Archive of Our Own

Someone spills a beer in Phi Beta Sigma’s living room, aka Jungkook’s house, again.

Taehyung queued up some playlist an hour ago, and the bass vibrates in Jungkook’s bones as he leans back against the kitchen island, where he paused after dragging the kegs inside. A red cup dangles from his fingers as his gaze stops on tipsy Namjoon trying to explain Kant to a very drunk freshman. The kid nods like he actually understands, probably trying to suck up to get into their frat or swim team.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, amused, and looks around the neon-lit room, over the tangle of bodies and alcohol, passing a girl waving at him seductively, trying to get his attention. He pretends not to notice.

This is his world. He is many things—captain of the swim team, president of the frat, the guy everyone wants a piece of. He knows it, owns it, even loves it. He’s been described by his friends as a golden retriever with a playboy tail more times than he can count, and he’s still not sure if it's a compliment or an insult on his name.

“What's the worst thing about throwing a party in space?” Seokjin’s voice carries above the crowd. “You have to planet.”

Jungkook chuckles at this terrible dad joke when his gaze snags on the far corner, right by the dying monstera plant no one ever remembers to water. Truthfully, it’s the orange hair glowing under the lights that stand out to him—Jung Hoseok’s. They don’t know each other closely, but Hoseok is Hobi—everyone knows Hobi, just like Jungkook—they are both social butterflies.

Hoseok’s arms move like he’s conducting an orchestra. But it’s the person half-hidden behind him that makes Jungkook stop.

Park Jimin.

His blond hair is scraped into a messy ponytail, with many loose strands escaping to curl against the soft line of his jaw. Oversized white hoodie swallows his frame, wide cargo pants give him that cool, but cozy look. His arms are crossed, face blank, looking like he’d rather be dissecting a frog in the bio lab than breathing the same air as half the people present in this room.

They don’t move in the same circles. They’re not from the same department. There is only one reason Jungkook knows what Jimin's name is, and he remembers that night two months ago like it’s burned behind his eyelids.

That day Jungkook’s late practice ran long. He’d stepped out of the locker room, ready to head home, when he caught the sight of a single silhouette cutting through the surface of what was supposed to be an empty pool.

Jimin was fully focused as he swimmed, kissed by the moonlight and dim, night lights of the university natatorium. The way he moved, so fluid and easy, no splashing, just grace, made Jungkook unable to look away. He had stood there in the doorway for a solid minute, looking at the stranger closer than he would have liked. Something about the way Jimin’s muscles moved betrayed him as an athlete, something about the way he shook his head and his blond hair threw the water around made Jungkook’s chest tighten.

Later that night Jungkook had caved, and pulled up Instagram, until he went through the profiles of all of the familiar athletes from the campus, hoping to find the stranger on the pictures, tags or at least the comments. Hoseok endless stories from the dance studio had Jimin tagged multiple times. Jimin’s Instagram was private, of course, but Jungkook was able to find old videos of contemporary dance pieces just from Hoseok’s highlights.

And now Jimin is in Jungkook’s house—in the frat house—in Jungkook’s world, looking a little out of place, but mostly like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Jungkook watches Hoseok lean in, saying something that makes Jimin roll his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they didn’t roll away. The corner of his mouth twitches in a half smirk, half I-will-kill-you-in-your-sleep. It's not hard to guess that he was persuaded to come here.

He doesn’t laugh or dance, and doesn’t notice the athletes grinding in the middle of the room or the girls trying to catch Jungkook’s eye from the couch. They lead very different lives, and as far as Jungkook has realized, Jimin never attends any parties, and is a very private person. Park Jimin probably lives in the library or in the dance studio. Jungkook’s life consists of chlorine-scented mornings, team dinners, and parties that don’t end until the sun comes up.

They’ve passed each other on campus a dozen times since that night in the natatorium—Jimin with AirPods in, staring straight ahead, as if the rest of the world is just a background in the playlist of his life—Jungkook surrounded by his team, laughing. Once he knew of Jimin’s existence, he started noticing him, as if Jimin was always there, just escaping his radar. 

Now Jungkook’s pulse kicks up, warm and curious, and a little hesitant but determined at the same time. He’s never had to chase anyone—people come to him, they always have—and it’s not a brag, just something he experienced. But Jimin looks like the kind of person with whom that would be a problem.

He regretted many times not sitting at the edge of the pool, and just stirring a conversation with Jimin that night, even if they would go back to strangers right after, or end up being nothing but acquaintances who say “hi” in passing. It feels like fate is trying to give him a second chance now.

He sets his cup down, claps Taehyung on the shoulder with “Be right back, bro”, and starts tearing through the crowd. Hoseok spots him first. The older man’s face stretches into a blinding smile. “Jungkookie! My favorite swim captain! Come here, you beautiful bastard!”

Jungkook laughs, bright, but his eyes settle on Jimin. Up close, he’s even prettier—with soft cheeks, full lips, cat eyes flicking up to meet him with zero interest, as if Jungkook is a slightly annoying bug that wandered too close by accident.

“Hyung,” Jungkook greets, loud enough to be heard through the music but still friendly. He nods at Hoseok, then tilts his head at Jimin. “Didn’t know you brought company tonight. Hi.”

Happily, Hoseok slings an arm around Jimin’s shoulders, ignoring the way the latter stiffens. “This is my Jiminie! He’s a fellow dance major, genius, and pain in my ass. Jimin-ah, this is Jeon Jungkook, swim captain, frat president, and professional pain in everyone’s ass.”

Jimin doesn’t uncross his arms, just lifts one perfect brow. “I know who he is.”

The words are flat, not rude, but certainly unimpressed. They shouldn’t make Jungkook grin like an idiot, but they do. He leans one shoulder against the wall, not invading, but close enough that he can smell vanilla and something faintly floral coming from Jimin. “You don’t look like you’re having fun, hotshot.”

Jimin’s gaze drags over him—the black t-shirt, brown hair, the tattoos—then back to his face. “Observant.”

Hoseok cackles. “See? Told you he’s fun.” Then he nudges Jimin like a parent embarrassed by his kid.

Jungkook’s mind races ahead, wondering what to do to keep them around a bit longer, spinning possibilities. Simple conversation won’t work, a drink won’t work—Jimin will brush him off in three seconds flat and disappear back into his introverted little world. No. Jungkook needs a reason to stay in his space. He needs an excuse to sit next to him, to ask him questions.

His eyes drift to the circle of people forming on the living-room floor—some of the guys, a few girls from the volleyball team, a couple of theater kids. Spin the bottle, Truth or dare, any game would be a perfect cover.

He straightens. “Yo! Who’s down for spin the bottle? No baby rules, no pussying out!”

Everyone cheers. Taehyung whoops all the way from the kitchen, while Seokjin starts herding people toward the rug like an enthusiastic sheepdog. Jungkook looks back at Jimin, giving him his most charming, trouble-making smile. “Come on, Jimin-ssi. One game. I’ll even let you sit next to me.”

Hoseok is already tugging Jimin forward while laughing. “Jiminie, you promised! One hour! This counts as fun!”

Jimin exhales through his nose, letting out the sound of pure suffering, but he doesn’t pull away. Those cat eyes meet Jungkook’s again—challenging, bored, with a tiny spark of something that might be curiosity buried deep beneath.

“Fine,” he agrees. “But if anyone tries to make me chug warm beer, I’m leaving.”

Jungkook’s chuckles, amused, and gestures toward the growing circle with a flourish. “Wouldn’t dream of asking, hotshot.”

He follows, unable to help the way his eyes lock on Jimin’s cute little ponytail or the way the oversized hoodie slips off one shoulder for half a second before Jimin tugs it back up.

Tiny hurricane, Jungkook’s brain supplies unhelpfully. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud as he drops down right after Jimin, claiming the spot he wants like it’s accidental. His knee brushes Jimin’s, and he can feel the warmth radiating through the pants.

Hoseok plops down on Jimin’s other side. “This is gonna be sooo fun! I’m telling you, Jiminie, you’ll thank me later.”

Jimin sighs, long and theatrical, pulling one knee up to rest his chin on it. “When I’m already regretting every life choice that led me here, Hobi hyung.”

Jungkook laughs under his breath, turning his head to look at Jimin’s profile. “Relax, hyung, it’s just a game. Worst case, you have to tell us your favorite color or something equally traumatizing.”

Jimin’s gaze slides sideways, unimpressed. “My favorite color is the shade of self-pity I’m currently experiencing.”

Taehyung, sitting across from them, points at Jungkook with his cup. “JK! You’re hosting, you spin first, captain!”

Jungkook grabs the empty soju bottle from the center. It spins, wobbles, and lands on one of the volleyball girls, Soojin. She grins, tipsy.

“Truth or dare?” Jungkook asks.

“Dare,” she chooses confidently, flipping her hair.

“Kiss the person to your left for ten seconds. No pecks.”

The circle whoops. Soojin leans over and plants one on the girl next to her, who goes bright red but kisses back politely. The timer on Yoongi’s phone beeps. Everyone claps.

Next spin lands on Seokjin. He picks the truth, gets asked the most embarrassing thing he’s done sober, and launches into a five-minute story about accidentally sending his mom a nude meant for a situationship last year. That makes everyone laugh, and even Jimin lets out a small, surprised huff of laughter.

Jungkook keeps the spins coming, steering them when no one’s looking, so he can warm Jimin up with questions. The bottle lands on Jimin the fourth time. Jungkook leans back on his hands, trying to look casual. “Truth or dare, hyung?”

Jimin eyes him, suspicious. “Truth. I’m not kissing any of you athletes tonight.”

The circle oohs. Hoseok elbows him. “Jiminie, be nice!”

“Alright. Favorite hookup story. Go.”

Jimin tilts his head. “I don’t have one.”

“Liar,” Jungkook teases. “Everyone has at least one disaster story.”

Jimin’s lips twitch. “Fine. Last year I made out with a guy in the library, but he came in his pants before I even got his belt open. Does that count?”

Taehyung slaps the floor. “Holy shit, angel!”

Jungkook’s throat tightens, because it’s easy to imagine that a guy would lose himself around someone like the blond-haired hurricane sitting next to him. He forces a laugh, but his eyes stay locked on Jimin. “That’s… tragically hot, hyung.”

Jimin shrugs, one shoulder rising under the hoodie. “Your turn to spin, captain.”

The game rolls on. Jungkook dares Yoongi to rap the national anthem in aegyo. Namjoon admits he’s never had a one-night stand, only long term relationships. Seokjin dares Taehyung to shotgun a beer while doing the worm.

Jungkook spins again, and it lands on Jimin again. He’s getting obvious and he doesn’t care.

“Truth,” Jimin picks before Jungkook can even ask.

The latter shifts closer, pressing his knee firmer against Jimin’s now. He’s asked Jimin four questions so far, and each time Jimin dodged or offered an answer that was unclear, which gives Jungkook a hunch. This time instead of asking for everyone to hear, he takes the opportunity to lean closer and ask quieter, while the rest are busy talking.

“How many people have you actually slept with, hotshot?”

Jimin doesn’t blush, just lifts an eyebrow, and answers in a voice dry as bone. “Depends on your definition of sleeping. If we're counting the guy who lasted forty-three seconds in the dance studio storage closet, then one. If we’re counting actual orgasms for both parties, then zero.”

Hoseok, who sits the closest to hear, coughs on his drink. “Jimin-ah!”

One more round turns into two, and the questions turn filthy. Someone asks Seokjin his body count, someone dares Taehyung to give three people, including Jungkook a lap dance. Jungkook endures it, laughing, but his eyes meet Jimin’s, who watches the whole thing with that same bored, cat-like expression.

Jungkook spins again, and the bottle lands on Jimin. “Truth or dare, hyung?” Jungkook asks, soft, almost intimate.

Jimin exhales through his nose. “Truth. Again. I’m not in the mood to entertain your ego tonight.”

Jungkook’s heart is pounding so loud he’s sure the whole room can hear it, even though nobody is even looking at them. He shifts until his lips are right beside Jimin’s ear, breath warm against blond strands. The vanilla scent is stronger up close. “Be honest, then. Are you a virgin?”

Jimin doesn’t react right away. He doesn’t pull away, just turns his head the tiniest bit, locking eyes with Jungkook. He doesn’t deny, doesn’t blush or stammer, but the silence stretches too long. The answer hangs between them, unmistakable.

Jungkook’s mouth goes dry. He brushes his lips against the shell of Jimin’s ear, barely there, as he whispers. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Jimin’s breath hitches slightly. If Jungkook wasn’t so close, he wouldn’t even notice. Then Jimin pulls back, and his face is blank once again. “Your turn to spin, captain.”

The game keeps going, but Jungkook can barely focus. By the time the bottle lands on himself, he comes up with the most looser idea. “Dare. But can I dare the circle instead?”

“Make it good,” Yoongi grumbles.

Jungkook’s eyes never leave Jimin’s. “I dare the person I want most in this circle… to kiss me. Right now.”

The circle starts clapping and cheering. Everyone knows who he means.

Jimin stares at him for three long seconds, cool and unimpressed, then he sighs like Jungkook is the most exhausting creature on the planet, uncurls from his spot, and crawls forward on his knees until they’re face to face.

“Fine,” he mumbles. “But only because you’re pathetic.” He grabs the front of Jungkook’s t-shirt, yanks him in, and kisses him.

It’s not a shy or sweet kiss. Jimin’s mouth is sure, tongue slides against Jungkook’s, as if he’s doing this only to give Jungkook a lesson. He bites Jungkook’s lower lip, then soothes it with a slow lick that makes Jungkook’s brain white out. One of Jimin’s hands fists in his hair, tugging hard enough to sting. The other slides down his chest, fingers brushing his sternum.

Jungkook groans into the kiss before he can stop himself. His hands come up to Jimin’s waist, pulling him closer, but Jimin is already pulling back. His thumb swipes over his own swollen bottom lip like he’s wiping away something insignificant.

Cheers and whistles explode around them. Taehyung screams, “GET IT!”. Jimin sits back down, fixes his hoodie, and looks at Jungkook with the same bored expression he wore in the corner an hour ago.

“Happy now, captain?”

Jungkook’s chest is heaving, lips tingling. He can taste fruit or whatever lip balm Jimin uses. He wants to drag him back in, wants to keep going until they’re both breathless and the whole party disappears, but Jimin turns to Hoseok. “I’m done with the game. Are you coming or staying?”

Hoseok blinks innocently. “Uh… staying?”

“Cool. See you later.”

Jimin stands and walks out of the circle without a backward glance. The crowd parts for him, and Jungkook follows him with his eyes, still feeling the ghost of that kiss burning on his mouth. When he looks away, he meets Taehyung’s gaze as the older whistles. “Bro. You are so fucked.”

Jungkook exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he mutters with his eyes still glued to the spot where Jimin disappeared in the crowd. “I guess I am.”

He lasts exactly five more minutes in the circle, watching some theater kid who has to do body shots off Seokjin’s abs.

Taehyung nudges him hard with an elbow. “Earth to JK. Your turn, captain.”

Jungkook forces a laugh, and spins the bottle without looking. It lands on Yoongi. Yoongi picks the truth. Jungkook barely hears it. He stands up abruptly. “I’m tapping out. Gotta check on the kegs or whatever.”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow, smiling like he knows exactly what’s happening. “Sure, bro. Kegs. Totally.”

Namjoon just gives him that gentle, knowing dimpled smile and says nothing, but Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows so hard it looks painful. Jungkook flips them off over his shoulder and walks into the crowd, looking for blond hair and a white hoodie.

He finds him near the staircase, half-hidden in the shadows. Jimin is leaning against the banister, sipping from a bottle of water like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. One AirPod found its way in his ear, arms crossed again, looking exactly like he did in the corner an hour ago—bored and perfect.

Jungkook’s stomach flips, and it’s weird. He hopes he’s not getting sick from the drinks.

He doesn’t hesitate as he slides right up, and plants one hand on the banister above Jimin’s head, caging him in without touching. Now that he's close, he can smell vanilla again, but he realizes that it’s mixed with the faint lavender of his hoodie, probably fabric softener.

“Running away so soon, hyung?”

Jimin tilts his head up. “The game got boring. Staring at people making out got repetitive.”

“That includes me?”

His lips twitch. “Especially you.”

Jungkook leans in closer, brushing the shell of Jimin’s ear with his lips the same way he did during the game. “You kissed me back pretty enthusiastically, hotshot. Don’t act like you hated it.”

Jimin exhales through his nose, but doesn’t pull away. “I was proving a point.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook’s free hand comes up to brush lightly over Jimin’s bottom lip, still slightly swollen from the kiss. “What point was that? That you’re better at it than me?”

Jimin’s eyes narrow, but there’s a warm, playful spark there now. “That you’re not as irresistible as you think you are, captain.”

Jungkook's pulse quickens. He’s both amused and excited. “If I’m not, then why are you still standing here?”

Jimin shrugs one shoulder, the motion making the hoodie slide off one shoulder again. “Hobi’s still playing. He’s my lift.”

“Liar. You liked kissing me. I felt that little hitch in your breath right before you bit my lip.”

Unhurriedly, Jimin's gaze travels down to Jungkook's lips, then back up. “I was just very curious what it would be like to shut you up.”

That’s exactly what he wanted to hear. Jungkook’s hand slides from the banister to the back of Jimin’s neck, pressing the finger gently into the soft skin there. “Then get curious again.”

This time, he just goes for it. He just dips his head and kisses Jimin, without holding back. He acts on impulse, his lips press against Jimin’s hungrily. Jimin makes a small sound in the back of his throat, surprised but not unwilling, and kisses back just as fierce. His mouth open, tongue slides against Jungkook’s like he’s trying to win an argument with it. One of Jimin’s hands fists in the front of his shirt again, the other moves up to grip his hair and tug.

They stumble sideways until Jimin’s back hits the wall under the stairs. Jungkook presses in closer, sliding one thigh between Jimin’s legs without thinking. The kiss becomes messy, breathless, accompanied by little nips, the wet sound of their tongues, the faint scrape of Jimin’s teeth when he catches Jungkook’s piercing between his lips. 

Jungkook’s hands roam, sneaking under the hem of Jimin’s hoodie to feel warm, smooth skin at his waist. Jimin shivers, arching just a fraction, and Jungkook groans into his mouth. “Fuck, hyung,” he pants, barely pulling back to speak. “You’re so—you’re such a good kisser.”

Jimin laughs right against his mouth. “As opposed to most virgins you’ve encountered?”

Jungkook winces slightly, because he realizes how condescending it might've sounded. He nips at Jimin’s jaw, then lower, sucking a mark right under the ear that makes the older boy’s breath stutter. “Keep talking like that and I’m dragging you upstairs right now.”

Jimin’s fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him back up for another kiss, this time deeper, slower, like he’s savoring the way Jungkook gives in and melts against him. “Big words, captain. I can feel you’re half-hard against my thigh.”

Jungkook’s hips jerk forward involuntarily. He buries a groan in Jimin’s neck. “You’re evil. Tiny tyrant.”

Jimin pulls back to look at him with dark eyes. “What did you just call me?” He pouts his lips, shiny and kiss-swollen.

Shit, Jungkook didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Nothing. Forget it. You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”

Jimin leans in, brushing the younger’s ear with lips. “Call me that again and I’ll make sure the next kiss is the last one you ever get.”

He brushes his lips across Jungkook's skin until their lips meet again, and he kisses Jungkook slowly, curling his tongue in a way that makes his knees weak. Their hands are everywhere now, Jimin’s slipping under Jungkook’s t-shirt, nails scraping lightly down his abs, Jungkook’s sliding up Jimin’s back under the hoodie, mapping every ridge of muscle and the delicate dip of his spine.

