Chapter Text
Jungkook missed his train. That’s how they met.
He was limping a little — his half-sprint steps dragging enough that he made it onto the last step of the platform just in time to see his six-a.m. train peeling out of the station. “Shit,” he groaned, letting his gym bag thud down heavily at his feet. He leaned down and rubbed at his aching shin, though that only made it ache all the more. It was gonna be black and blue for sure from the kick he’d taken during his shift. That he could shrug off, it was missing his six-thirty appointment that made his gut clench. Okay, but maybe it’ll be okay, he tried convincing himself. Missing one appointment didn’t necessarily mean that he’d lose his client. He couldn’t afford to lose another one, not after Mr. Lee canceled JK’s services when he himself lost his job. Times were tough for a lot of people.
“You too, huh? Man, at least you’re not gonna get fired for missing your train.”
JK turned his head, grimacing, thinking, yes, he really might get fired actually, but the words caught on his lips; in fact, he wasn’t sure his brain hadn’t glitched. There, standing just behind him and slightly to his right was easily the most effortlessly beautiful man Jungkook had ever seen. He swallowed hard even as the spit dried in his mouth, gaze helplessly trapped by the square, sculpted cheekbones, chiseled jaw, honey skin, wide, mesmerizing eyes and full pouty lips. “Holy god,” he managed, somewhat strangled, “you’re not fair.”
The man blinked, head tilting, stunning eyes locking onto his in confusion. “Pardon?”
Oh, dammit. Idiot. Idiot. “Oh, ah, no, sorry, just, ah … you’re really … really … you know what? Nevermind.” Dear gods in heaven somebody please shut me up, he prayed desperately.
Mr. Beautiful glanced down at himself. “Really … pink?” he suggested, laughing sheepishly. “Client request. I’m supposed to wear all pastel colors, so I don’t clash with the event theme.” Those pretty lips curved in a grin. “I don’t know why it matters given that I’m the one behind the camera, but the client wants what the client wants,” he said with an easy shrug.
“Ah, yeah,” Jungkook agreed, not sure what the hell they were talking about.
“So, where were you headed?” Pastel asked, turning and heading to a row of empty seats in the waiting area. Clearly, he was the type to easily strike up conversations with perfect strangers. Thank god for that. Jungkook would have been too tongue-tied to get a single word out even though he was desperate to continue the discussion.
“Work,” he answered, falling into step beside the other man, “I had an appointment with a client. I’m a personal trainer,” he added at the questioning glance tossed his way.
“Is that right? You’ve definitely got the muscles for it. I can see them even under that bulky sweater,” pastel angel murmured easily. He flushed to the roots of his hair the next second, face turning sunset-red as he tugged on his ear nervously. “I mean … you’re … uh ….”
Jungkook laughed, the sound echoing in the now mostly emptied station. “I get that a lot,” he assured, not upset. “People tend to think I’m intimidating, mostly because of the tattoos.” He flexed his hand, making the ink ripple.
“Intimidating,” the other man repeated, eyes staring fixedly at the crown tattoo on his knuckle. “Yeah. Yeah. Oh, no, I mean, you don’t seem intimidating at all, you seem … umm … capable,” he finished lamely, gaze shifting up to Jungkook’s chest before darting away. He cleared his throat, fidgeting with the strap of his camera bag.
Jungkook huffed, amused, and bit his lip, leaning against the hard plastic seat, too full of nervous, crackling energy suddenly to sit still. He hated to end their conversation even for a moment, but he really needed to call his client. “Listen, I’m just going to …” he jerked his thumb to the pillar a few feet away and excused himself to call Mr. Gi, moving away from Pastel reluctantly. It was so unbelievable that he’d just appeared in Jungkook’s life like he’d quite literally dropped out of heaven. JK worried a little that he might disappear just as quickly and inexplicably. He apologized to Mr. Gi, who to his relief simply set up another appointment, and ended the call inexcusably abruptly, hurrying back to Pastel, though he’d never taken his eyes off him as the other man made his own phone call.
“What’s the verdict on you?” he asked, giddy that he hadn’t lost a client, even giddier to be talking to Pastel again, but worried that maybe the angel had gotten fired and those hadn’t been idle words.
Pastel quirked a grin. “Innocent!” he laughed. Jungkook laughed with him, not because it was funny but because he was simply too endearing. “Situation is salvageable, they still want the pictures.”
“That’s great!” Jungkook enthused, happier to hear Pastel’s news that he’d been for his own. “Oh, umm, may I ask your name?” he asked politely. “I’ve kind of been calling you Pastel in my head,” he admitted, embarrassed.
