what is going on? Are they in the episode of some prank channel? He’s afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. Do not wake up. For the love of God, please do not let Jungkook wake up—
He has to get out of there before Jungkook wakes up and notices him. If he doesn’t, he’ll never live it down.
With Jungkook and Jimin, there’s always been some sort of war going on, a competition on everything they could think of. When they were kids, it was about school stuff and girls. Jungkook wanted to win over every grade, award and exam if Jimin did too, rubbing his victories in Jimin's face. Jimin was no better, he was determined to win each battle and made sure Jungkook noticed when he did. Jungkook was the most popular boy in their class, but he still flirted with every single girl that dared to show any interest in Jimin. They both joined the football team, but Jungkook was made captain in their final year which Jimin couldn't stand. He promptly quit and found another passion in Arts. Ten years later, he is an Arts major in his final year of uni. Ten years later, Jungkook's the most successful twenty-five year old in the country.
Jimin really, really needs to leave.
Jungkook’s arm around him tightens in his sleep like he knows Jimin's thinking about sneaking out, his sharp jaw digging into the crook of Jimin’s neck. It’s in that moment that Jimin realizes that they're both naked, bodies flush together under the covers.
He suppresses another scream, biting his already sore bottom lip, tasting blood in his mouth. So not only is he sleeping on the same bed as Jeon Jungkook, they…
His eyes follow along the muscular line of Jungkook’s back, noting faint pink lines traveling down the hard planes of muscle someone’s nails had drawn on them. He shifts uncomfortably and that’s when he notices again how unbelievably sore he is all over.
The realization hits hard.
No.
They wouldn’t have. No. No way. Not possible. Not with him. No, no, no.
Right?
He becomes painfully aware of something girthy and semi-hard that’s resting against his thigh. He closes his eyes, opens them again.
What the hell is going on?
His eyes flit over to Jungkook again, and it makes his blood boil to find him looking so peaceful. Dark wavy hair that’s falling over his face, long eyelashes hiding eyes that are smug and infuriating when he’s awake. There are no flaws on his face, no trace of the acne scars or slight bumps that used to make him look at least somewhat human.
Jungkook looks younger when he sleeps, reminding Jimin of their past selves. Jungkook was once almost cute, before he became just another rich asshole.
Jimin has half a mind to whack him on the head, to wake him up and make him explain how the hell the two of them are in a bed together, locked in a naked embrace, but he's too scared of the answer.
He can feel Jungkook everywhere on his skin, warm and solid, steady beats of his heart against Jimin’s own.
If he wakes Jungkook up, then he can’t pretend like this didn’t happen and Jimin’s a huge fan of denial. If he can just sneak out, he can figure out the details later.
Slowly, slowly, slowly Jimin slides his hand away from Jungkook’s. He doesn’t dare breathe, holding his breath as he starts pulling himself away from Jungkook’s sleeping form. It’s harder than he expected: Jungkook’s really bulked up since high school.
Finally free from the tangle of limbs, Jimin steps out of bed, the floorboards cold under his bare feet. He feels cold all over, every cell in his body protesting leaving the warm bed, missing Jungkook's warmth. He immediately buries that thought. In his haste to escape, he straightens up too quickly and almost blows his cover by groaning out loud. Pain flares up, radiating down his back and Jimin's forced to grit his teeth together.
A wave of whys crashes over him like a riptide. Why is his head pounding like he’s been drinking for eight hours straight? Why is he sore all over like he’s been fucked on every surface of the room?
His back flares up again when he tries to take a step. Jimin nearly whimpers out loud as he limps around the room, hurriedly picking up his clothes. His phone and keys are thankfully still in his pockets. He has no wallet, so Jungkook must have paid—the hotel is more his style anyway.
He does not want to think about that right now. Right now, all he wants is to get out of this goddamn hotel room without Jungkook noticing, so he can pretend like the night never happened. Like he never woke up fucking cuddling Jeon Jungkook.
He gets dressed in the dark, ignoring how he's pretty sure that the shirt he's pulling on, isn't his. It doesn't matter, he just needs to get the hell out of the suite. He pockets his keys and phone, unsurprised to find the latter without any power.
He starts tiptoeing to the door, holding his breath, careful not to make any noise.
A little more, just a step or two…
Another reason to hate Jungkook for. What the hell does he need so much space for? As far as Jimin can tell, Jungkook's staying alone in the humongous suite. If this had been any of the motels Jimin's used to, it would have taken him two steps to reach the door.
What a waste.
Jimin reaches the door, his hand almost touching the handle. He holds his breath, heartbeat thumping uncomfortably against his throat as he slowly, slowly, slowly starts to open the door. It opens thankfully without a sound and Jimin steps closer, almost free—
A floorboard creaks underneath him. Jimin instinctively turns to look at Jungkook to make sure he didn't stir, but all he sees is a bare muscular torso and a mess of dark hair, moving at him with light's speed.
A tattooed arm pushes past Jimin's shoulder, slamming the door back to closed.
A low, dangerous voice speaks into his neck, his breath hot on Jimin's shivering skin.
"Where are you running off to?"
Fuck.