They’re both breathing hard when they finally break apart, pressing their foreheads together. The party feels miles away. “Upstairs?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin’s eyes look into his eyes for a long second, like he’s deciding if Jungkook is worth his time. Then he smirks. “Lead the way. But if you think this means I’m impressed, you’re wrong.”

Jungkook laughs, breathless and a little delirious, and grabs Jimin’s hand, lacing their fingers together before he can stop himself. Every few steps one of them stumbles, laughing into the other’s mouth because they can’t stop kissing long enough to watch where they’re going. Jimin’s back hits the wall on the second-floor landing, and Jungkook crowds in immediately, pressing him there with his hips, swallowing the soft sound Jimin makes when their bodies slot together.

“Fuck, hyung,” Jungkook breathes against his lips. “You taste so good. How do you taste this good?”

Jimin’s fingers twist in the hair at his nape, tugging hard. “Stop talking and keep moving, captain. Where is your room?”

Jungkook groans, nipping at Jimin’s bottom lip. “Bossy. I like it.”

They finally make it to his door—Jungkook fumbles the handle twice because Jimin’s mouth is on his neck, sucking a mark just above his collarbone that’s definitely going to show tomorrow. The second the door shuts behind them, the party dulls to a distant thump. Jungkook spins them, pressing Jimin’s back against the wood, palms slide under the hoodie, pushing it up, mapping the smooth planes of the older’s stomach, the curve of his waist, the delicate dip of his ribs.

Jimin shivers, arches into the touch, and yanks Jungkook’s T-shirt up. “Off,” he mutters against his mouth, tugging at the hem. “All of it.”

Jungkook laughs breathlessly, breaking the kiss only long enough to rip the shirt over his head. The second it’s gone Jimin’s hands are on him, tracing his stomach and the swimmer’s V that disappears into his sweats, then up, brushing over his nipples with thumbs until Jungkook hisses.

“Shit—hyung—”

Jimin’s eyes are dark when he looks up, hair slightly messed up. “Those abs are a nice addition to your pretty face. You look cute so worked up because of one kiss.”

“One kiss?” Jungkook gasps, sliding one thigh between Jimin’s legs again. “The thought of you has been driving me insane for a while.”

“Thirty minutes?”

“Since the night I saw you swimming at the pool at night.”

Jimin stills for half a second, surprise flickering across his face. “You’ve been watching me?”

“Accidentially.” Jungkook dips his head, mouthing along his jaw and down the column of his throat to hide his own embarrassment. “To my defense, it’s my kingdom, and you looked really mesmerizing.”

Jimin’s breath hitches. His hands slide up the younger’s bare back. “Stalker.”

“Guilty.” Jungkook sucks a mark right where Jimin’s neck meets his shoulder, then soothes it with his tongue.

Jimin laughs. And then suddenly he pushes off the door, reversing their positions so Jungkook’s back hits the wood instead. Before Jungkook can say anything, he drops to his knees and mouths at the hard line of Jungkook’s cock through his sweats.

“Hyung—fuck—”

Jimin looks up at him through his lashes, blond strands falling into his eyes, and grins. “Still talking?”

He tugs the waistband down to free Jungkook’s cock, already leaking and flushed dark. The first swipe of Jimin’s tongue over the head makes the swimmer’s head thunk back against the door. “Oh my god—”

Jimin hums, taking him deeper, stretching those pretty, full lips around him. There’s no shyness in him, contrary to what Jungkook expected. At the same time it makes total sense for someone with such a sharp tongue.

His hand flies to Jimin’s ponytail, threading through the blond strands with his fingers but not pushing, just holding on because the floor feels like it’s tilting.

“Shit, hyung… you’re so—how are you this good? You said—fuck—you said you’ve barely done anything.”

Jimin pulls off with a wet pop. His eyes glitter with pure mischief. “I said I haven’t been fucked. Not that I haven’t practiced other things.” He licks a slow stripe up the underside of Jungkook’s length, then sucks the head back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks.

“You’re gonna kill me. You really are a tiny—fuck—tiny hurricane.”

He pulls off again, stroking slowly and tightly with one hand. “Call me that one more time and I will stop.”

“Sorry, sorry. Please. Don’t stop.”

Jimin’s smirk softens for a second, then he takes Jungkook back in, deeper this time, until his nose brushes the dark hair at the base. The wet sounds, the way Jimin’s throat flutters around him is too much, and Jungkook’s hips twitch, even though he’s trying so hard to stay still.

“Jimin—hyung—fuck, I’m close already—”

Jimin pulls off with a filthy sound, stands up, and kisses him again, letting Jungkook taste himself on his tongue. “On the bed,” he pants.

They stumble across the room, shedding the rest of their clothes in a messy trail. They throw Jimin’s hoodie on the floor, then his pants and Jungkook’s sweats somewhere near the desk. They fall onto the bed and Jungkook rolls them so he’s on top, kissing Jimin again, cupping his ass, tracing the line of his spine, before brushing over his nipples until Jimin arches and gasps.

He slows down.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against Jimin’s collarbone. “So fucking beautiful, hyung. Can’t believe no one’s had you yet. You’re this alluring and no one’s fucked you? How is that even possible?”

Jimin’s fingers dig into his shoulders. His voice is breathy but still edged with sarcasm. “I was waiting for someone who isn’t all talk. Still am.”

Slowly, Jungkook slides his hand between them, brushing the inside of Jimin’s thigh, hesitating. The kisses turn softer, he keeps his touch light.

Jimin pulls back, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing?”

Jungkook swallows, trying to keep his voice gentle. “We don’t have to… you know. Not tonight. We can just… make out, touch. Whatever you want. I don’t want to rush you if—” He hesitates.

Jimin stares at him for a long second, dumbfounded, then snorts, not amused. “If I wasn’t a virgin, would you still be hesitating like this?”

Jungkook’s mouth opens, then closes. “No… I wouldn’t.”

The older’s laugh is bitter. “Exactly. So it’s not about me, it’s about this stupid idea in your head that virginity makes me some kind of special case? That’s idiotic. And childish.”

“Hey—” Jungkook tries to argue, propping himself up on his elbows. “I’m trying to be respectful. I don’t want you to regret anything tomorrow.”

Jimin rolls his eyes “Respectful? You’re treating me like I’m some fragile doll because I haven’t let anyone stick their dick in me yet. Newsflash, captain. I’ve sucked dick, I’ve been fingered, I’ve made myself come thinking about things that would make your golden-boy brain steam. Virginity isn’t a personality trait, it’s just a technicality.”

“I—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

“You just what?” He cuts in, sitting up and pushing Jungkook off him so he can swing his legs over the side of the bed. “You just decided that because I’m a virgin I need you to be all slow and noble? That’s not respect, that’s you making my body about your ego.”

Jungkook sits up too, hair a mess “I’m not—fuck, hyung, I’m not trying to make it about me. I just… I like you. And I don’t want to be the asshole who takes something you can’t get back.”

Jimin sighs and stands, completely naked and somehow still radiating authority. He grabs his hoodie from the floor and pulls it over his head, letting the fabric fall to his thighs. “Men are so fucking dramatic about virginity. Like it’s some sacred treasure instead of just… not having done one specific thing yet. If you weren’t such a stiff, you’d already be fucking me.”

Jungkook’s jaw actually drops. “Excuse—excuse you? Stiff??”

No one has ever called him stiff. Ever. He’s Jeon Jungkook, the center of every party! His mouth opens and closes twice before anything comes out. “I am not stiff! I’m literally the opposite of stiff. I’m fun. I’m spontaneous. I throw the best parties on campus—”

Jimin laughs right in his face, merciless, as he steps into his cargo pants. “You’re stiff right now, standing there looking like a kicked puppy because I called you out. Cute.”

Jungkook scrambles off the bed, naked, gesturing wildly. “I’m trying to be a good guy here! You’re twisting everything I say!”

“And you’re proving my point with every word.” Jimin zips his pants. His ponytail is a total mess, barely holding on at this point, lips still swollen from kissing. He looks unfairly hot. “If you were actually creative, you’d know there are plenty of ways to have sex that don’t involve penetrating as well. But apparently the great Jeon Jungkook can only think in one straight line.”

Jungkook swallows hard, feeling his throat dry. He’s impressed. Embarrassed. So fucking horny he can barely think straight. His cock is hard between his legs, traitorously interested in every humiliating word coming out of Jimin’s mouth, and twitching like it hasn’t gotten the memo that the show is over.

Except Jimin grabs his sneakers and heads for the door. He pauses with his hand on the knob, looking back over his shoulder. “Think about it, cap. Maybe next time you won’t be so… stiff.”

The door closes behind him. Stunned, Jungkook stands in the middle of his room, staring at the empty space where Jimin just was. His brain is spinning and his body is on fire.

He’s so screwed.

He stares down at the bed. His shirt is draped over the desk lamp like a sad flag of surrender.

How the fuck did he get here?

Thirty minutes ago he was the king of the party, feeling like the luckiest bastard alive because the quiet blond had finally looked at him with something other than boredom. Now he’s standing here alone, verbally demolished by the same guy whose tongue had been down his throat five minutes earlier.

Jungkook runs both hands through his hair, tugging hard enough that it stings. “Fuck,” he mutters to the empty room.

He honestly hadn’t been thinking about sex when he dragged Jimin upstairs… Okay, fine, he had been thinking about it. It’s impossible not to. But Jungkook hadn’t planned it. In his head the night was supposed to go like this—they’d make out, hands would wander, Jimin would get shy or nervous or overwhelmed because he’s a virgin, and then Jungkook would be the perfect gentleman and slow everything down. Maybe they’d just kiss and touch and fall asleep tangled up. That had made sense. That was what good guys did.

Except Jimin is not shy and it took Jungkook completely aback. Everything had happened so fast. One second they were stumbling through the door, the next Jimin was sucking him, and Jungkook’s brain had been somewhere between “holy fuck” and “I think I’m in love.”

Then he opened his stupid mouth.

He groans, dropping face-first onto the bed, smothering his cheek in the pillow that still smells like Jimin’s hair. The fabric muffles his voice as he talks to no one. “I was trying to be nice,” he mumbles. “I thought I was being respectful.”

But even as the words leave his mouth, he hears how they sound. Stereotypical, condescending, like he’d decided Jimin’s virginity was this huge, fragile thing that needed protecting instead of just… a fact. Something that clearly didn’t matter one bit to the guy who’d just called him out to his face and walked out laughing.

Jungkook rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. His chest feels tight in a way that has everything to do with the way Jimin laughed right in Jungkook’s face when Jungkook tried to defend himself. It should have been mortifying. It was mortifying. But it was also kinda hot.

They’re perfect for each other—some unhelpful corner of his brain supplies. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars. “I should’ve just kept my stupid mouth shut,” he whispers.

He should’ve let Jimin lead. Should’ve shown him that he could keep up, that he wasn’t some idiot who thought virginity equaled innocence. Because Jimin is clearly not innocent.

Tomorrow. He’ll fix it tomorrow. He’ll find Jimin on campus and he’ll apologize. He’ll tell him the truth, that Jungkook wants him, that the virgin thing threw him for a loop because he actually likes Jimin, more than he expected to after one stupid game of spin the bottle, and he panicked like an idiot.

Either way, he’s not letting this end with Jimin walking out thinking Jeon Jungkook is stiff. Because he isn’t. And he’s going to prove it.

The next day Jungkook wakes up with one crystal clear thought. He is going to beg for another chance, even if it means offering pathetic, I-want-you-so-bad-it-hurts honesty. He rolls out of bed with hair sticking up in every direction, and immediately texts the group chat.

has anyone seen hoseok hyung this morning? i need to ask him something

Taehyung replies with a string of eggplant emojis and a single “good luck bro”. Seokjin sends a thumbs up and the words “don’t die”. Jungkook ignores them both and heads straight for the kitchen. To his immense surprise, Hoseok is there, his orange hair bright under the morning light, almost blinding Jungkook, while he steals Seokjin’s leftover pancakes.

Perfect.

“Hyung!” Jungkook slides onto the stool across from him, giving him the brightest, most innocent smile he can manage. “Morning. You look great. Love the hair. Super vibrant.”

Hoseok squints at him over a pancake. “You want something. Spill.”

Jungkook leans forward, trying to look earnest instead of desperate. “Okay, straight up. I really like Jimin. Like… a lot. I messed up last night and I need to apologize. Where can I find him? Please tell me.”

Hoseok’s entire face lights up like Jungkook just handed him front row tickets to a Bad Bunny concert. “Oh my god, you’re whipped already? This is adorable.” He sets the fork down, excited. “Jiminie spends his free period at Honeybun Café every Tuesday and Thursday. It’s that little one behind the arts building. He always sits in the back corner with a honey latte and whatever ridiculously sweet dessert they have that day. He usually reads or watches dance videos on his phone. He’ll be there in like—” He checks his phone. “Twenty minutes.”

Jungkook’s heart does a full gymnastics routine in his chest. “You’re the best hyung on campus. I owe you.”

“If you hurt him, I will break your pretty swimmer legs. Have fun!”

He is out the door in record time, only throwing a black hoodie over his clothes, hair still a mess, but he doesn’t care. He walks across campus, feeling his stomach flipping the entire way.

The Honeybun Café is small, warm, and smells like sugar and fresh bread. He spots Jimin immediately in the back corner booth. His blond ponytail is slightly neater today, oversized hoodie beige, paired wide-leg black pants. He’s spooning something that looks like strawberry cheesecake into his mouth while scrolling on his phone, airpods in, completely in his own world. A half-drunk honey latte stands beside his elbow.

Jungkook’s mouth goes dry. He orders a plain iced americano at the counter, mostly for courage, then walks straight over. He slides into the seat across from Jimin without waiting for an invitation.

Jimin’s eyes flick up, one eyebrow rises. He pulls one airpod out. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Hi, hyung,” Jungkook greets him in a voice softer than usual. “Can I sit? Please?”

“You’re already sitting.” Jimin takes another bite of cheesecake, unimpressed. “Make it quick. I have a paper due at three.”

Jungkook sets his coffee down, leans forward, and starts before his nerves can talk him out of it.

“I was an idiot last night. I panicked. I thought I was being respectful, but I was actually being a condescending asshole. I kept thinking about you being a virgin like it was this big thing, and I should’ve just shut up and let you lead because clearly you know what you want. I’m sorry—really sorry. I like you, Jimin. A lot. More than I expected after one stupid game of spin the bottle. I want another chance. Please.”

The older stares at him for a long second, spoon paused halfway to his mouth. Finally, he snorts, sets the spoon down, and leans back.

“Wow. That was… almost decent. Still sounded like a rehearsed apology speech, but points for effort.”

“I practiced it in the mirror this morning.” Jungkook winces.

Jimin’s lips twitch. “Cute.” He takes another bite, then adds casually, “You probably suck in bed anyway. All that golden retriever energy and no follow through.”

Jungkook’s jaw drops in genuine offense. “Excuse me? I do not suck in bed.”

Jimin shrugs, licking cream off his thumb. “Prove it.”

The words hang between them for a moment long enough for Jungkook to get a grip over himself, because he’s staring at Jimin’s lips. And tongue.

“Okay. Let’s make a deal.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow. He’s curious despite himself. “I’m listening.”

“Let me prove I’m not stiff, not an idiot, and actually really fucking good at this. In exchange… I’ll help you gain experience. Whatever you want—kissing, touching, oral, fingering, toys, whatever you’re curious about. I will even shut up and I won’t treat you like a doll or whatever. Mutual benefit.”

Jimin blinks. For the first time all morning, he actually looks surprised. He sets the spoon down slowly, considering. Jungkook’s heart is hammering so hard he’s sure the whole café can hear it.

Then, Jimin waves a hand, dismissive. “Nah. I wouldn’t last five minutes in the same room with you without wanting to strangle you.”

Jungkook grins, unable to help himself. “Come on, my sweet. You lasted way longer than five minutes last night and you seemed to enjoy it.”

Jimin’s cheeks actually flush the tiniest bit at the new nickname. He glances down at the half-eaten strawberry cheesecake, then back up. “Why are you calling me that?”

“Because you’re eating the sweetest thing on the menu and I bet that you still somehow taste sweeter.”

At that, he rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth is clearly fighting a smile. “What do you get out of this deal, captain? Be honest.”

Jungkook doesn’t even hesitate. “You. I get you. I want you, Jimin. I’ve got selfish motives, I admit it.”

Jimin studies him for a long, quiet moment. Eventually, he sighs, picks up his spoon again, and takes another bite of cheesecake like he’s deciding the fate of nations. “Fine,” he says finally. “One trial run. Tonight. At your place. But we need to set rules first. I’m not walking into this blind.”

Jungkook’s whole face lights up like it’s Christmas. He has to grip the edge of the table to stop himself from throwing his fist in the air. “Tonight. Yes. Absolutely. I’ll cook dinner. Or order. Whatever you want. Thank you. Thank you, hyung.”

Jimin points the spoon at him. “Don’t thank me yet. I might still murder you before midnight.”

Jungkook laughs, relieved and stupidly happy. “I’ll take my chances, my sweet.”

Jimin rolls his eyes again, but this time the smile actually wins. He pops the last bite of cheesecake into his mouth, licks the spoon clean, and stands up, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

“Eight o’clock, captain.”

He walks out without looking back.

And just like that, since four o'clock Jungkook has been a bundle of nerves—the good ones though. He showered, changed his sheets, lit the one vanilla candle he found at the house because it reminds him of Jimin, then immediately blew it out because it felt too try-hard. He opted for simple black jeans and a white shirt that shows off his shoulders and arms. He looks casual, like he’s totally cool, without being sloppy.

He keeps checking his phone. 7:58. 7:59. Every second feels like an hour. When the knock finally comes, quiet, almost hesitant, Jungkook practically launches himself at the door.

Jimin is standing awkwardly, wearing the same outfit as before, as if he didn’t have the same crisis as Jungkook prior to coming here, only his blond ponytail is a little messier now. And he looks… uncomfortable, eyes darting left and right as three of Jungkook’s teammates loiter in the hallway, openly staring.

Taehyung whistles. “Damn, JK. You really managed to pull—”

Seokjin elbows him hard. “Didn’t know you had taste that good.”

Jimin’s shoulders curl inward and cheeks tint the faintest pink. He clearly hates attention. Jungkook can see it in the way he tucks his chin, tightening his fingers on the strap of his bag.

He chuckles and reaches out to grab Jimin’s wrist. “Alright, show’s over, assholes. Go stare at someone else.” He tugs Jimin inside, shuts the door with his foot, and leans back against it, smiling like an idiot. “Hi, my sweet.”

Jimin exhales, rolling his eyes as he drops his bag by the desk. “I hate when people stare at me.”

“I know. Sorry. They’re idiots.” Jungkook pushes off the door, reaching for him. “I ordered Thai. Figured we could—”

“No dinner,” Jimin breaks him off, waving a hand. He kicks off his shoes and climbs onto the bed, sitting against the headboard. “This isn’t a date, captain. It’s a lesson, and lessons don’t come with pad thai.”

Jungkook pouts but doesn’t argue. Instead he flops down on his stomach across the foot of the bed, propping his chin on his folded arms so he can watch Jimin. The position puts him eye-level with Jimin’s thighs, a dangerous territory.

“Fine. No dinner, only rules. Hit me.”

He stares as Jimin pulls out his phone, opens a note app, and starts reading in that calm, matter-of-fact voice that should not be as hot as it is.