Pastel laughed. “I’m Kim Taehyung, a.k.a. Pastel,” he greeted. “Umm, I’ve been thinking of you as Muscle Bunny,” he confessed cutely, biting his lip.
Jungkook huffed a half-laugh, not sure whether or not he should be offended. “I get the muscle part, but why bunny?” he asked, nose wrinkling.
Tayhyung winced. “Please forget I said that. I’ve put my foot in my mouth enough for one day. My brain must be weak from hunger,” he complained, hand going to his belly.
Jungkook followed the movement before flushing and looking away. “Oh, I …” he turned and rummaged in his bag, pulling out a sealed container. “Here,” he blurted, thrusting it forward. It wasn’t until he realized the other man wasn’t reaching for the box that it registered — he was a stranger and the other man might think he was a weirdo for offering him food. Scratch that — the other man definitely thought he was a weirdo. Shit. Shit. “Nevermind,” he began, drawing his hand back, “sorry, I—”
“Food? You’re giving me food?” Taehyung interrupted. “Are you an angel?” he demanded, snatching it from JK’s hands. “Oh my god and it’s warm.”
Jungkook grinned, fit to split his face, relief and jubilance warring inside him.
Taehyung froze with the lid halfway pried open, staring at Jungkook's mouth. “Oh. Wow.”
“Smells good, right?” he agreed. “I made it myself.”
Taehyung blinked, then blinked again. “You can cook? God, you’re not fair,” he muttered. Jungkook was still debating whether he’d heard that correctly when that too-attractive head jerked up. “Wait, I can’t take your breakfast. I’m sure you need it to … ah … to … sustain … all that … wow.” Pastel turned beet red again. “I’m just gonna shut up now,” he mumbled, embarrassed.
JK laughed. “No, no, it’s fine, I always make extra batches.” He pointed at two more containers in his bag. “I’m Jeon Jungkook by the way,” he finally introduced himself, bowing slightly. Taehyung bowed deeply, clutching the container of food to his chest, making Jungkook laugh. “Are we the same age?” he asked tentatively, hoping and praying that the answer would be yes. “I’m twenty-four.”
Taehyung quirked a satisfied grin. “Nope. Twenty-six. I’m your hyung.”
And, oh god, Jungkook had really wanted them to be the same age but hearing those words in that bass purr made something in his guts clench and quiver. “Hyung,” he murmured obediently, and it was his turn to smile in satisfaction when Taehyung swallowed hard and glanced away.
“Right. Yes, but umm, we could talk informally?” he offered. “We could be friends. Unless—”
“Yes!” Jungkook blurted, maybe a little too eagerly, a little too desperately, but Taehyung-ssi clapped his hands happily, soothing Jungkook’s embarrassment. He gave over his phone easily when Tae reached for it, vaguely, nearly imperceptibly surprised at his own willingness to have a perfect stranger flip through one of his most personal possessions. That feeling was dwarfed by the elating realization that Taehyung was putting in his number. “I’ll call you,” Jungkook burst out, much too loud. Tae’s gaze jerked to his, but flushed though he knew he must be, JK wanted Taehyung to know. He didn’t want him to wonder. “I’ll definitely call you. We can hang out. Do you … ummm … do you play video games? Or draw? Or box? Or—”
Tae laughed and placed the phone back in JK’s hand, those long elegant fingers — dear gods, the man also had beautiful hands, of course he did — brushing the back of JK’s hand in a torturous caress, their fingers tangling almost accidentally for the eternity of a heartbeat. “Anything is fine,” Tae assured, a little breathless. “Anything.”
Jungkook swallowed, hand desperately clutching at his phone fit to crack it. “Okay. Great. Yeah.”
“I have to go, Jeon Jungkook-ssi,” Tae said, gaze locked onto JK’s, giving no indication of actually leaving. He licked those delectable lips that Gook had so very deliberately not looked at while they were speaking, making his manly resistance null and void because now he was staring. He was definitely staring, and the worst part was that he couldn’t stop. Gods, how could such a beautiful man exist? “Jungkook-ssi,” Tae repeated, and Jungkook manfully gathered his few remaining brain cells and forced himself to focus. Tae grinned, lips quirking knowingly in a way that did not bode well for JK’s sanity. “I look forward to seeing you again. Thank you for the food.” He gave a cute little wave and turned to go, walking at a brisk pace back up the train station steps. Heads turned to watch him go and Tae grinned and nodded at several people as he went, though he didn’t stop.
Jungkook’s stomach dipped, a low, swooping sensation, not at all pleasant, a feeling flaring that he refused to name. Taehyung was clearly a bright, outgoing person, it was only natural that people would be drawn to him. Jungkook was just another moth pulled toward that sharp, blazing flame. That's alright, he decided. He would take what he could get.