“Rule one: no sleeping with anyone else while this deal is active. I don’t share, even if it’s just casual.”

“Obviously,” Jungkook agrees immediately. “I don’t want anyone else right now anyway.”

Jimin glances at him, raising one brow, then continues. “Rule two: we stop the second either of us says red. Yellow for slow down. No negotiating after the word is said.”

“Standard. Got it.”

“Rule three: no filming, no pictures, no screenshots of anything we say or do. I don’t need my face on some frat group chat.”

Jungkook nods, serious. “Never. I swear.”

Jimin keeps going, ticking things off like he’s reading a grocery list. “No calling me ‘baby’ in public, no bragging to your teammates, no treating me like I’m your secret side piece. And—” he pauses, and his lips twitch, “—if you ever pull that noble-virgin-shit again, I will walk out and the deal will be dead.”

Jungkook laughs softly. “Noted. Anything else?”

Jimin scrolls down, then snorts. “Yeah. I read somewhere that playboys like you have a whole roster and never sleep in the same bed twice. So rule: you sleep here with me after and no kicking me out at 3 a.m. like some fuckboy stereotype.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up. “You… read that somewhere?”

“Filthy romance books,” Jimin says without a single hint of embarrassment, as if he’s commenting on the weather. “The ones with the billionaire CEO who has a different girl every night but suddenly falls for the innocent girl. Except in real life the innocent girl is me and the billionaire is a frat swim captain who can’t even handle being called stiff.”

“You read dirty books?!”

“Mhm.” Jimin doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Very dirty ones. With detailed scenes that last ten pages. I highlight the good parts.”

Jungkook makes a strangled noise and sits up so fast he almost falls off the bed. “Hyung, please, tell me more. What kind? Enemies to lovers? Those teacher/student? I need titles, authors and chapter numbers.”

Jimin finally looks at him, completely deadpan. “No. You don’t get my book recs yet. That’s level three stuff.”

Jungkook whines.

“What? Do you want dirty talk practice? Fine.” Before he can respond, Jimin sets the phone down, and says in the most calm, conversational tone possible, “I bet you jerk off thinking about me calling you a desperate little slut who can’t even last five minutes once I let you inside me. You’d probably come the second I spread my legs, wouldn’t you, captain? Pathetic.”

Jungkook’s mouth falls open. His dick twitches so hard in his sweats it’s embarrassing.

Jimin just blinks at him, innocent as anything. “Too much? I can tone it down.”

“No,” the younger croaks. “No, that was—fuck. You don’t even sound like you’re trying. I almost came in my pants.”

Jimin shrugs. “I read a lot. Words are easy.” The implication is obvious. Words are easy for me and not you, stupid jock.

Jungkook can’t take it anymore. He crawls up the bed, grabs Jimin’s face with both hands, and kisses him, hungry and a little desperate. Jimin makes a soft surprised sound, but kisses back for three glorious seconds before he plants a hand on Jungkook’s chest and pushes him back.

“Rule four,” he says, breathing a little faster “No sex. At all.”

Jungkook groans, dropping his forehead to Jimin’s shoulder. “Hyung, that’s not fair. You can’t say shit like that and then say no sex. It doesn’t make sense.”

Jimin pats his head like he’s a sad puppy. “You lost the huge noble privilege of taking my virginity the second you got all stiff and respectful last night. That’s what you get for hesitating.”

Jungkook lifts his head, genuinely humbled. “I deserve that. I’m sorry.”

Jimin stares at him. Suddenly, he snorts loudly, and his shoulders’ shaking with laughter. “I was joking, you idiot.”

“What?”

“I was joking about the no-sex rule. I just wanted to see your face. You looked so tragically noble for a second there.”

Jungkook’s jaw drops. He grabs a pillow and smacks Jimin with it gently, and Jimin laughs harder, dodging and curling into a ball on the bed.

“You’re evil,” the younger whines, flopping down beside him. “You’re actually evil. Tiny tyrant. I can’t believe I like you this much.”

“That’s great, because you know what? Lesson one starts now.” He reaches over, grabs the front of Jungkook’s shirt and tugs him close until their noses brush. “Kiss me properly this time, captain. And don’t you dare hold back this time.”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice.

He loses track of time the second Jimin’s fingers twist in his shirt and pull him down. They kiss slowly at first, laughing occasionally when one of them has to breathe. Jimin is so nonchalant about it, like making out with Jeon Jungkook is just another Tuesday activity, and that somehow makes it ten times hotter.

Jungkook ends up on his back with Jimin straddling his waist, and pushes the older’s hoodie up to his ribs. Every time Jungkook tries to speed up, Jimin slows him right back down with a calm little sound against his mouth. It’s driving him insane in the best way. Chest heaving, eventually Jungkook has to pull back, noticing the way loose strands escape the blond ponytail.

“Hyung… what do you want tonight? Tell me, we can do anything. I can finger you, use my mouth, let you ride my thigh, whatever you’re curious about. Just say it.”

Jimin sits back, tilting his head like he’s considering the lunch menu. “I’m not sure. What would you recommend?”

Jungkook laughs, but the sound turns into a moan because Jimin rolls his hips. “You’re so fucking casual about this. It’s killing me.”

Jimin shrugs, the movement making the hoodie slip off one shoulder. “I read a lot. I know the options. I just haven’t tried most of them on a real person.” He pauses, then adds, completely deadpan, “So… recommendations, captain?”

Jungkook’s head thumps back against the pillow. “I’m going to marry you someday just so I can keep hearing you talk like that.” He earns a slap to the forehead.

“Focus.”

“Okay. Okay.” He runs his hands up Jimin’s thighs, stroking. “Have you ever been eaten out?”

Jimin blinks. “No. The only things I’ve done are suck a couple of guys off. That’s it.”

Jungkook’s grip tightens. “They didn’t deserve it if they didn’t give anything back. Idiots.”

“So you’re volunteering?”

“Volunteering? Hyung, I want you to sit on my face. Right now. Use me. I want to eat you until I remember your taste in my dreams.”

Jimin shrugs. “Alright.”

Jungkook laughs, sliding lower. Jimin kicks off his pants and underwear, then lets the younger guide him up, until his knees are bracketing Jungkook’s head. The second Jimin lowers himself, Jungkook wraps his fingers around his thighs, holding him in place.

The first slow lick has Jimin’s hips jerking. The second has him gasping. “Oh—fuck…”

Jungkook groans against him. He takes his time, licking in long, flat strokes of his tongue, circling, sucking, learning exactly what makes those pretty little moans escape. Jimin isn’t loud, but he’s vocal in the best way. He lets out soft gasps, breathy curses, little murmurs of “there—right there—Jungkook—” that go straight to Jungkook’s cock.

Jungkook holds him open, spreading him wider with his thumbs, tongue fucking into him in shallow thrusts until Jimin’s thighs start to shake.

“Shit—your mouth—ngh—feels so good—”

Jungkook hums, sucking on his rim, then slides one hand up to wrap around Jimin’s cock, stroking in time with his tongue. A broken moan tears from Jimin’s throat as he comes, clamping his thighs around Jungkook’s ears, his hips stuttering.

Jungkook works him through it with gentle licks and soft strokes of his greedy tongue, until Jimin is trembling and pushing weakly at his head. When the dancer finally slides off and collapses beside him, he’s flushed pink from chest to cheeks, and his lips part as he breathes heavily. His hoodie is rucked up, hair a complete disaster, and he looks so fucking pretty Jungkook’s chest aches.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling up at the ceiling like an idiot. “Review, please.”

Jimin exhales and lets out a shaky laugh, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Solid eight point five. Good technique, enthusiasm: ten. Needed more fingers next time. Also you moan like a porn star when you eat ass, which is both hot and hilarious.”

Jungkook bursts out laughing, rolling onto his side to face him. “I’ll take the eight point five. I can work with feedback.”

They lie there for a minute, until their breathing syncs. Jimin’s hand finds Jungkook’s wrist, loosely circling his fingers around it. “You don’t want me to do anything for you?” he asks, soft but direct.

Jungkook shakes his head, turning to press a kiss to his bare shoulder. “Nope. I owed you that much after last night. Consider it an apology orgasm.”

Jimin snorts. “You’re right. You did owe me.”

Jungkook laughs again, helpless, and pulls Jimin closer so the older boy’s head rests on his chest. They’re quiet for a bit, with their limbs tangled and Jungkook’s fingers idly playing with the ends of Jimin’s messy ponytail.

Then Jimin lifts his head and his eyes sparkle with mischief. “Did you jerk off last night after I left?”

Jungkook coughs, taken aback, then starts chuckling all over again at how blunt the question is. “Yeah, immediately. I dedicated the whole thing to you, hyung, called your name and everything.”

“Good boy.”

Jungkook groans, hiding his flustered face in Jimin’s neck. “You’re going to kill me before we even get to lesson two.”

Content, Jimin settles back against his chest. “Maybe that eight point five can become a nine next time.”

Jungkook presses a kiss to the top of his head, heart stupidly full. “Deal, my sweet. Anything you want.”

When he walks out of the aquatic center the next afternoon, he is still feeling giddy from the last night spent with Jimin. Even the late afternoon sun feels good on his skin, even though normally it blinds and annoys him. On his way home he cuts through the little side street behind the arts building, lined with tiny restaurants and cafés, because it’s faster than the main quad, and pauses.

Through the big front window of a small Korean-fusion place called Seoul Spoon, Jimin is sitting alone in a booth. His blond ponytail is messy as always. His oversized hoodie sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and he’s poking at a plate of tteokbokki with chopsticks, completely unaware of the world.

Jungkook’s heart does that stupid flip again. Fate, he thinks immediately. No other explanation. He doesn’t even hesitate, he just pushes the door open. He walks straight to the booth, reaches out, and catches the end of that little ponytail between two fingers, giving it the gentlest tug. The blond strands sip through his hand, and maybe he’s a little obsessed with it. Okay, a lot obsessed.

Jimin startles, snapping his head up. He pulls one airpod out.

“Hi, my sweet,” Jungkook greets, claiming the seat across from him with a grin that’s way too wide for someone who just got out of three hours of practice.

Jimin blinks, then narrows his eyes, but his mouth is clearly fighting a smile. “You’re stalking me now? I thought we agreed on scheduled lessons.”

“Not stalking, just fate. I was walking home and there you were, like the universe wanted me to steal some of your food.”

Jimin snorts and pushes the plate a few inches toward him. “Help yourself, thief.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait and immediately steals a piece of tteokbokki, chews, and makes an exaggerated happy sound. “Holy shit, this is good. Spicy. I love it.”

While they wait for the waitress to come take Jungkook’s order—he gets the same tteokbokki plus a bowl of kimchi jjigae—he keeps stealing little bites when Jimin isn’t looking, then bigger ones when Jimin pretends to glare.

The latter finally sighs, resting his chin on his hand. “That’s going to cost you, captain.”

Jungkook licks sauce off his thumb. “I’ll pay you back in nature. Tonight.”

Jimin’s lips twitch. “Can’t tonight. I have a group project meeting until ten.”

The swimmer’s shoulders drop a fraction before he catches himself. He knows they can’t see each other every single day—Jimin has a life, dance rehearsals, papers—but he still feels disappointment.

“Tomorrow?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light.

Jimin nods, stealing one of Jungkook’s chopsticks to poke at the new plate when it arrives. “Tomorrow works. After eight.”

“Perfect.” Jungkook relaxes again, digging into his own food.

They end up complaining about how the tteokbokki here is better than the place near campus, then moving to other foods they both love. Jungkook admits he’s obsessed with anything spicy, Jimin confesses he has a secret weakness for overly sweet desserts and will fight anyone who says mango sticky rice isn’t a main course.

Somewhere between the second helping of rice and Jimin stealing half of Jungkook’s jjigae, Jungkook steers the conversation, hoping to know more about the person in front of him. “So… what’s your favorite thing to do when you’re not in the studio or hiding in cafés pretending not to notice the entire campus staring at you?”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “I notice. I just choose violence in my head instead of out loud.”

Jungkook laughs. “Fair. But seriously. What makes Park Jimin happy?”

The older stirs his spoon slowly, thinking. “Late night solo practice when the studio’s empty. The moonlight at 2 a.m. Reading in bed until I fall asleep with the book on my face. And…” he glances up, almost shy for half a second, “swimming alone at night. When no one’s there to watch.”

Jungkook’s chest tightens. He remembers that night he saw Jimin for the first time so clearly. “That’s why I noticed you. You looked very hypnotizing when swimming.”

Jimin’s cheeks color the tiniest bit. He covers it by stealing a piece of tteokbokki from Jungkook’s plate. “Stop being smooth. It’s suspicious.”

“I’m not, I’m just honest.” Jungkook leans back, watching him with open fascination. “What’s your biggest fear? Not the normal one, like spiders or whatever.”

Jimin considers for a long moment. “That one day I’ll wake up and realize I spent my whole life trying to be invisible and I missed everything worth seeing.”

Oh. Jungkook doesn’t joke this time, his chest squeezes. He opens his mouth to say something comforting, but Jimin’s lips twitch. Then he snorts, and his soft expression turns into pure mischief.

“Kidding. That was my deep interview answer for when people expect me to be tragic. My actual fear is running out of good fanfics.”

Jungkook blinks, then chuckles, taken aback. “You asshole.” He points his chopstick threateningly at the older man who just shrugs, stealing rice cake from his plate.

“I have JOMO—joy of missing out. I like being invisible. I like my quiet corner and my books and my empty studio at midnight. It’s not a fear, it’s a choice. I’m very good at it.”

“I believe you. That’s the most Park Jimin thing I’ve ever heard.”

He shakes his head as they keep eating. He asks Jimin a few more light questions—favorite color (black, but only because it hides stains), dream vacation (a tiny cabin in the mountains with no Wi-Fi), whether he’d rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses (the horse-sized duck, obviously, because at least it’s one problem).

Then Jimin spins the table on him.

“Okay, my turn. Tell me the truth about all the playboy stereotypes. The roster, the never-sleeping-in-the-same-bed-twice, the ‘I only do one-night stands’ thing. How much of it is real?”

Jungkook groans, covering his face with both hands. “Ugh. Mostly fake. I mean… I’ve had my fun, yeah. But I don’t have some secret spreadsheet of conquests. I’ve slept in the same bed plenty of times. I even cuddle. The guys just exaggerate because it makes better stories at parties.”

Jimin’s chopsticks pause. He looks genuinely disappointed. “So the whole untamable fuckboy who leaves before sunrise thing is… bullshit?”

“Pretty much. Reality is usually boring. I fall asleep watching Netflix like a normal person. Sometimes I even make the other person breakfast.”

Jimin leans back, sighing dramatically. “I was hoping for at least one dramatic exit story.”

“That’s why you read filthy books, right?” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows. “All the drama without the morning-after awkwardness.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow, but the corner of his mouth lifts. “Exactly. Filthy books never disappoint.”

The younger perks up instantly, leaning across the table. “Come on, hyung, just one title. One scene. One line. I’m begging. I’ll trade you my entire swimming schedule.”

“Nope.” Jimin pops a rice cake into his mouth, calm as ever. “You’re still on level one. Books are level four. Maybe five.”

Jungkook slumps back with an exaggerated whine. “Cruel. You’re actually cruel.”

Jimin laughs under his breath, then tilts his head, studying Jungkook with new interest. “Alright, real question.” He rests his chin on his hand. “What’s something you’re embarrassed that you’re good at?”

Jungkook thinks for a second, then admits, “I’m weirdly good at folding fitted sheets. Like perfect hospital corners kinda good. My mom taught me when I was ten and I’ve never told anyone because the guys would never let me live it down.”

“That’s adorable. Next, what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done to impress someone?”

“Last year I tried to do a backflip off the frat roof into the pool to impress one guy from the soccer team. I landed on my face and had a black eye for two weeks. He still brings it up.”

Jimin is giggling now, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “I would pay money to see a video of that.”

“There is no video, I made sure of it. Now, your turn to answer one. What’s the filthiest line you’ve ever highlighted in one of those books?”

He raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “Nice try, captain. Still level four.”

Jungkook groans, but he’s smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. He reaches across the table, letting his fingers brush the back of Jimin’s hand. “Fine. Keep your secrets, my sweet. But I’m getting to level four eventually. Just you wait.”

Jimin doesn’t pull his hand away, just looks at Jungkook with that calm, cat-like stare and the tiniest smirk playing on his lips. “We’ll see,” he says softly.

They stay until outside the window the sun is starting to set, painting the booth in warm orange light. Jungkook feels like he could sit here forever, stealing food, trading stupid questions, watching the way Jimin’s strands escape loose out of his ponytail a little more every time he laughs, and tomorrow suddenly doesn’t feel that far away after all.

Jungkook is waiting at the front door at 7:58 p.m. exactly. The second he spots Jimin walking up the path, he pushes off the doorframe and jogs down the three steps to meet him.

“Hey, my sweet.”

Jimin’s shoulders relax a little when he sees Jungkook already there. “You didn’t have to stand guard.” He lifts one eyebrow, amused.

“I remember that you didn’t like how the guys stared last time.” Jungkook reaches out, gently takes his hand, and tugs him inside. “Come on, I’ll walk you through the minefield.”

The house is, predictably, full, because a couple of the swim team guys are on the couch playing FIFA, while Taehyung is raiding the fridge in nothing but boxers.

“Who ate my protein pancakes?” Seokjin yells from the kitchen as they pass by.

Every head turns, but Jungkook shoulder-checks the nearest teammate out of the way, and calls out in his loudest captain voice, “Eyes on your own screens or I’m benching all of you tomorrow!”

They get a few laughs and a whistle from Taehyung that Jungkook flips off without looking, but obediently, nobody is staring, and then they’re past the living room and up the stairs. The second Jungkook’s bedroom door shuts behind them, Jimin lets out a breath. “Thanks,” he mutters, dropping his bag by the desk.

“Anytime.” Jungkook turns the lock for good measure, then gestures at the bed with a proud little flourish. “And before you say anything—no, this isn’t optional.”

On the bed waits a tray with two bowls of steaming jjajangmyeon, a plate of fried dumplings, and two cans of cold soda. He even folded the napkins into sad little triangles.

Jimin stares and snorts. “I said no dinner last time, didn’t I?.”

“Yeah, and I decided I’m not letting you starve on my watch.” The younger flops onto the bed, patting the spot beside him. “Sit.”

The dancer hesitates for half a second, before climbing next to him and settling on the bed with his legs crossed. He accepts the chopsticks Jungkook hands him. “You’re annoyingly thoughtful.”

“You love it.”

They eat in a comfortable quiet for a minute, while their shoulders brush and knees touch. Jimin’s hoodie slips off one shoulder every time he leans forward for another dumpling, and Jungkook can’t help stealing glances.

“So… since we were talking about your very fake playboy reputation yesterday… humor me. What kind of breakfasts did you actually make for your hookups?”

“You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Fine.” Jungkook sets his bowl down and starts ticking off on his fingers. “Once I made scrambled eggs with cheese and toast. Another time I did avocado toast because the guy was vegan. One morning I even attempted pancakes and almost burned the house down. Seokjin still brings it up. No rose petals, just normal shit.”

“So the whole ‘I ghost before sunrise’ thing really is a lie.”

“Completely. I even let one guy borrow my favorite hoodie the next day. He never gave it back.”

Jimin giggles brightly and leans sideways until their shoulders press together more firmly. “Disappointing. I was hoping for at least one story where you climbed out a window.”

“Never. I’m too tall for windows.”

They finish eating, while sharing stupid stories, dumb campus rumors, and which cafeteria food is secretly edible. Jungkook slowly shifts closer, until Jimin is practically in his lap. His fingers find the hem of Jimin’s hoodie, playing with the soft fabric, tracing the seam, tugging lightly every time Jimin says something that makes him laugh.

At some point Jungkook just leans back against the headboard and pulls Jimin on top of him, holding his waist. “Hi,” he murmurs, looking up at him.

“Hi,” Jimin answers in a slightly breathy voice.

Jungkook reaches up and slips his fingers under the hair tie at the base of Jimin’s ponytail. He tugs it free slowly, watching the blond strands tumble down around Jimin’s face in soft waves. Jimin doesn’t protest and lets it happen, like he’s curious what Jungkook will do next.

Jungkook slides the hair tie onto his own wrist, then buries both hands in the freed hair, combing through it with gentle tugs. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he whispers, almost to himself. “I could stare at you all night.”

Jimin huffs a quiet laugh, but surprisingly he blushes slightly. “Smooth.”

“Just stating facts.” Jungkook keeps playing with the strands, twisting a lock around his finger. “So… do you think I do any stupid bad-boy shit? Since we’re on the topic of stereotypes.”

Jimin tilts his head, pretending to think. “Do you own a motorcycle?”

“Yeah, actually, a black one. It’s parked behind the house.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing. “Of course you do. Let me guess, you wear a leather jacket and call it your rebel phase?”

“It’s a very nice leather jacket,” Jungkook defends, grinning. “I look hot in it.”

“You look like every frat boy who’s ever watched too many Fast and Furious movies.”

Jungkook gasps in mock offense, tightening his grip in Jimin’s hair to tug him down until their noses brush. “Rude. I’ll have you know I look very dangerous on that bike.”

“You look like a golden retriever who stole a motorcycle,” Jimin corrects, still laughing softly. “An extremely pretty one, but still a retriever.”

Jungkook groans, but he’s smiling so wide it hurts. He rolls them suddenly so Jimin is underneath him, blond hair fanned out on the pillow, and dips his head to kiss the corner of Jimin’s mouth.

“You’re mean to me.”

“You like it,” Jimin murmurs, sliding his fingers up under Jungkook’s T-shirt, tracing the lines of his abs.

“I really, really do.”

Jungkook’s hand slides under the hem of Jimin’s hoodie, gliding over warm skin, brushing the dip of his waist and the curve of his ribs with with thumbs. When they kiss, Jimin tastes like the jjajangmyeon they just finished and something sweeter that’s just him. Every time Jungkook tries to pull back for air, Jimin chases his mouth, lazy and insistent, like he’s perfectly happy to stay tangled up on the bed forever.

Eventually Jungkook has to break the kiss, pressing his forehead to Jimin’s, both of them breathing hard.

“Hyung. Tell me what do you want to do?”

Jimin’s eyes are half-lidded when he looks into his, lips shiny and swollen. He huffs a small laugh against Jungkook’s mouth. “I’m tired of thinking for you, captain. Make a decision.”

Jungkook laughs and immediately dives back in for another kiss, deeper. “I like it when you’re bossy.”

His hands move higher under the hoodie, pushing the fabric up until it bunches under Jimin’s arms. He mouths along Jimin’s jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below his ear, and whispers hotly against the shell of it, “Do you wanna touch me, my sweet?”

Jimin doesn’t answer with words, he slides one hand between their bodies, pressing his  palm over the hard line of Jungkook’s cock through the sweats. The touch is confident, sure, and Jungkook’s hips jerk into it with a groan. “Fuck—yeah, like that.”

Jimin tugs the waistband down to free him, wrapping his fingers around the hot, heavy length. Jungkook hisses at the first stroke, then quickly wraps his own hand around Jimin’s, guiding him.

“Slower at the base,” he murmurs against Jimin’s lips, wrecked. “Tighter up here—yeah, yeah, just like that. Twist a little on the way up—ngh, perfect.”

Jimin listens so well. Every piece of advice is taken with calm focus, even while he’s so breathless and flushed. He asks, soft and curious between kisses, “Like this?” and adjusts the angle until Jungkook’s head falls back against the pillow with a moan.

“Shit, hyung—feels so good. How are you so good at this?”

Jimin doesn’t answer, still pumping him at perfect pace now, swiping his thumb over the leaking head on every upstroke. The wet sounds mix with their kisses—messy, open-mouthed, desperate. Jungkook’s free hand stays in Jimin’s loose blond hair, tugging lightly every time the pleasure makes a shiver run down his spine. When he feels the edge rushing up, he breaks the kiss just enough to gasp against Jimin’s mouth.

“I’m close—fuck, I’m really close. You want me to come on you? On your stomach?”

Jimin’s eyes darken. Without a word he yanks his hoodie higher, bunching it under his chest, exposing the soft, flat plane of his belly. “Yes,” he breathes. “Come on me.”

Jungkook groans brokenly, while his hips stutter up into Jimin’s fist. The sight of Jimin like that above him pushes him over the edge in seconds. He comes with a moan, painting Jimin’s stomach with thick stripes in warm, messy pulses. Jimin keeps stroking him through it until Jungkook is trembling and oversensitive.

When it’s over, Jimin asks in that same calm, matter-of-fact voice, “Review?”

Jungkook laughs breathlessly, pressing a sloppy kiss to Jimin’s collarbone. “It was teamwork, but you deserve a solid nine point seven. Your hand game is lethal, hyung.”

A satisfied smirk appears on the older’s face. He drags one finger through the mess on his stomach, then brings it to his mouth and licks it without breaking eye contact. “Ten next time.”

Jungkook groans. “You’re actually going to kill me.”

Jimin hums, threading his fingers through his hair, and pulls him closer. “I’m happy to hear that. Now clean me up, captain.”

Jungkook presses one last lazy kiss to the corner of his mouth, then rolls away to grab the box of tissues from the nightstand. He cleans Jimin up gently, wiping the mess from his stomach until the skin is pink and clean again. Jimin watches him, half-lidded, with a small, amused smile dancing on his lips.

When Jungkook tosses the tissues away, he props himself up on one elbow and brushes a strand of blond hair off Jimin’s forehead. “Ready for your lesson, hyung?”

Jimin nods without hesitation. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

“I feel kinda bad, though. You’ve probably done so many things to yourself already—fingers, toys, whatever—that having me try to teach you must be boring as hell.”

Jimin snorts, reaching up to flick Jungkook’s forehead. “It’s different when it’s another person. Doing it alone is one thing, having someone else do it to you… or doing it to someone else… that’s completely different.”

“Which is better?”

“I would survive perfectly fine without men, thank you very much. I’ve been doing it for twenty years.”

Jungkook chuckles, because he believes every word. “God, I love you.”

The words slip out before he can stop them. He freezes for half a second, then quickly covers it with another laugh and leans down to kiss Jimin again, distracting him.

He meant that he loves Jimin’s sharp tongue obviously…

When he pulls back, he tugs at the hem of Jimin’s hoodie. “Off with everything except this. I like you in just the hoodie.”

Jimin lifts his hips cooperatively, letting Jungkook peel off his pants and underwear at once. Jungkook’s mouth goes dry at the sight of Jimin flushed, with blond strands messy around his face, cock half hard again against his stomach, the hem of the cream hoodie brushing the tops of his thighs.

“Fuck, you look obscene like this.”

He reaches over to the drawer, grabs the bottle of lube, and pours way too much into his palm, until it’s thick, clear, dripping between his fingers. He likes it messy, likes the sounds, the shine, the way it makes everything slick and filthy.

“Spread your legs for me, my sweet.”

Jimin does, his knees fall open without shame. Jungkook settles between them, leaning down to kiss Jimin slowly while slick fingers circle his entrance. The first press of his finger is gentle, careful, sliding in inch by inch until Jimin’s breath hitches.

“Talk to me,” Jungkook whispers against his lips. “How’s it feel?”

“Different,” Jimin breathes, eyes fluttering. “Bigger than my own fingers. Keep going.”

Jungkook curls his finger slowly, searching, until he finds the spot that makes Jimin’s hips jerk and a soft, surprised moan escape.

“There?”

“There—fuck—yes.”

Gradually, Jungkook adds a second finger, scissoring and twisting, making sure everything is drenched in lube. The wet, obscene sounds fill the room, squelching.

“Listen to that,” he murmurs, low and teasing. “So wet. Such a mess for me, hyung.”

“Shut up.” Jimin laughs breathlessly, even as his back arches. “You’re the one who used half the bottle. It’s your mess.”

“My mess looks so pretty on you.” Jungkook pumps his fingers deeper, curling them just right on every stroke. “You’re taking two so well. Think you can handle three? Want me to stretch you open nice and slow until you’re begging?”

Jimin's hand reaches up and grabs Jungkook's wrist. His voice is breathy but still full of that familiar sarcasm. “If you keep talking like a bad porno, I’m kicking you off the bed.”

“You love the bad porno talk,” Jungkook teases, adding a third finger, groaning at how tight and hot Jimin feels around him. “You’re clenching so pretty around my fingers. Look at this greedy little hole sucking me in.”

Jimin moans, head tipping back, but he still manages to gasp out, “You’re so embarrassing—ah—fuck, right there—shut up and go faster, you golden retriever idiot.”

Jungkook laughs, delighted, even as he obeys, fucking his fingers deeper, faster, hitting that spot until Jimin’s thighs start to shake and his cock leaks onto the hoodie.

“See? You’re into it. Look at you, so fucking pretty.”

Jimin’s only answer is another broken moan and a weak shove at Jungkook’s shoulder. “You’re—ngh—never living this down.”

The swimmer leans down to kiss him again, while his fingers keep working him open with wet, rhythmic strokes. He curls his fingers one last time, dragging a shaky moan out of Jimin, then gently pulls them free. Before the older can complain about the sudden emptiness, Jungkook grips his hips and flips him onto all fours.

“Like this. Wanna see you push back for me.”

Jimin doesn’t argue. He drops onto his elbows, arching back beautifully. His hoodie rides up to expose the long line of his spine, pretty tattoo of moon phases running along it, and that tiny, slutty waist Jungkook has been obsessed with since the first time he got his hands on it. He groans at the sight, pouring more lube over his fingers until it drips messily down Jimin’s ass.

“Fuck, look at you,” he sighs, sliding three fingers back in without warning. “This waist… it’s actually unfair. So small I can almost wrap my hands all the way around it.”

He demonstrates, spreading his palms over Jimin’s sides, pressing his thumbs into the dip of the waist while he starts fucking his fingers deeper. Jimin pushes back immediately, rolling his hips to meet every thrust. A soft, needy sound escapes his lips.

“Harder,” he gasps, sounding wrecked. “Stop teasing and give it to me.”

Jungkook laughs darkly, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses along the back of Jimin’s neck, then lower, trailing wet kisses down his spine. “Greedy. You’re so fucking greedy, hyung. Such a pretty little slut for me, aren’t you?”

Jimin moans, dropping his head forward, until his hair falls around his face. “Shut up—ah—your fingers are so thick. Feels so good—fuck, right there—”

Jungkook keeps kissing every inch of skin he can reach—neck, shoulders, the delicate knobs of Jimin’s spine—while his fingers pump faster, scissoring, curling, making the lube squelch obscenely with every thrust. He can’t stop touching that waist, squeezing it.

“God, this waist,” he groans against Jimin’s skin. “I could hold you down so easily, bend you however I want. You’re so tiny and perfect.

“Then do it—hold me down—make me take it—ngh—Jungkook—”

When Jungkook feels him start to tremble, thighs shaking, he slides one hand up into the messy blond hair and tugs firmly, pulling Jimin’s head back just enough to make him arch his back deeper. His other hand speeds up, fucking inside fast and relentless, hard against that sensitive spot.

“Come on, my sweet,” Jungkook pants against his ear. “Come for me. Come untouched like the good boy you are. I want to feel you fall apart on my fingers.”

Jimin cries out, his whole body goes tight, and then he’s coming, hard and untouched, cock pulsing as he spills onto the sheets beneath him. Jungkook doesn’t stop moving his fingers through it, slow and deep, milking every last tremor until Jimin collapses forward, panting, trembling, completely boneless. Only then Jungkook eases his fingers out, then leans down and kisses the breathless, open mouth waiting for him.

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers between kisses. “Came so pretty for me. I’m obsessed with you.”

Jimin makes a small, satisfied sound, still catching his breath. Jungkook presses one last kiss to his temple. “Go take a shower, hyung. I’ll change the sheets.”

Jimin hums in answer as he slides off the bed on shaky legs and pads to the bathroom. The sound of the shower starts a moment later. In the meantime Jungkook quickly strips the ruined sheets, tossing them in the hamper, and putting on fresh ones. When Jimin comes back ten minutes later with blonde hair damp and wearing only a hoodie, Jungkook is waiting in the middle of the clean bed, opening his arms.

Jimin climbs in without hesitation, crawling straight into Jungkook’s lap. They start making out again, lazy, slow, sweet this time. It comes so easily to them. Jungkook’s hands slide under the fabric to rub gentle circles on Jimin’s back, tracing the tiny waist he’s still obsessed with.

Eventually, Jungkook pulls back to rest their foreheads together, smiling softly. “Review?”

Jimin exhales a quiet laugh, slightly flushed. He thinks for a second, then says in that calm, matter-of-fact voice that always wrecks Jungkook, “Solid nine point nine. The hair pull was a nice touch, waist obsession ten out of ten. The filthy talk was embarrassing but… worked.” He pauses, then adds with a tiny smirk, “Next time I want four fingers. And maybe your mouth again while you do it.”

Jungkook groans, dropping his head to the older’s shoulder. “You’re going to be the death of me, Park Jimin.”

When he wakes up the next morning, it's slowly, as if emerging from a pleasant dream. His mind is clouded with fog, his body enveloped in warmth, because Jimin’s body is curled against his chest, back to Jungkook’s front. The oversized hoodie has ridden up at night, and Jungkook’s arm is wrapped around his bare waist, nose buried in messy blond hair that smells like his own shampoo now. 

The morning is quiet except for the distant snoring of someone passed out downstairs, and Jungkook has never felt this cozy in his entire life. He lies there for a long minute, just breathing it in, imagining this lasting longer than their stupid little deal. Waking up like this every morning, maybe making Jimin breakfast… The thought settles warmly in his chest.

He could get used to this. He wants to get used to this.

He presses a gentle kiss to the back of Jimin’s neck, stroking the soft skin of the dancer’s stomach, when the alarm on Jimin’s phone goes off. Jimin groans, reaching blindly for the nightstand. Jungkook is faster as he grabs the phone, silences it, then rolls Jimin onto his back and climbs on top of him.

“Two minutes,” Jungkook asks, dipping down to kiss him. “Give me two minutes before you disappear.”

Jimin laughs sleepily into his mouth, looping his arms around Jungkook’s neck. “You’re clingy in the morning.”

“You’re soft in the morning,” Jungkook counters, kissing him deeper, lazy. Their tongues slide together like they have nowhere else to be. His hands roam under the hoodie, mapping every inch of bare skin, brushing over Jimin’s nipples until the older boy arches with a quiet moan.

The two minutes stretch to three, then four, until Jimin finally pushes at his chest, breathless and flushed. “I have class. Stop.”

Jungkook whines but lets him up. He watches Jimin pad around the room collecting his clothes, while the hoodie slips off one shoulder, revealing pale, kissable skin. His hair is a complete disaster, and he looks cute like this. The sight makes something stupid and possessive bloom in Jungkook’s chest.

He pulls on sweats and a tank top, then walks Jimin downstairs like he promised.

The house is already awake, sadly, and very chaotic. Half the swim team is sprawled in the living room in various states of undress. Taehyung is standing in the middle of the kitchen in nothing but bright red boxers with cartoonish little dinosaurs on them, eating cereal from the box.

Jimin’s gaze lingers on the boxers for a second too long. Taehyung catches it immediately. He winks with mouth full of cereal. “Morning, angel. Like what you see?”

Jungkook subtly slides an arm around Jimin’s waist and steers him toward the front door. “Eyes off my hyung, Tae. Go back to your dinosaur hobbies.”

Outside on the porch, he pulls Jimin closer, backing him gently against the railing so he can kiss him shamelessly, a little desperate, sliding his hands into Jimin’s hair. The older kisses back just as openly, fingers twisted in Jungkook’s shirt, until they’re both breathing hard.

“I have to go,” Jimin murmurs against his lips, smiling.

“I know.” Jungkook steals one more kiss, then another. “Let me drive you. The bike’s right there. I’ll go slow, promise.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not getting on that death trap with you.”

“It’s a very safe motorcycle,” he protests, grinning.

“It’s a midlife-crisis cliché and you know it.” Jimin steps back, adjusting his hoodie. “I’ll walk. It’s ten minutes.”

The swimmer pouts dramatically. “But then I won’t get to feel you pressed up against me for ten whole minutes.”

Jimin giggles, and reaches up to flick Jungkook’s forehead. “You’ll survive. Text me later, captain.”

He turns to leave, ponytail swinging, but Jungkook catches his wrist one last time and tugs him back for a final, softer kiss.

“Last night was… really good,” Jungkook says quietly, brushing Jimin’s bottom lip with his thumb. “Like, stupidly good. I can’t wait to see you tonight.”

Jimin’s smile softens a little. “Me too. See you later, my sweet.”

“Wait—did you just—”

Laughing, Jimin walks away, waving over his shoulder without turning around.

Jungkook stands on the porch for a long moment, watching him, while his heart is doing ridiculous flips in his chest. He’s so gone, and he doesn’t even mind.

The water is perfect, so cool, clear, and exactly the temperature Jungkook loves. Practice seems extremely productive when he’s in a good mood. Laps, drills, relay starts, everything comes easily to him. Even the usual chaos of twenty loud swimmers trying to outdo each other doesn’t bother him. He has been in the zone for almost an hour, when the coach finally yells for a five minute water break.

He hauls himself out of the pool, and grabs his phone from the bench. The second he looks at the notifications, a huge, stupid grin stretches across his face.

jimin: practice still hell? i hope you didn’t drown trying to show off 

also i stole your socks last night, but i’m not apologizing, just informing you

Jungkook bites his lip to keep from laughing out loud and types back immediately.

i’m literally the best swimmer here, how dare you

also keep the socks. i’m sure my everything looks better on you anyway, including my own body 😉

jimin: flirting via text is so 2018, captain

but fine i’ll wear them to bed tonight. alone

Jungkook giggles—it’s a high, embarrassing little sound—and has to turn away from the pool so no one sees his face go red.

you’re evil. i’m in public. my dick just twitched in front of my entire team

help

jimin: poor baby. should i describe what i’m wearing aside from your socks right now?

jungkook: YES

no

yes

i hate you

He’s still grinning like an idiot, biting his knuckle, when a dripping wet arm slings around his shoulders.

“Bro, why are you giggling at your phone during practice?”

Taehyung sounds delighted. He’s standing there in the most ridiculous swim briefs known to man—bright orange with tiny cartoon bananas all over them. Water drips from his hair onto Jungkook’s shoulder.

Jungkook tries to shove him off. “Get your banana ass away from me.”

Taehyung refuses to budge, leaning in to peek at the screen. “Who’s got you acting like a thirteen year old with his first crush? Is it that pretty dance boy? The one you walked out this morning holding hands like schoolgirls?”

Jungkook’s ears burn. “How do you..?”

“Because you only make that face when you’re texting someone you actually like. Also I saw you two making out on the porch like the world was ending.” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows. “So… is it serious? Are we planning a wedding? Should I start writing my best man's speech?”

“Shut up,” Jungkook laughs, shoving Taehyung harder this time. “Your swim pants look like if a fruit salad had a baby with a clown. Go away before I tell the coach you’re distracting the captain.”

Taehyung gasps theatrically, hands over his heart. “Rude! These are limited edition! And don’t change the subject. You’ve got it bad for Park Jimin. Like, heart eyes, can’t-stop-smiling, already-planning-your-future-kids bad.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to deny it, but the words die in his throat. Because… yeah. He might actually have a crush. A real one. It makes him wake up smiling and check his phone like a lovesick idiot and imagine waking up next to Jimin every single morning.

He glances sideways at Taehyung again, specifically at the ridiculous banana-print ass, and suddenly his brain supplies a very unhelpful image of Jimin wearing nothing but one of Jungkook’s hoodies. That would be a sigh.

HE swallows hard.

Before he can stop himself, he snaps a quick photo of Taehyung’s ridiculous backside and sends it to Jimin.

exhibit a: why you should never let taehyung shop unsupervised

also this is what i have to deal with every day

He sends it, grinning.

Jimin’s reply comes in seconds.

jimin: i’m crying

those bananas are haunting me

also tell taehyung his ass is nicer than his taste in underwear

Jungkook laughs out loud again. Taehyung tries to snatch the phone, but he dodges, typing one last message.

tonight? my place? i’ll come pick you up on the bike. promise i’ll go slow and you can hold onto me the whole time 😏

jimin: absolutely not. i would rather walk barefoot across campus than get on that midlife crisis death machine with you

see you at 8. on foot. like a normal person.

also we’re moving to level four tonight

Jungkook’s face warms up. He locks the phone quickly before Taehyung can see the last part, but he can’t stop smiling.

Taehyung whistles low. “You are so whipped, dude.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook mutters, staring at his phone like it holds all the answers. “I really am.”

He dives back into the pool a minute later, but he spends the entire rest of practice thinking about tonight, about Jimin in his hoodie, about level four, about how he might already be in way deeper than their little deal was ever supposed to go. He should mind, but doesn’t, not even one bit.

He spends the entire afternoon cleaning his room, changing the sheets again, and making sure the house is presentable. Twenty minutes before the clock strikes eight, he walks downstairs and claps his hands loud enough for the whole first floor to hear.

“Listen up, assholes! Jimin is coming over in twenty minutes. If any of you are in the living room, kitchen, or hallway when he walks in, I will personally drown you in the pool tomorrow. Go to your rooms, stay there, and do not exist. Understood?”

A chorus of groans and “yes, captain” answers back. Taehyung salutes from the couch. Jungkook flips him off and goes back upstairs to wait. At 7:58 there’s a soft knock, and Jungkook jogs to open the door with a bright smile. He immediately tugs Jimin inside before anyone can ruin it.

“Hi, my sweet.”

Jimin steps in and opens his mouth to reply when Taehyung appears at the top of the stairs, wearing nothing but neon green boxer briefs covered in tiny cartoon cats wearing sunglasses. The cats are all doing peace signs. He leans over the railing, waving. “Heyyy, angel! Looking cute as always.”

Jungkook’s first reaction is pure amusement, because the underwear is objectively hilarious, but then he notices Jimin’s gaze lingering a second too long on the ridiculous print. An irritating, unfamiliar pang of jealousy grips his stomach.

“Do you like the cats?” Taehyung asks. “Limited edition. They’re very fashion-forward.”

Jimin tilts his head. “They’re… something. Half of me wants to praise the confidence it takes to wear cartoon cats on your dick. The other half wants to file a noise complaint because those little assholes are begging ‘look at me’ louder than your personality ever could.”

Taehyung throws his head back and laughs so hard he almost falls down the stairs on the first step. “I love him. JK, keep him forever.”

Jungkook does not find it funny anymore. He slides an arm around Jimin’s waist, digging his fingers possessively, and starts steering him toward the staircase. “Great, thanks, Tae. Now go away, we’re busy.”

He practically drags Jimin up the stairs and down the hall, ignoring Taehyung’s fading laughter. The second his bedroom door shuts, Jungkook spins Jimin around and presses him firmly against it, pressing their lips together in a hungry kiss, claiming kiss. Jimin makes a surprised little sound that quickly melts into a soft moan as his hands slide up Jungkook’s chest.

Jungkook pulls back and rests their foreheads together, breathing hard. “Would you like to see me in funny underwear too, hyung? Since you seemed so interested in Tae’s cat parade.”

The older’s lips curl into a crooked, malicious smile, eyes sparkle with pure evil. He starts listing, “Hmm… maybe bright pink ones with little ducks. Or the ones with tiny bananas wearing bowties. Ooh, or those American-flag speedos that are two sizes too small. Actually, I’d pay money to see you in a pair that has an elephant on the front, or at least cucumbers.”

Jungkook’s jaw drops. He laughs, half horrified, half amused, and scoops Jimin up, throwing him onto the bed with a bounce. “You’re terrifying. I’m scared of you.”

Jimin lands on his back and lifts one perfect eyebrow. “Toxic masculinity isn’t sexy, captain. If I want to see you in ridiculous underwear, you should be honored.”

Jungkook laughs again, brighter this time, and yanks his t-shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. The sight of his bare chest and the sharp lines of his swimmer’s body makes Jimin’s gaze darken with obvious appreciation.

“Fine,” he says, crawling onto the bed and hovering over Jimin. “But right now I’d rather be naked.”

He dives back down, before locking their lips together. He lets one of his hands slide under the fabric of the hoodie to map warm skin and that tiny waist he’s obsessed with, Jimin’s slides up Jungkook’s back, before dragging nails lightly down his spine. Clothes get pushed aside rather than removed, hoodie rucked up to Jimin’s chest, Jungkook’s sweats shoved low on his hips, mouths moving from lips to necks to collarbones in a messy, breathless trail.

Jungkook groans against Jimin’s throat, rolling his hips slowly into him. “God, I love this. You feel so fucking good under me.”

Jimin’s fingers twist in his hair, tugging hard enough to make Jungkook shiver. “Then stop talking and keep going.”

Jungkook smiles into the next kiss, full of something that feels like butterflies. He’s not sure when their deal stopped feeling like a deal and started feeling like the best thing that’s ever happened to him,, but right now, with Jimin warm and pliant and laughing softly between kisses, he doesn’t really care about labels. He just wants to keep him here, under his hands and his mouth, for as long as Jimin will let him.

His mouth trails lower, kissing every inch of skin he can reach. He mouths along the line of Jimin’s collarbone, down the center of his chest, flicking his tongue over a nipple just to hear the tiny hitch in Jimin’s breath. Lower still, across the soft plane of his stomach, grazing the waistband of his pants.

He looks up through his lashes as he hooks his fingers in the fabric. Jimin’s lips are parted, pretty and swollen. His eyes are hooded, dark and glassy, and there’s a flush high on his cheeks. The oversized hoodie is bunched up under his arms, blond hair looks like a wild halo on the pillow. He looks properly wrecked already, and Jungkook hasn’t even tasted him yet.

The swimmer slides Jimin’s pants and underwear down in one tug, tossing them off the bed. He settles between Jimin’s spread thighs, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one before dragging his tongue slowly up the length of Jimin’s cock. The first real taste pulls a low, shaky moan from both of them.

Jungkook starts with slow, long, lazy licks from base to tip, swirling around the head, sucking gently. He keeps his eyes locked on Jimin’s face the entire time, watching every flutter of those long lashes, every time Jimin’s bites on his lip, every tiny arch of his back.

“Fuck… look at you,” Jungkook murmurs. His voice comes out rough. “You’re so pretty.”

He takes Jimin deeper, hollowing his cheeks, working the underside with his tongue while one hand slides down to cup his balls. Jimin’s hips twitch, and he lets out a soft curse.

“Jungkook—ah—your mouth is so—ngh—”

Jungkook hums around him, pulls off long enough to slick two fingers with spit and lube, then slides them inside, pressing in slowly while his mouth returns to sucking him down. He works both at once, bobbing his head, and curling his fingers, stretching the tight walls, scissoring gently until Jimin is panting and pushing back onto his hand.

“Shit—your fingers—deeper—fuck, just like that—”

“Yeah?” Jungkook pulls off with a wet pop, licking his lips. “You like getting your pretty hole stretched while I suck you off? My greedy little thing.”

Jimin laughs breathlessly, the sound breaking into a moan when Jungkook pushes his fingers hard against his prostate. “You talk too much—ah—shut up and make me come.”

Jungkook grins against the head of Jimin’s cock. “Make me.”

He dives back down, sucking harder, fucking into him faster, wet and messy. The sounds in the room are obscene, slick, filthy, perfect. Jimin’s moans get higher, breath coming in short, desperate pants, hips stuttering between Jungkook’s mouth and his hand.

When Jungkook feels Jimin start to shake, thighs clamping around his ears, he pulls off completely, keeping his fingers still buried deep inside.

Jimin whines at the loss, lifting his heavy eyelids. “Why—why did you stop—”

Jungkook kisses the inside of his thigh, then looks up with a wicked little smirk. “You wanna try sixty nine? I want to feel your mouth on me while I eat you out.”

Jimin blinks, still panting, then lets out a breathless laugh. “Did you just call it sixty nine like we’re in middle school? Oh my god, you’re such a dork.”

“It’s a classic! And you want it. Don’t lie.”

He rolls his eyes, but the flush on his cheeks deepens and his cock twitches hard against his stomach. “Fine. Get up here, captain. Let’s see if you can concentrate with my mouth on you.”

Jungkook has never been faster as he flips onto his back, pulling Jimin on top of him so they’re facing opposite directions. He grips Jimin’s hips, guiding him down until that pretty cock is right above his mouth again and Jimin’s face is hovering over Jungkook’s own aching length.

The second Jimin’s lips wrap around him, Jungkook groans loud enough for the whole house to hear and immediately drags Jimin’s hips down so he can bury his tongue back between his cheeks.

They’re both messy and in a hurry, but it couldn’t be better. Jungkook licks and sucks and fucks Jimin open with his tongue and fingers while Jimin takes him deep, moaning around his cock, until the vibrations shoot straight up Jungkook’s spine. The room fills with wet sounds and broken little gasps as both of them rock into each other, chasing pleasure in a perfect, sloppy loop.

Jungkook’s hands are like glued to Jimin’s tiny waist, holding him exactly where he wants him, while Jimin’s thighs tremble on either side of his head. Jungkook moves him so that he can swallow Jimin whole while his fingers press that spot inside that makes Jimin come first. His whole body locks up, thighs clamp tight around Jungkook’s head as he spills down Jungkook’s throat with a broken, high-pitched moan. Jungkook swallows every drop, until Jimin is shaking and whimpering.

The taste, the way Jimin’s mouth goes slack around his cock is too much. Jungkook follows seconds later, jerking up as he climaxes, groaning around Jimin’s softening length.

They stay like that for a moment, panting, trembling, neither of them willing to move first. Finally Jungkook gently eases his fingers out and taps Jimin’s hip. His voice is rough and husky when he speaks. “Shower together… or do you wanna just lie here in the filth?”

Jimin makes a small, exhausted sound and flops sideways off him, landing on his back with the hoodie still rucked up to his chest. “Lie down. I’m not moving ever again.”

Jungkook laughs fondly, and rolls out of bed to grab a clean towel from the bathroom. He wipes them both down, first Jimin’s stomach and thighs, then his own chest and hips,  before tossing the towel somewhere on the floor.

When he crawls back into bed, Jimin immediately drifts closer. Jungkook pulls him in until they’re chest to chest, one of Jungkook’s arms sliding under the hoodie to wrap around Jimin’s bare back. He hooks a hand behind Jimin’s knee and drapes that leg over his own hip, so they’re tangled as close as two people can get.

They kiss lazily for a while, all sweet, just the comfortable slide of tongues and the occasional soft sigh. Jungkook lets his fingers trace idle patterns on the warm skin, brushing Jimin’s waist over and over like he can’t help himself.

After a few quiet minutes, he murmurs against the dancer’s lips, “Is there anything you want right now, hyung?”

Jimin hums, pretending to think. “Yes. Winning the lottery. Ten billion won. Private island. No more group projects.” He keeps counting on his fingers.

Jungkook snorts, the sound turning into full laughter that shakes them both. “Okay, fair. Anything you want from me, though?”

The older pulls back to look at him with mischief even though he’s clearly sleepy. He taps his chin like he’s deep in thought. “Hmm… more funny playboy stories. I’m bored.”

Jungkook groans, dropping his forehead to Jimin’s shoulder, still laughing. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Nope.” His fingers thread through Jungkook’s hair, playing with the sweat-damp strands at his nape. “Tell me the worst one, something you’re most embarrassed about.”

Jungkook sighs. “Fine. It was during sophomore year. There was this guy on the basketball team… I thought I was being smooth, right? I took him back to my room after a party, we’re making out, clothes are coming off… and I realize I still have my socks on—but not just any socks—ones with little rubber ducks on them that I got from Taehyung for my birthday as a joke. He sees them, starts laughing so hard he can’t breathe. I tried to play it cool, took them off real slow like it was part of the seduction… and then I tripped over my own pants and face-planted into his lap. He laughed for twenty straight minutes. We never even hooked up. He still calls me Duck Boy when we run into each other on campus.”

Jimin is giggling before Jungkook even finishes with a face buried in his neck, shoulders shaking. “Duck Boy. I’m calling you that forever now.”

“You’re evil,” Jungkook mutters, but he’s smiling so wide it hurts. He tightens his arm around Jimin’s waist and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Your turn. Tell me the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done in bed… or tried to do.”

Jimin hums, still laughing softly, leg tightening over Jungkook’s hip. “Mmm… maybe later. Right now I just want to stay like this.”

Jungkook’s heart does that stupid, warm, gigantic flip again. He nuzzles closer, brushing Jimin’s temple with his lips. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Me too.”

Still riding the high from waking up tangled with Jimin, Jungkook walks into the Honeybun Café a little after three the next afternoon. The place feels exactly the same as the day they first made their deal—cozy, with the scent of sugar and fresh bread hovering in their air. He spots Jimin immediately, as if they’re two magnets attracting each other.

Jimin’s blond ponytail is slightly crooked, and today he’s eating a slice of strawberry shortcake with extra whipped cream. He is licking the spoon clean while a tall guy in a letterman jacket leans over the table, clearly trying to flirt. His one hand rests on the back of the booth, while he’s saying something that makes Jimin’s shoulders tighten. 

Jimin’s expression is pure boredom—the same flat, unimpressed look he gave Jungkook the night of the party, still, Jungkook’s jaw clenches as he spots them. He feels a burning irritation in his chest. He starts forward, ready to push between them and say something, when Jimin finally speaks without even lifting his head.

“Listen,” he sighs, calm and sweet as the cake in front of him, “I’m flattered, but if you don’t stop hovering I’m going to assume you’re trying to steal my dessert. And I bite when people touch my food. Hard.”

The guy laughs nervously. “I was just—”

“Trying to get my number, I know. You’ve said that three times. The answer is still no. Please go away before I start describing exactly how I’d use this spoon on your balls.”

The guy’s face goes red. He mutters something and backs off so fast he almost trips over a nearest chair. Jungkook stops a few steps away with an amused grin spreading across his face. He watches the stranger retreat, then walks the rest of the way and sits into the booth across from Jimin.

Jimin doesn’t even look up, just lifts one hand and starts flipping Jungkook off with zero hesitation, spoon still in his mouth.

Jungkook laughs. “Wow. That’s the greeting I get?”

Jimin’s head snaps up, the middle finger immediately turns into a lazy wave. His eyes crinkle with amusement. “Oh, it’s you. I thought the flirtation plague had spread.”

“Damn, brutal.”

He takes another bite of cake, then pushes the plate slightly toward Jungkook. “Want some?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I’m not really into sweet things.” He pauses, dragging his eyes over Jimin’s face. “Unless it’s you.”

The older rolls his eyes, but his cheeks turn a little pink. “Very smooth. You’re getting better at that.”

Jungkook orders just an iced americano when the waitress comes by, then settles in with his elbows on the table, watching Jimin eat. Jungkook keeps trying to find the right moment to ask about the swim meet he has coming next week. He doesn’t want it to sound like a date because that’s not what their deal is about, but he just… wants Jimin there, in the stands, watching him.

He clears his throat, trying to sound nonchalant.. “So, uh… we have a big meet next Friday. Against Yonsei. It’s kind of a big deal for the team.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow, pausing the spoon halfway to his mouth.

“If you’re not busy or whatever… you could stop by. But you don’t have to. Just… you know…. if you feel like it. It might be fun to watch me destroy them.”

Jimin stares at him for two full seconds. Then he starts laughing, quiet at first, then open until his shoulders are shaking. “Oh my god. That was the least subtle invitation I’ve ever heard in my life. You’re so bad at pretending you don’t care.”

Jungkook groans, hiding his face in his hands. “I was trying to be chill!”

“You were trying and failing adorably.” Jimin wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, still smiling. “I’ll come. Friday, right? What time?”

Jungkook’s whole face lights up. “Seven. I’ll save you a seat in the front row. Or… you can stand wherever you want. No pressure, really.”

“Still not subtle,” Jimin teases, but his voice is warm. “I’ll be there. Someone has to make sure your ego doesn't get inflated.”

They move on to safer topics after that, but Jungkook’s chest feels lighter than it has all day now that he knows that Jimin agreed to come and see him outside his bedroom.

“Okay, my turn to ask about stereotypes,” he declares spontaneously. You grilled me about playboy ones. Now tell me about the good boy ones. The quiet, studies-hard, never-parties type. How many of those are actually true for you?”

Jimin licks whipped cream off his spoon, considering. “Most people assume I’m innocent, shy, probably a virgin who blushes at dirty jokes. Obviously not all of that is true.” He smirks, mostly to himself. “But I do keep to myself. I like studying, I like quiet, I like not being noticed. That part isn’t fake.”

Jungkook nods slowly. He knows almost nothing about Jimin’s life outside their little bubble—what he does when he’s not in the studio or the pool at midnight, what makes him laugh when no one’s around, what he dreams about. But Jimin doesn’t open up easily, and Jungkook doesn’t want to push.

So he shrugs, keeping his tone light. “Guess I’ll just have to keep learning which stereotypes are wrong the old-fashioned way, one lesson at a time.”

Jimin’s eyes meet his across the table, but he doesn’t say anything. He takes the last bite of strawberry shortcake, then pushes the empty plate away and looks at Jungkook with a faint smile. “I’ll see you later.”

The next week flies by in a blur of early morning practices, late night “lessons,” and stolen moments in the Honeybun Café. Before Jungkook knows it, Friday night arrives and the entire natatorium is packed. His eyes scan the stands the second he steps out onto the deck. He finds Jimin almost immediately, in the front row, exactly where he promised to save seats.

He’s wearing one of Jungkook’s black hoodies that he borrowed after their night together, looking beautifully bored. Hoseok is bouncing beside him in a bright orange shirt, waving like a maniac. Sadly, what really catches Jungkook’s attention—and everyone else’s—is the guy sitting on Jimin’s other side.

Taehyung.

Wearing the single most embarrassing pair of team-issued swim briefs the university has ever produced—bright purple with the school mascot, a very aggressive-looking tiger, printed all over the ass in glitter. The tiger’s face is stretched comically across each cheek. It’s so bad it loops back around to hilarious.

Jungkook expects the familiar sting of jealousy when he sees both Jimin and Hoseok openly staring at Taehyung’s glittery tiger butt, but instead he just laughs under his breath. Today he can’t even blame them, because the briefs are an actual crime against the team’s dignity.

Taehyung catches him looking and does a little shimmy. Jungkook flips him off and dives into the pool.

He swims like his life depends on it. He’s showing off and he knows it, but he breaks two school records, anchors the relay to victory, and when the final whistle blows and his team wins by a landslide, the entire natatorium explodes. The second he’s out of the water, dripping and breathless, Jungkook doesn’t even bother with his teammates’ congratulations. He grabs his towel, slings it around his neck, and heads straight for the front row.

The moment Jimin realizes he’s approaching, he’s standing up, holding another towel. He throws it at Jungkook’s face the moment he’s close enough. “Dry your stupid golden retriever hair before you drip all over me.” He pretends to be annoyed, but his eyes are soft and proud.

Jungkook catches the towel, smiling. “Did you see that last 100 free? That was for you.”

“I saw you flexing like a peacock the entire race. Very subtle.”

Hoseok cackles. “I have video.”

Before Jungkook can defend himself, he blurts, “We organize a team dinner tonight to celebrate. You two should come.”

Hoseok’s eyes light up. “Free food? I’m in.”

Jimin hesitates half a second, then shrugs. “Fine. But if anyone tries to make me drink beer, I’m leaving.”

Jungkook tries not to smile so wide, but he fails.

At the restaurant they end up crammed into one long corner booth, with Seokjin at the head, Namjoon beside him, Yoongi against Namjoon’s shoulder, Hoseok across from them, Taehyung next to Hoseok, Jimin squeezed between Taehyung and Jungkook, and Jungkook on the end.

There’s grilled meat, banchan, cold noodles, endless soju, and soon everyone is talking over each other. Instinctively, Jungkook’s hand finds Jimin’s thigh under the table. He slides his palm up slowly, stroking the inside seam of Jimin’s pants with his thumb. Jimin keeps his face perfectly neutral, chatting with Hoseok, but every few seconds he shoots Jungkook a sharp, amused side-eye that says you’re going to pay for this later.

Jimin then takes a piece of grilled pork with his chopsticks, brings it to his mouth, and eats it in the most sensual way possible—taking his time, sticking out his tongue to catch a drop of sauce. His eyes are on Jungkook the whole time.

The younger’s throat goes bone-dry.

Jimin licks his lips and asks, completely unothered, “You okay there, captain? You seem thirsty.”

The whole table turns their heads towards them as a sudden silence falls on the last word. Jimin blushes. Taehyung breaks it by letting out a wheezing laugh.

“Someone get the boy some water before he passes out!” Seokjin instructs, entertained.

Jungkook groans, hiding his burning face against Jimin’s shoulder for a second, but his hand stays on Jimin’s thigh. Under the table he gives it a gentle squeeze that’s half warning, half affection.

Jimin gradually relaxes as the night goes on. He starts trading sarcastic jokes with Seokjin, debates dance versus swimming with Hoseok and Taehyung, even lets Namjoon pull him into a quiet conversation about psychology and performance. By the time dessert arrives, Jimin is laughing freely, with his cheeks pink from soju and good food, no longer perched on the edge of the booth, as if socializing makes him want to bolt.

Jungkook watches him for most of the time, feeling warmth that’s spreading through his chest and has nothing to do with the alcohol.

He’s just… happy. Really, stupidly happy.

No one is ready to leave the restaurant when the evening comes. Empty plates have been pushed aside to make room for fresh bottles and half-eaten sides. Hoseok suddenly stands up, swaying a little, and announces, “I’m getting the next round before they close the bar. Who’s coming with me?”

Jungkook volunteers instantly. “I’ll help carry.”

While they wait for the bartender, Hoseok leans against the counter. “So, you and Jiminie, huh?”

Jungkook keeps his face casual, shrugging one shoulder. “We’re… hanging out. It’s casual.”

Hoseok snorts. “Casual. Sure. You’ve been staring at him like he hung the moon all night.” He takes a sip from the glass the bartender just slid over and continues without prompting. “You know, Jimin’s always been quiet in public, but once he trusts you… he’s a different person. Also I remember when he used to dance until 3 a.m. every night in high school, then show up to class the next day like he’d had ten hours of sleep. Teachers thought he was a robot.”

Jungkook’s ears perk up. He doesn’t stop Hoseok when he starts drunkenly telling stories from Jimin’s past. He should, probably, but the words are too tempting, because Jimin gives away so little about himself.

“He doesn’t really date. Like, ever! There was this one guy in first year who tried really hard, brought him flowers to the studio, the whole thing. Jimin let him down so gently that the guy still sends him birthday texts every year.” Hoseok laughs. “Jimin says he’s allergic to romance. But I think he’s just waiting for someone who understands his need for space and doesn’t make him explain himself all the time.”

Jungkook feels a small pang of guilt for knowing so much—actually, it’s almost nothing, but in comparison to what Jimin told him about himself, those tiny details feel like gold.

Hoseok leans in a little closer, tipsy and conspiratorial. “He’s got this secret playlist he only listens to when he’s stressed. It’s made up of sad R&B and old trot songs. And he hates being called cute, but secretly loves it when someone notices his dancing. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Jungkook chuckles because it sounds very Jimin, minus the trot part.

When the bartender finally hands over the tray of drinks, Jungkook takes half, while mind keeps spinning with new little pieces of Jimin he never would have learned otherwise.

The group returns back into the frat house a little after eleven, drunk, somehow still riding the high of the team’s victory. The living room is quickly cleared, furniture shoved aside, and an empty soju bottle placed in the middle of the rug like it’s sacred by Taehyung who put red boxers with blue hearts on his head as if it were a hat.

“Time to spin the bottle, guys!”

Jungkook ends up sitting right next to Jimin again, with their thighs pressed together.

The first few rounds are pure comedy. Taehyung has to do aegyo while chugging a beer. Seokjin is dared to twerk for thirty seconds, and almost breaks a lamp, swaying drunkenly. Namjoon has to confess his most embarrassing kink.

“I like when people read poetry to me during sex.”

The whole circle loses it. Hoseok spins and lands on Yoongi, who simply says “truth” and then answers every question with “I was asleep, I don’t remember.”

“Excuses,” Taehyung mumbles, while the bottle lands on Jimin.

Jungkook leans in close, brushing the shell of Jimin’s ear with his lips so only he can hear. “How many times have you thought about my fingers inside you since last night?”

Jimin turns his head so that their noses almost touch and answers, low, “Every hour. Your fingers are annoyingly good at finding that spot. Next question.”

Jungkook’s blood runs hot.

A few spins later the bottle lands on Jungkook. He doesn’t even pretend to spin fairly. “Dare. I dare Jimin to kiss me like he means it.”

Jungkook tries for truth on the next spin that lands on Jimin. He leans in again, whispering, “Tell me one thing you’ve never told anyone else about yourself.”

The older smiles sweetly and with tipsy mischief. “I once ate an entire family-size pack of strawberry Pocky in one sitting while crying over a romance novel. Your turn.”

Jungkook groans in frustration, but still he can’t help but let out a chuckle. No matter how many times he tries, either with personal questions, soft questions, even sneaky ones, Jimin dodges every single one with sarcastic, witty deflections. It’s infuriating, but it’s also insanely hot.

At some point of the night circle starts to lose energy. Yoongi is fully asleep, Namjoon is trying to explain Hegel to Hoseok who looks like he’s had enough two beers ago, and Taehyung is doing the worm across the rug, but nobody knows why—and Jungkook has had enough. He stands, grabs Jimin’s hand, and tugs him up. “We’re tapping out. Night, losers.”

Catcalls and “use protection!” follow them up the stairs. The second the bedroom door shuts, Jimin lets out a bright, tipsy giggle and flops backward onto the bed, spreading his arms like a starfish.

“Drink Jimin is fun,” he tells the ceiling. “Drink Jimin says whatever the fuck he wants.”

Jungkook locks the door and crawls onto the bed, hovering over him. He’s never seen this loose, chatty side of Jimin, and he’s instantly addicted.

“Tell me more,” he encourages as he settles between Jimin’s legs, sneaking one hand under the hoodie to rest on his waist.

Jimin hums, clearly enjoying the attention. And then he starts talking in a foreign language.

Jungkook’s brain short-circuits. “Jesus Christ.” He laughs, confused.

Jimin laughs too, high and bright, and reaches up to tug Jungkook down into a lazy kiss. Jungkook’s fingers play with the end of Jimin’s ponytail, twisting the blond strands around his index finger and gently tugging every time Jimin says something particularly filthy, as if it comes out before he can think of it.

“You’re so fucking cute when you’re drunk,” Jungkook murmurs against his lips, still toying with the ponytail.

“I’m not cute, I’m very dangerous,” Jimin replies, then immediately ruins it by giggling into the next kiss. “Also your fingers feel really nice in my hair. Keep doing that.”

Jungkook does. He keeps playing with the ponytail, kissing him, listening to every tipsy, thirsty, surprisingly open thought that randomly escapes out of Jimin’s mouth—like wanting to climb Jungkook like a tree.

Jungkook can’t stop laughing, as he realizes for the first time that he doesn’t just want Jimin’s body. He wants all of this. He wants every version of Jimin. He just doesn’t know how to tell him yet.

“Your dick is hard again,” Jimin blurts out in the middle of Jungkook’s realizations, snapping him back into reality. “I can feel it. Want me to do something about that, captain?”

The younger groans, dropping his forehead to Jimin’s shoulder. “I’m hungry.”

Jimin bursts out laughing. “You just heard me talk about edging and cock rings and your first reaction is I’m hungry? Jungkook, I love you.”

The casual “I love you” makes Jungkook pause, but Jimin is still giggling, clearly not realizing what he just said. Jungkook kisses him quickly and fondly, then sits up. “Stay here, I’m gonna make ramyeon. Take a shower in the meantime.”

“Bossy,” Jimin teases, but he’s already rolling off the bed toward the bathroom.

While the water runs, Jungkook heads downstairs, throws together two bowls of spicy ramyeon with eggs and green onions, and carries them back up on a tray. When he pushes the bedroom door open again, the sight stops him dead.

Jimin is sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but tight black boxers and Jungkook’s old white swim team t-shirt with “CAPTAIN” printed across the chest in bold letters. The shirt is too big, slipping off one pale shoulder, and the hem is barely covering the top of his thighs. His blond hair is damp and loose, falling prettily around his face. He looks… sinful.

Jungkook almost drops the tray. “Fuck.”

Smirking, Jimin looks up. “Like what you see?”

Jungkook sets the tray on the desk, crawls onto the bed, and straddles Jimin’s hips just to lean down and kiss him, very hungry, a little desperate. Jimin’s hands travel up under Jungkook’s shirt to trace his muscles. They make out for a minute before Jungkook forces himself to pull back.

“Food first,” he insists roughly.

They sit together against the headboard, sharing the two bowls. Jungkook tries again, gently this time. “So… when’s your birthday?”

Jimin slurps a noodle, but his eyes twinkle with amusement at the obvious attempt. “October 13th. Why? Are you planning to buy me flowers?”

Jungkook flushes. “I’m just curious. Do you have any siblings?”

“Nope. I’m an only child. Spoiled rotten.” Jimin steals a piece of egg from Jungkook’s bowl. “Next question, captain.”

“Fine. What’s something you actually love?”

“Everything sweet,” he answers immediately, licking sauce off his thumb in a way that should be illicit. “Cake, candy, desserts, you when you’re being nice to me.”

“And… Do you really think you could beat me in the pool?”

“Absolutely. I may not train like you, but I have grace and I’m smaller. Less drag. I’d smoke you in a 200 free. We should race sometime. Loser bottoms for a week.”

Jungkook coughs on his ramyeon. “You’re on.”

Jimin laughs.

When the bowls are empty and set aside, he shifts closer, sliding one hand slowly up Jungkook’s thigh, teasing higher and higher until his fingertips brush the growing bulge in the younger’s sweats.

Jungkook’s breath catches. Without asking, Jimin just tugs the waistband down, frees Jungkook’s cock, and wraps his hand around it. He gives a few slow, firm strokes that make Jungkook’s head fall back against the wall. “Fuck… hyung—”

Jimin leans in. His breath ghosts Jungkook’s ear. “You were so patient downstairs. Let me take care of you now.”

He slides down, takes Jungkook into his mouth at one go, and sucks, until Jungkook’s vision almost whites out. He’s relentless, wet, hot, working with his hand what his mouth can’t reach, and looks up through damp strands of hair with those dark, tipsy eyes.

Jungkook is dizzy within minutes, tangling one hand in Jimin’s hair, the other gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white. “Shit—Jimin—your mouth—fuck, you’re so good—”

“Remember how I told you that drunk Jimin says whatever he wants? Right now he wants you to come down my throat.”

He dives back down, taking Jungkook deeper, and Jungkook is gone. His thighs tense and his hips stutter, moaning Jimin’s name as he comes intensely, seeing the stars. Jimin swallows, runs his finger over the corner of his mouth where the drop leaked out, then crawls back up, licking his lips like he just finished dessert.

“Better than ramyeon” he reports, hoarse and smug.

Jungkook can only laugh breathlessly, pulling Jimin into his arms and kissing him again, tasting himself on his tongue.

“Night, captain.” Jimin wraps himself around Jungkook’s chest, sleepy and calm.

Jungkook holds him tighter, with his heart full and stupidly warm, and wonders how the hell he’s supposed to keep pretending this is just a deal.

Surrounded by warmth, he falls asleep quickly and wakes up completely wrapped around Jimin, one arm slung over his waist, leg hooked over his thigh, face buried in the back of his neck.

The swim team t-shirt has ridden up during the night and Jungkook’s palm rests against bare, warm skin. Jimin’s fair hair is a mess across the pillow. He smells like Jungkook’s shampoo and last night’s soju, and the younger feels a rush of pure, stupid contentment. He could stay like this forever.

He presses a slow kiss to the nape of Jimin’s neck, and the older stirs, makes a small sleepy sound, and turns in his arms until they’re face to face. Their legs tangle automatically, Jimin hooks one thigh over his hip and pulls him closer.

“Morning,” the dancer mumbles in a husky voice.

“Morning, my sweet.”

The way their lips meet is so natural, instinctual, morning-soft at first, before it turns deeper. Jungkook rolls on top, settling between Jimin’s spread legs. Jimin wraps both thighs around his waist, locking his ankles at the small of Jungkook’s back, pulling him down until their bodies press together completely.

Jungkook groans into the kiss. “Do you have class today?”

“Mmm… Later,” Jimin answers against his mouth, pushing his hips up. “I can stay longer if you want.”

Jungkook makes a relieved, almost pained sound. “Thank fuck.”

He sinks one hand into Jimin’s messy hair, tilting his head back so he can kiss down the line of his jaw, then his neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin just below his ear. His other hand travels down, caressing the curve of Jimin’s hip, his thigh, the back of his leg where it’s wrapped around him, while he grinds his hips unhurriedly.

Jimin arches beautifully beneath him, and a quiet moan escapes him.

“Want you so bad,” Jungkook whispers, rough. “Been hard since I woke up feeling you. You look so fucking good wearing my shirt.”

“Then stop teasing and fuck me already. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

Jungkook shudders. “Shit, hyung…”

“Hurry up,” Jimin pants, digging his nails into Jungkook’s shoulders.

Jungkook laughs breathlessly, but he doesn’t stop moving, grinding his cock against Jimin through the thin layers of fabric. He tugs the swim team t-shirt higher, exposing the older’s stomach and chest, and starts kissing every inch of newly revealed skin. He presses soft kisses across the ribs, flicking his tongue over a nipple, grazing the underside of his pec with teeth.

Jimin brings him back up by the hair for a kiss, then immediately latches onto the side of Jungkook’s neck. He sucks the skin, bites down, and Jungkook moans until the sound echoes off the walls. “Fuck—marking me up?” he gasps, jerking.

Jimin mumbles something incoherent against his skin, sucking another bruise right below the first. Then he pulls back to look at him with dark eyes, swollen lips and flushed cheeks. His voice is low and needy when he insists, “Jungkook… fuck me. Please. I want you inside me.”

Jungkook’s heart stutters, because Jimin looks so pretty like this, all spread out beneath him in nothing but Jungkook’s team t-shirt and boxers, blond hair a mess, and eyes glassy with want.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asks, even as his hand is reaching for the lube on the nightstand. “We can—”

Jimin cuts him off with a hand on his mouth and sharp glare. “If you finish that sentence with ‘we can take it slow because I’m a virgin,’ I swear I will kick you out of your own bed and finish myself.”

Jungkook chuckles, amused and fond, and leans down to kiss him. “Message received.”

He takes his time anyway, slicks his fingers generously, and kisses Jimin the entire time at a pace that matches the unhurried way he circles Jimin’s entrance. When he presses one finger inside, he lets himself feel the clench, every flutter around his finger.

“So tight for me… fuck, you’re squeezing so pretty. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock, baby. I’m gonna fill you up so good.”

Jimin whines, opening his legs wider. “More. Stop teasing.”

“I like teasing you,” Jungkook murmurs, kissing the corner of his mouth and slowly adding a second finger, before scissoring gently. “I love how impatient you get.”

Jimin’s head falls back against the pillow, a frustrated moan escaping. “Jungkook—please—hurry up or I’m riding you myself.”

Jungkook laughs, but his own patience is wearing thin. He reaches blindly for the nightstand, until he finds the condom packet. He tears it open with his teeth. They both stare at each other and hold their breath when he finally presses forward.

The first inch has them moan in unison. Jimin’s head tips back, mouth fall open, thighs tighten around Jungkook’s waist. Jungkook’s forehead drops to Jimin’s shoulder, breathing hard. “Fuck… hyung… so tight,” he groans.

He sinks in slowly, inch by inch, until he’s buried to the hilt. He freezes for a moment, just breathing, feeling, letting Jimin adjust. Jimin’s walls flutter around him, hot and perfect, and Jungkook has to clench his jaw so he doesn’t come on the spot.

But Jimin rolls his hips once, impatient. “Move.”

Jungkook starts with slow, deep and long, rolling thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside Jimin. His one hand grips Jimin’s tiny waist, pressing his thumb into the soft dip he’s obsessed with. The other braces beside Jimin’s head so he can lean down and kiss him, then his jaw, then the hickeys blooming on his neck.

“So good for me,” Jungkook pants against his skin. “Taking my cock so fucking well. Look at you… wearing my shirt while I fuck you. You look so pretty with my name on your chest while I’m inside you. You’re mine right now, baby.”

Jimin arches, digging into Jungkook’s back. “Harder—fuck—deeper, Jungkook.”

He’s so impatient.

Jungkook picks up the pace. He pushes in faster, needier, more desperate. The bed creaks as he braces both hands on either side of Jimin’s head, caging him in with his forearms, and fucks him harder. Each deep, punishing thrust steals the air out of Jimin’s lungs.

“Shit—yes—right there,” he gasps, fisting one hand in Jungkook’s hair, the other sliding down to grab a handful of his ass, pulling him in on every thrust. “You’re so deep… so good… fuck, I love your cock.”

Jungkook would chuckle, if they didn’t fit this perfectly. Every roll of his hips meets the eager push of Jimin’s. Their sweaty skin slides together, the wet sound of skin clapping blends with their moans. Jungkook buries his face in Jimin’s neck, moaning into his ear. “You’re so tight… squeezing me so fucking perfect.”

Jimin’s legs tighten around him. “Then don’t stop—harder—make me feel it—ah—Jungkook—”

The tension coils tighter, air hotter, their movements more desperate. Jungkook can feel his orgasm building fast. He lifts his head, meeting Jimin’s glassy, beautiful brown eyes. He reaches to intertwine their fingers, pressing their joined hands into the pillow beside Jimin’s head.

“Look at me,” he breathes, shaky. “I wanna see you when you come. Want you to see me.”

Obediently, Jimin's eyes stay locked on his as their bodies move together in perfect, frantic, overwhelming harmony.

“I’m close—fuck, I’m so close,” Jungkook gasps.

“Me too—don’t stop—please—”

Jungkook goes harder, deeper, grinding against that spot each time. Their foreheads press together, breaths mingle, eyes never break the contact, while the pleasure crests.

Jungkook comes first with a broken groan of Jimin’s name, hips stuttering as he spills into the condom. The feeling of him pulsing inside pushes Jimin over the edge seconds later and he clenches hard around Jungkook, crying out as he comes untouched between their bodies. They ride it out together, trembling, still staring into each other’s eyes.

When it finally ebbs, Jungkook collapses half on top of Jimin, still buried inside him, while both of them are breathing like they just ran a marathon. Jimin’s free hand slides up to cup Jungkook’s cheek, brushing his bottom lip with his thumb. “Fuck. That was…”

“Yeah,” the younger exhales, pressing a shaky kiss to Jimin’s palm. “Yeah, it was.”

He doesn’t want to move. He just wants to stay right here, wrapped up in Jimin, connected, with their hearts beating against each other, for as long as the morning will let them. In a situation like this, the word “deal” feels completely wrong to describe what just happened between them.

It feels like everything.

He rolls his hips lazily one last time, shallow and slow, dragging out the final sparks of pleasure. As he pulls out, he watches, mesmerized, as their bodies connect, the way Jimin’s hole stretches around him,, the way the shirt is bunched high on his chest.

“Fuck… look at you,” he sighs with awe. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

He forces himself to get up, disposes of the condom, grabs the towel, and cleans Jimin’s stomach, thighs, and the mess between his legs while the older just lies there, boneless, watching him with half-lidded eyes.

When he’s done, Jungkook lies on his back and tugs Jimin on top of him, arranging the older boy until he’s draped fully across his chest, their legs are tangled, and his cheek rests over Jungkook’s heart. Jungkook wraps his arms around him, slipping one hand back under the shirt to rest on the small of Jimin’s back.

“Review?” Jungkook mumbles, brushing Jimin’s temple with his lips.

A smug little smile forms on his lips as Jimin hums, pretending to think.

“Solid ten. Maybe ten point five. The eye contact thing at the end was unfairly hot. I liked hand holding, almost cried, not gonna lie. Also your dick is stupidly good. I’m mad about it.”

Jungkook bursts out laughing, chest shaking under Jimin. “You almost cried? Park Jimin, the ice prince, almost cried during sex?”

“Shut up.” Jimin bites his shoulder lightly, but he’s smiling. “I take it back. Nine point eight. You’re still a little stiff sometimes.”

Jungkook’s jaw drops in mock offense. “Excuse me? This again?”

Jimin's eyes are filled with pure mischief as he lifts his head. “You’re fishing for compliments so obviously. It’s cute, but pathetic.”

“I’m allowed to fish!” Jungkook protests, grinning as he rolls them slightly so they’re facing each other. “I made you come twice in one night. I deserve praise. I deserve a trophy. I deserve you saying ‘Jungkook, your cock is a national treasure’ at least once a day.”

Jimin snorts, burying his face in Jungkook’s neck to muffle his laughter. “National treasure? Your ego is the real national treasure. I’ll give you one compliment per orgasm, that’s the deal.”

“Deal,” Jungkook agrees immediately, then kisses the top of Jimin’s head. “So… what’s the rest of your day look like, my sweet?”

Jimin sighs, tracing lazy circles on his chest with one finger. “I have dance technique at eleven, then a group project meeting at two. I should probably go back to my dorm at some point and pretend I’m a responsible student.” He pauses, then adds with a smirk, “But I could be convinced to stay in bed a little longer if you keep doing that thing with your hand on my waist.”

Jungkook’s fingers tighten possessively on Jimin’s waist, where his thumb stroking the warm skin. “I can do that all day. Skip the group project, tell them you’re sick. Or tell them the truth, that the swim team captain fucked you so good you can’t get out of bed.”

“Tempting. But if I skip, I’ll just end up here again tonight anyway. Might as well get my work done so I can come back and collect my next lesson.”

The swimmer groans happily, pulling Jimin even closer until their legs are completely tangled.

“Fine, but I’m keeping you in this bed as long as possible.”

“Deal, captain,” Jimin preps soft kisses along his collarbone. “But only if you make me breakfast later.”

Jungkook smiles so wide it hurts. His chest feels full and terrifyingly warm, while thousands of butterflies flutter inside it. “Anything you want,” he whispers.

He’s stupidly, ridiculously happy. He can’t stop smiling as he leads Jimin downstairs, loosely holding Jimin’s hand, carrying the empty ramyeon bowls in his other hand. They both only put on some underwear, and Jungkook has never seen anything hotter than the captain t-shirt on Jimin at this moment.

When they reach the kitchen, Jungkook starts showing off. He pulls out eggs, bread, bacon, and fruit, like he’s on some kind of a cooking show. “Watch this,” he says, cracking two eggs one-handed while pressing a kiss to the side of Jimin’s neck from behind. “I’m basically a chef.”

Jimin leans back against him, giggling. “You’re basically a peacock.”

In the meantime the house is slowly waking up and the boys are starting to drift into the living room, some still in pajamas, turning on the TV for games, complaining about hangovers, and raiding the fridge. The noise level rises quickly.

Jimin tenses a little when the first few teammates wander past the open kitchen doorway and do double-takes at the sight of him in Jungkook’s shirt. His shoulders curl inward, the familiar “I don’t want to be noticed” posture returns.

“Hey.” Jungkook wraps both arms around him from behind, resting his chin on Jimin’s shoulder, and murmurs right against his ear, “They don’t care. Seriously. Half of them have walked in on worse. You’re fine, my sweet. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Before Jimin can reply, Taehyung strolls in wearing nothing but neon-green cat sunglasses boxers. He stops, looks at the two of them, and smiles. “Morning, lovebirds! Nice shirt, Jiminie, captain looks good on you.”

The ridiculous underwear is so absurd that the tension in Jimin’s shoulders instantly melts. He snorts, covering his mouth with one hand. Jungkook laughs, pressing another kiss to Jimin’s neck, before flipping the eggs.

Jungkook is forced to shoo Taehyung away, before plating food for him and Jimin. Despite getting the bigger portion, Jimin still steals bites from Jungkook’s plate, claiming he got the better tasting eggs. No one stares, no one makes it weird, and Taehyung’s cat-covered ass somehow makes everything feel normal.

After they finish eating, Jungkook takes Jimin’s hand again and leads him back upstairs. In the bedroom they dress slowly. Jungkook lets Jimin keep the team t-shirt, because it looks better on him, anyway, and offers him a fresh black t-shirt instead for going outside. Jimin puts it on, then steps into his pretty blue wide-leg jeans. The combination of Jungkook’s shirt hanging loose on his dainty frame, the soft blue jeans, and messy blond ponytail is unfairly adorable and sexy at the same time. Jungkook can’t stop staring.

It feels so domestic to dress up and wash their teeth together.

Next time they come across each other that afternoon. While walking back from a quick team meeting, Jungkook spots him across the quad. Jimin is strolling toward the dorms, a few loose strands framing his face. He looks sweet and soft and effortlessly hot all at once. Jungkook’s chest does something far more complicated than just a flip. He feels fulfilled, as if Jimin belongs to him, wearing that black simple t-shirt.

But right on the heels of that thought comes the voice of reason, reminding that Jimin is the kind of person who doesn’t want to belong to anyone. He’s made that clear from the start—independent, guarded, allergic to romance labels. Jungkook wants to change that. He wants Jimin to be his… He just knows he has to be smart about it, patient, the way Jimin deserves.

He manages to catch up with Jimin right as the older is turning onto the path that leads to the dorm buildings.

“Hey, hyung.”

Jimin turns, surprised but smiling when he sees him. “Stalking me again?”

“Always.” Jungkook falls into step beside him, bumping Jimin’s shoulder gently. “Can I walk you to your dorm? I’ve never seen it.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow, but the corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re really committing to this golden retriever boyfriend act, huh?”

Jungkook’s heart skips at the word “boyfriend,” even if it’s teasing. He just shrugs, trying to play it cool. “I’m curious. Plus I want to see where you hide all those filthy books.”

Jimin laughs, bright and light, as if the drunk version of him is still lingering in the edges, and nudges Jungkook’s side. “Fine.” He turns serious. “But if you touch my books without permission, I’m kicking you out.”

Jungkook grins, sliding his hand into Jimin’s back pocket as they walk. “Deal, my sweet.”

Jimin’s dorm is nothing like he expected.

The moment they walk inside, his eyes widen. The room is minimalistic in structure. The walls are plain white, as expected. There’s a single bed, a small desk and wardrobe, but it’s surprisingly messy in the most endearing way. Clothes are draped over the chair, a few hoodies, two of which are definitely Jungkook’s, are tossed across the bed, textbooks and notebooks are stacked in precarious towers on the floor.

And books. So many books. They’re everywhere—piled on the windowsill, stacked beside the bed, even balanced on top of the mini-fridge. Some are clearly romance novels, with shirtless men and dramatic titles like Bound by Desire and The Duke’s Secret Touch.

The whole space smells very Jimin, like vanilla, lavender fabric softener, and that sweet scent that always clings to his skin.

Jungkook immediately throws himself onto the unmade bed with a dramatic sigh, sprawling his arms like a starfish. He reaches lazily for the nearest book on the nightstand, one with a suggestive cover, but before he can touch it, Jimin slaps his hand away.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Jungkook bursts out laughing, rolling onto his side to look at him. “Come on, just one page! I promise I won’t read the dirty parts out loud… much.”

Jimin narrows his eyes, pointing a finger at him. “Touch any of my books without permission and I will tie you to this bed and edge you for three hours straight, no mercy. I’ve read enough of those scenes to know exactly how to do it.”

Jungkook’s laugh turns into a low groan. He bites his lip. “Fuck, hyung. Threaten me like that again and we’re not leaving this room today.”

The dancer rolls his eyes, but a pleased little smirk blooms on his face as he turns back to his desk. “Behave. I need to grab my dance bag and change for class.”

Jungkook props himself up on one elbow and watches as Jimin moves around, picking up scattered clothes, tossing a hoodie—Jungkook’s—into a pile, grabbing a notebook from the floor, and changing into a pair of joggers and an oversized sweater. Every little thing feels intimate. Jungkook drinks it all in, from the way Jimin’s messy ponytail swings when he bends down, the soft curve of his waist when the sweater rides up, to the quiet domesticity of it all.

This is Jimin’s real world—not the quiet guy’s who stalks the campus like a ghost, not the sarcastic cynic’s, but a slightly chaotic, cozy person he is when no one is looking. 

Jungkook feels something weird deep in his chest. He wants to be here more. He wants to be part of this quiet little life Jimin has built for himself. Wake up with him. Hold him in his arms in the morning and before falling asleep.

But he knows he has to be patient.

“You missed a sock under the desk, hyung.”

He smiles and stares as Jimin grumbles and starts looking for the sock. He’s content to just watch when Jimin passes close to the bed, then continues getting ready. When his bag is slung over his shoulder, hair re-tied into a neater ponytail, Jimin rises an eyebrow at him. “Done staring?”

“Never,” Jungkook replies honestly. He stands up, crosses the room, and pulls Jimin into a gentle kiss. When he pulls back, he rests their foreheads together. “Thanks for letting me see your space.”

Jimin blushes faintly. “Don’t get used to it. Next time I can put my threats into action if you touch my books.”

The younger grins, stealing one last quick kiss before they head out the door together. “I’m counting on it, my sweet.”

When they reach the dance building, Jimin slows to a stop. “This is me,” he announces, adjusting the strap on his bag. “Thanks for walking me.”

Jungkook doesn’t think when he steps forward, takes Jimin’s face in both hands, and kisses him, full of everything he’s been feeling all morning. Jimin makes a surprised sound against his mouth, hands coming up to rest on Jungkook’s wrists. Before either of them can pull back or deepen it…

“OH MY GOD, GET A ROOM!”

Hoseok appears out of nowhere, waving both arms from the entrance of the building.

Jimin jerks back instantly. He laughs, a little awkward, a little breathless, and steps away from Jungkook. “Shut up, Hobi hyung,” he mutters, but there’s confusion in his eyes when he glances at Jungkook. The kiss clearly caught him off guard. “I have to go. Practice starts in five.”

Jungkook nods, throat tight. “Yeah. Go. I’ll… text you later.”

Jimin gives him one last small, slightly puzzled smile, then turns and disappears into the building with Hoseok.

Jungkook walks home in a daze. When he enters the living room, he’s attacked by the sound of video games blasting, empty snack bags everywhere, and Taehyung and Seokjin arguing over who gets the last slice of pizza.

He drops onto the couch between them, staring at the TV without really seeing it. His mind is still in Jimin’s dorm, in that very personal space Jimin let him into, and yet, Jimin still dodges every personal question. Every time Jungkook tries to get closer, Jimin finds a way to slip away. He doesn’t seem to want a relationship or want to belong to anyone.

Jungkook hadn’t exactly told him he wanted more, either. He’s been too scared of touching the fragile thing they have, too scared that if he asks for labels, feelings or something more, Jimin will pull away completely.

But god, he’s down bad.

He can’t stop smiling every time he thinks about Jimin. He’s sure there isn’t a single hidden part of Jimin he wouldn’t like. He wants all of it—the quiet, the chaotic, the sarcastic, the soft, the cake-loving parts of the dancer.

Jungkook just doesn’t know how to say it without ruining everything.

A heavy arm drops around his shoulders, yanking him out of his spiral. “Earth to Jungkook,” Taehyung calls with amusement. “You’ve been staring at the screen for ten minutes and you haven’t even complained about my high score. What’s going on in that golden head of yours?”

Jungkook blinks, finally focusing on his best friend. Taehyung’s looking at him with that knowing, boxy grin, like he already has it all figured out. “Nothing,” he lies automatically.

Taehyung snorts. “Sure. You’ve got that stupid I’m in love face again. Spill. Is it about Jimin?”

Jungkook groans and drops his head back against the couch, but he doesn’t deny it.

“Dude. You’re so gone it’s actually painful to watch. Just tell him you like him for real. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer, because the worst that could happen is Jimin ghosting him completely, and that feels like the scariest thing in the world right now.

Of course, Taehyung doesn’t let it go. He tightens his arm around Jungkook’s shoulders and leans in until their faces are inches apart. “Nope. You’re not doing the quiet stare-into-space thing. Talk. Right now. What’s going on between you two?”

Jungkook sighs, long and heavy, and rubs both hands over his face. “I… really like him,” he admits. “Like, a lot. More than… the deal we agreed on. This morning was… perfect. Waking up with him, making breakfast together, seeing his dorm… He’s funny and smart and cute when he’s drunk and soft when he thinks no one’s looking and I just—”

He cuts himself off, groaning again. Why is it so hard to express?

“I want more. I want him to be mine. But he doesn’t seem to want that. He dodges every personal question, he jokes when I get serious, and I’m scared that if I ask for more, he’ll just… disappear. I don’t want to lose what we have.”

Seokjin, who had been pretending to scroll on his phone on the other couch, immediately sits up like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Okay, listen to hyung,” he says, pointing a finger at Jungkook with the seriousness of a man who has watched too many romance dramas. “You have to communicate. But subtly! Like… cook him dinner and then say ‘hey, I really like spending time with you, want to make this official?’ But not too official. Maybe add a joke so he doesn’t run.”

Taehyung snorts. “That’s terrible advice. Just tell him you’re down bad, be direct. Jimin respects directness. He can handle it.”

Seokjin gasps. “Do not be direct! That’s how you scare a man off! You have to woo him. Flowers, poetry, maybe a mixtape?”

Taehyung wheezes. “A mixtape? In 2026? Jin hyung, you’re ancient.”

Jungkook actually considers both ideas, darting his eyes between them. He’s taking it seriously because he really does like Jimin that much. The thought of just laughing with him on the couch, of Jimin stealing his hoodies, of waking up wrapped around him every morning makes his chest ache in the best and worst way.

Taehyung eventually stops laughing and squeezes Jungkook’s shoulder. “Hey. For real. You’re good for him. I’ve never seen Jimin this relaxed when you two are lost in your own little world. He’ll get there. And if he doesn’t, at least you tried. But I think he will.”

Jungkook nods slowly, feeling the knot in his chest loosening just a little. “Thanks,” he mutters.

He pulls out his phone before he can overthink it and types a quick message.

jungkook: hey, you still coming over later? 🥺

He stares at the screen, anxious that the kiss outside the dance building might have spooked Jimin. The public affection… maybe it was too much.

The reply comes faster than he expected.

jimin: yeah, i’ll be there around 8

unless you’re planning to kiss me in front of the entire world again, in which case i’m bringing security

Jungkook lets out a relieved laugh.

jungkook: no promises but i’ll try to behave

mostly

jimin: mostly? bold of you to assume i want you to behave

see you tonight, captain 😉

The little winking emoji makes Jungkook’s face light up. He feels lighter, and the anxious weight in his chest eases. He feels warm and hopeful instead.

“Look at you smiling like an idiot. You’re so whipped.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook whines, but he’s still beaming as he pockets his phone.

Seokjin claps him on the back. “See? He’s still coming over. You’re doing fine, kid.”

Jungkook leans back against the couch, staring at the ceiling with a soft smile.

Yeah. He’s doing fine.

He’s been pacing his room for the last twenty minutes, checking his phone every thirty seconds even though he knows Jimin said he’ll come around eight. When he finally hears voices drifting up from the living room, he heads for the stairs, with a fast-beating heart

Halfway down he freezes, when he hears Jimin’s voice, light and sarcastic, and then Taehyung’s loud, playful one. He pauses on the landing.

“So yeah, Jungkook’s an idiot half the time,” Taehyung says, “but he’s a good idiot. Like… the kind who remembers your favorite coffee order after hearing it once, and will walk you to class even if it’s pouring rain. He’s never been serious about anyone before, but now he’s whipped in the best way. You should give him a real chance, Jiminie. He’d treat you right.”

Jimin laughs softly. “You’re not subtle, Tae.”

“I’m extremely subtle,” Taehyung replies, completely un-subtle. “I’m just saying, he’d be down. Like, stupidly down. He looks at you like you hung the stars, bro—”

Yeah, that’s enough. He’s going to scare Jimin off.

Jungkook’s face burns as he takes the last few steps down, trying to act casual even though his pulse is hammering. Jimin spots him immediately. His eyes soften and the corner of his mouth lifts in that small, private smile that always makes Jungkook’s stomach flip.

“Hey,” Jungkook greets, voice a little rough. “Ready to head up?”

Jimin nods, says a quick goodbye to Taehyung, who gives them both an obnoxious double thumbs-up, and follows Jungkook upstairs. The second the bedroom door clicks shut behind them, Jungkook opens his mouth.

“I wanted to talk about—” But Jimin doesn’t let him finish.

He grabs the front of Jungkook’s shirt, and kisses him. Jungkook gives in instantly. How could he not?

He spins them, pressing Jimin’s back against the door. The kiss becomes messy really fast, they both let out little desperate sounds. Jimin is needy in that physical, greedy way that always drives Jungkook crazy—his hips rolling forward, hands fisting in Jungkook’s hair, pulling him closer like he can’t get enough.

Jungkook groans into his mouth, then turns Jimin around so he’s facing the door, chest pressed to the wood.

“Hands on the door,” Jungkook murmurs against his ear.

Jimin obeys, pressing his palms flat on the wood, breath already coming faster.

Jungkook steps away only long enough to find lube and slides one hand down the front of Jimin’s jeans, under his underwear, finding his entrance. He teases for only a second before pushing one slick finger inside, stretching him open while his mouth latches onto the side of Jimin’s neck.

Jimin moans, loud and unrestrained.

“Shh,” Jungkook hushes against his skin, adding a second finger. “Be good for me, baby.”

“I’m always good,” Jimin pants, pushing back onto Jungkook’s hand.

Jungkook chuckles, crooking his fingers just right. “You’re filthy, always talking dirty, threatening to edge me, telling me exactly how you want my cock. That’s not good.”

Jimin laughs breathlessly, then moans again when Jungkook adds a third finger. “I haven’t heard you complain.”

“And you won’t.”

He pulls his fingers out, yanks Jimin’s pants and underwear down just enough, rolls on a condom with shaking hands, and pushes inside in one smooth thrust.

They both moan—deep, relieved sounds that echo in the small room. One hand braced on the door beside Jimin’s head, the other gripping his hip, Jungkook fucks him deep and slow at first, then faster, harder, the angle perfect in this position.

“So good,” He pants into Jimin’s ear, voice sweet and filthy at the same time. “You take me so well every time.”

Jimin’s hands scrabble against the wood, pushing back to meet every thrust. “Harder—fuck—Jungkook—”

Jungkook gives him what he wants, snapping his hips faster, deeper, until the door is rattling softly with every thrust. “That’s it, baby… just like that. You’re doing so good for me, taking my cock so pretty.”

Jimin’s moans turn high and desperate. Jungkook can feel him trembling, clenching around him. When they’re both right on the edge, Jungkook reaches around, wraps his hand around Jimin’s cock, and strokes him in time with his thrusts.

“Come for me,” he whispers, shaking. “Let me feel.”

Jimin comes first with a shattering moan, spilling over Jungkook’s fist. The tight clench of his body drags Jungkook over the edge seconds later. He buries his face in Jimin’s neck, moaning his name as he comes hard, trembling through the aftershocks.

They stay like that for a moment, leaning against the door for support. Jungkook presses soft kisses to the back of Jimin’s neck, whispering, “So perfect… you’re so perfect.”

Jimin lets out a shaky, breathless laugh. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hoarse. “We’re pretty good at this.”

Jungkook smiles against his skin, heart full and aching at the same time.

“Ten point seven,” the older says without being asked. “The against the door position gets bonus points. Also the ‘be good for me’ line? Chef’s kiss. You’re getting predictable, captain, but I’m not complaining.”

Jungkook laughs against the back of his neck and presses one last kiss there before carefully pulling out. He disposes of the condom, cleans them both up, and then tugs Jimin toward the bed.

Instead of immediately pouncing on him like he usually would, Jungkook pulls Jimin down so they’re lying face to face, with one arm draped over Jimin’s waist.

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “No round two? You’re losing your touch.”

Jungkook smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I actually… wanted to talk to you.” He keeps the tone light at first, stroking his thumb over the curve of Jimin’s hip under the fabric. “How was practice today? You looked cute when I dropped you off.”

Jimin hums, clearly sensing the shift. “It was fine? Same as always. You’re being suspiciously soft right now.”

Jungkook chuckles softly, then lets the tone ease into something more serious. He reaches up and tucks a strand of blond hair behind Jimin’s ear.

“I want to know you, Jimin. Not just the version of you that shows up for the night. I want to know who you are beyond it. Like the version of you who has a messy dorm full of romance books and eats strawberry shortcake when he’s stressed.”

Jimin falls silent as his fingers trace idle patterns on Jungkook’s chest. His eyes are guarded. “Why does it matter?” he asks eventually. “This is just a deal, right? Fun, no strings.”

Jungkook’s heart clenches. “It stopped being just a deal for me a while ago,” he says quietly. “A long while ago.”

Jimin’s hand stills. He doesn’t look convinced. “Playboys don’t just turn into lovers, Jungkook. That’s how the story always goes—they get bored, they move on. I’m not trying to be another chapter in the Jeon Jungkook legend.”

Jungkook swallows. He shifts closer, cupping Jimin’s cheek so he can’t look away. “Then let me prove the story wrong.” His words are earnest. “I’m not asking you to hand over your entire life tonight. I’m just asking you to open up a little, let me in. Let me know the parts you usually keep hidden.”

Jimin is quiet for a long time. His eyes search Jungkook’s face, as if looking for the catch. Eventually he exhales through his nose, and a tiny, reluctant smile tugs at his lips. “It’s not smart to be vulnerable with people who are just a stop in your life,” he admits in a voice barely above a whisper. “It never ends well.”

Jungkook’s thumb strokes gently over his cheekbone. “Then make more space for me in your life,” he asks softly. “Not as a stop but as someone who wants to stay.”

Jimin snorts, but there’s no real bite in it. He looks away for a second, then back again. “Why?” he questions, almost challenging. “Why do you want that so badly?”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate.

“Because I like you. All of you. I like your messy dorm and your strawberry shortcake obsession and the way you threaten me when I try to touch your books. There isn’t a single part of you I’ve seen that I wouldn’t want more of. I’ll make it worth your time, hyung. I promise.”

Jimin stares at him. Then he snorts again, softer this time, though, and hides his face in Jungkook’s neck, ears visibly pink. “You’re so embarrassing,” he mumbles, but his arm slides around Jungkook’s waist, holding on tighter than before.

He doesn’t confirm anything, but Jungkook feels it like a victory. He presses a kiss to the top of Jimin’s head and waits, patient, letting the silence fall comfortably between them.

After a long minute, Jimin speaks again, a little shy. “My… favorite color is actually lavender, not black. I just say black because it doesn’t need an explanation.”

Jungkook’s heart swells so fast he has to close his eyes for a second. He drinks every word in like it’s water.

“Lavender,” he repeats softly, smiling against Jimin’s hair. “Tell me more.”

“I don’t actually hate people,” Jimin adds reluctantly, muffled against Jungkook’s skin. “I just… get tired of them fast.”

The younger stays perfectly still, gently stroking up and down Jimin’s back with one hand, soothing. Jimin continues, a little halting.

“I used to dance competitively when I was younger. My mom pushed hard. I was good, but I hated the pressure. One day I just… stopped showing up to competitions, told her I wanted to do contemporary instead. She was disappointed for months.” He lets out a small, dry laugh. “I still feel guilty about it sometimes.”

“That sounds lonely.”

Jimin shifts a little, like he’s uncomfortable with how much he just said, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Tell me more,” Jungkook whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Anything. I want to know.”

Jimin huffs a laugh, but it’s shaky. “You’re really pushing this vulnerable thing, huh?”

“I am,” Jungkook says gently. “Because I like all of it.”

Jimin becomes quiet again. The swimmer can feel the internal battle in him, and the way his body tenses, then slowly relaxes under Jungkook’s hand.

“I cry at books,” Jimin mutters eventually. “Really sappy ones, though. Not at the sad parts, but when the couple finally gets together after three hundred pages of miscommunication.”

“That’s adorable.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Jimin corrects.

He’s trying. Jungkook can feel how hard he’s trying.

He keeps stroking Jimin’s back. The touch seems to help, Jimin’s shoulders loosen a fraction more.

“I don’t have any siblings,” he continues after another pause. “It was always just me. My parents aren’t… bad  people, but they never really got me. Still don’t. That’s why I moved out as soon as I could. I like having my own space, my own mess, my own books.” He pauses, then adds, almost shyly, “And I really like when someone notices the small things, like how I swim when I can’t sleep. No one’s ever paid attention to that stuff before.”

Jungkook’s heart feels too big for his chest. He presses another soft kiss to Jimin’s temple. “I want to notice everything.”

Jimin lets out a shaky breath. It’s obvious he doesn’t like being open, being seen, but he’s doing it anyway. For Jungkook.

After another long silence, he lifts his head. His eyes are a little glassy, but his mouth turns up in that familiar smirk. “If any of this leaves this room, I will actually tie you up, edge you for six hours, and then leave you like that while I go eat strawberry shortcake in front of you. Do not test me, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook laughs, helpless, full of affection, and pulls Jimin even closer, wrapping both arms around him tightly.

“Your secrets are safe with me,” he promises, pressing their foreheads together. “Every single one. I swear.”

Jimin stares at him for a long second, searching. Then he gives the tiniest nod.

The weekend arrives slowly, and is lazy. If it wasn’t for Jimin in his life, Jungkook would probably be practicing at the pool. Instead, he is sprawled on his bed after a big lunch, half-dozing in the warm afternoon light that filters through the curtains. His shirt has ridden up, exposing a strip of stomach, and Jimin has claimed the spot like it was made for him.

Jimin is lying on his back, pillowed on Jungkook’s belly, while one of his textbooks rests open on his chest. A pencil is tucked behind his ear, and every few minutes he hums absently while turning a page.

It’s quiet, peaceful and perfect. Jungkook’s hand rests lazily in Jimin’s hair, fingers idly play with the messy blond strands that have fallen out of the ponytail. He thinks, not for the first time, that it couldn’t possibly get better than this.

Jimin shifts, poking Jungkook’s side with the eraser end of his pencil. “You’re breathing too deeply,” he complains. “It’s messing with my concentration.”

Jungkook cracks one eye open, grinning. “You’re literally using my stomach as a pillow. If anything, you’re the one disturbing me.”

“I’m studying, you’re napping. Clearly I’m the productive one here.”

“You’re using my abs as a pillow. That’s not studying, that’s exploiting my hard work at the gym.”

The dancer tilts his head back, looking up at him with that signature unimpressed expression. “Hard work? Please. You just swim in circles. I do actual athletic shit.”

Jungkook’s fingers tighten gently in Jimin’s hair, tugging. “Keep talking and I’ll give you something else to concentrate on.”

Jimin’s eyes sparkle with mischief. He rolls onto his stomach, propping his chin on Jungkook’s lower abs, suddenly forgetting his textbook.

“Oh? Is that a threat or a promise, captain?”

“Both.” Jungkook slides his other hand down to squeeze Jimin’s waist. “You’ve been wiggling on me for twenty minutes. I’m trying to be good and let you study, but you’re making it really difficult.”

Jimin hums, pretending to think. “Maybe I don’t want you to be good.” He leans forward and presses a soft, teasing kiss just above Jungkook’s navel. “Maybe I want you to be very, very bad.”

The younger groans. The sound turns into a laugh as he grabs Jimin under the arms and hauls him up his body until they’re face to face. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, but he’s smiling so wide it hurts. He kisses Jimin once, twice, then deeper, slow and sweet and full of… everything.

When they pull apart, Jimin is flushed.

“I think,” he wonders, poking Jungkook’s cheek, “this might be better than studying.”

Jungkook catches his hand and kisses the inside of his wrist. “Way better.”

“You know, I still think I could beat you in a race. You’re a show-off, I have technique.”

Jungkook laughs, rolling them so he’s hovering over Jimin again. “You really want to challenge the captain, huh? Bold.”

“I’m serious. One on one. I’d smoke you.”

He leans down, brushing their noses together. “Then let’s go. Right now.”

Jimin blinks. “Now?”

“As captain I have spare keys to the natatorium. The pool's empty after nine, so it’s going to be just us.” He kisses the corner of Jimin’s mouth. “What do you say, hyung? Want to prove me wrong?”

Jimin considers for half a second, then one of the corners of his lips turns up. “Get your keys, captain. I’m about to embarrass you.”

Twenty minutes later they’re on Jungkook’s motorcycle. Jimin’s reluctantly wrapped around him with arms tight around his waist, muttering threats the entire ride about death machines and midlife crises.

The natatorium is dark and silent. Jungkook unlocks the side door with his keycard, flips on only the underwater lights, and the pool glows a soft, ethereal blue. Giggling, they strip down to their underwear, shoving each other. Jimin pushes Jungkook into the water first, then dives in after him with perfect form.

At first it’s just splashing, chasing, and playful grabs underwater. Jungkook catches Jimin around the waist and spins him, both of them laughing until their voices echo off the tiles.

“Race you,” Jimin challenges. “Two lengths. Loser buys breakfast tomorrow.”

“You’re on.”

They line up at the wall.

The moment they push off, their competitive sides strike in. Jimin is fast and graceful, cutting through the water like he was born in it. But Jungkook is in his element. His strokes are powerful, practiced, years of training showing in every movement. He wins by more than a body length, touching the wall ahead of Jimin.

When they both surface, panting and chuckling, Jimin immediately swims over and kisses him, wet and breathless, rewarding his efforts. “Fine,” he says against his lips. “You win this time. But I’m still faster in a 200.”

Jungkook laughs, pulling him closer in the water. “I’ll take the win and the kiss.”

Jungkook leans back against the edge of the pool, watching Jimin swim lazy laps under the moonlight that filters through the high windows. The blue light from the underwater lights falls on his skin, giving him an ethereal look. He looks beautiful, peaceful, like he belongs here just as much as Jungkook does.

When Jimin finally swims back over, Jungkook grabs him gently by the waist and pulls him close.

“Swimming means everything to me,” he says quietly, sincere. “It’s the one thing that’s always been mine. The one place where I feel completely free. I’ve never really told anyone how much it matters to me.”

Jimin floats in front of him, resting his hands on Jungkook’s shoulders, studying his face. “I can see it in your eyes when you’re in the water. You light up.”

Jungkook’s chest tightens. He pulls Jimin even closer until their foreheads touch.

“You mean a lot to me too, Jimin…. More than anything else right now.”

Jimin goes very still. For a second, the only sound is the gentle lapping of water against the tiles. Then Jimin pulls back to look at him with serious eyes. “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.”

“I do mean it.” Jungkook doesn’t know how he manages his voice to sound so steady, even though his heart is racing. “It’s not momentary. It’s not just because we’re sleeping together. I want you, Jimin. I really, really want to stay.”

Hesitant, Jimin searches his face for a long time. There’s something vulnerable in his face—not like the first time Jungkook said he wants more. This time Jimin looks like he’s really letting it sink in. He lets out a shaky breath and grabs Jungkook’s face with both hands.

“If you’re lying to me, I will make you regret it. Do you understand me?”

Jungkook smiles. “I understand.”

Jimin stares at him for one more heartbeat, before pressing their lips together.

They grows desperate quickly. The gentle moment shatters the second Jimin makes a small, needy sound against Jungkook’s mouth. Jungkook’s fingers dig into Jimin’s skin, pulling him flush against his body as they float in the glowing blue water.

Jungkook breaks the kiss to trail his lips down the older’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone, and lower. He takes a deep breath and dives.

Jimin’s eyes widen in surprise as Jungkook sinks beneath the surface, showing off the lung capacity that makes him one of the best swimmers on the team. He stays down longer than any normal person should, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Jimin’s chest, his stomach, the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his soaked boxers. His hands slide up the back of Jimin’s thighs, holding him while he worships every inch he can reach.

When he finally bursts back up for air, gasping, Jimin is flushed and breathing hard. His eyes are dark with want. Their lips meet together again, breathless and hungry.

Jimin pushes Jungkook back until his shoulders hit the tiled wall of the pool, kissing him fiercely while his hand slides down Jungkook’s body. Fingers trace over wet skin, slipping beneath the waistband of Jungkook’s boxers to wrap around his already hard cock.

The younger groans into the kiss, jerking forward. “Fuck… Jimin—”

Jimin strokes him slowly under the water, teasing the head. “Never had sex in a pool before?” he asks, teasing against Jungkook’s lips.

Jungkook laughs breathlessly, tipping his head back against the wall. “No. Never been stupid enough.”

“It’s not smart,” Jimin agrees, still stroking him. “Chlorine, bad angles, and it’s slippery.” It’s not what Jungkook meant, but when Jimin leans in and bites on his bottom lip, Jungkook blanks out. “But I still want you.”

They don’t last long in the water after this. Jungkook grabs Jimin’s hand, pulling him toward the edge. They climb out, dripping wet, laughing and stumbling as they make their way to the locker room. The moment the door shuts behind them, wet boxers fall to the floor with a slap.

Jungkook reaches into his locker for the lube he keeps there for reasons, and lets Jimin push him down onto the wooden bench. The older straddles him with knees on either side of Jungkook’s hips, hands braced on his shoulders. Their mouths meet again, breathless and needy.

Jungkook holds Jimin’s hips as the dancer sinks down onto him in slow motion. They both moan, pressing their foreheads together. It’s sweet and desperate at the same time.

Once Jimin adjusts, he starts riding him with slow, deep rolls of his hips, taking Jungkook all the way inside with every bounce. Jungkook’s hands roam, one gripping Jimin’s waist, the other sliding up his back under the damp hair at his nape. They kiss constantly, breaking only to gasp for air.

“You feel so good,” Jungkook pants, thrusting up to meet every roll of Jimin’s hips. “So perfect… riding me like this… fuck, I could stay inside you forever.”

Jimin’s head falls back, a broken moan escaping his lips. “Then don’t stop… deeper—yes—right there—”

The pace quickens, the sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the empty locker room. Jimin’s hands are everywhere—in Jungkook’s wet hair, on his shoulders, digging into his back. Jungkook keeps one arm wrapped tightly around Jimin’s waist, holding him close, the other hand stroking him in time with their movements.

When they come, it’s almost at the same time. Jimin clenches around him, and Jungkook follows seconds later, burying his face in Jimin’s neck as he pulses inside him, moaning his name.

Jimin lets out a soft, shaky laugh. “Definitely not smart,” he whispers. He grinds his hips one last time.

“Disagree.” Jungkook smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Best idea we’ve ever had.”

Jimin stands up slowly and Jungkook throws his head back with a wrecked groan. “Fuck, hyung… your riding skills are actually lethal,” he pants, hoarse with awe. “I think you just ruined me for anyone else. Ever.”

Jimin smirks, looking down at him, flushed, with hair sticking to his forehead. He leans in and presses one last lazy kiss to the younger’s lips. “Thanks for the lesson, captain,” he says sweetly. “Though you just sitting there like a throne was pretty useless. Next time I expect you to do some work.”

Unexpectedly, Jungkook bursts out laughing, helpless. He wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist and pulls him back close for a moment, burying his face in his neck. “Come on, let’s get clean before we stick to this bench forever.”

He stands, a little unsteady, and tugs Jimin toward the showers. They step under the warm spray together, letting the water cascade over their bodies. Jungkook grabs the body wash and takes his time washing Jimin, gently sliding his hands over his shoulders, down his back, carefully between his legs. Jimin returns the favor, tracing every line of Jungkook’s swimmer’s build with appreciation.

When they’re both clean, Jungkook steps out first, dripping, and jogs to his locker. He returns with two large towels, wrapping one around Jimin’s shoulders and drying him off with adoring strokes. He pats Jimin’s hair, rubs his arms, even kneels to dry his legs.

Jimin watches him the whole time with a small, fond smile on his face. “You’re such a sap,” he teases softly.

“Only for you,” Jungkook promises, pressing a kiss to Jimin’s knee before standing up.

He quickly runs back to the pool deck to retrieve their abandoned clothes, then returns. He borrows Jimin one of his spare white team t-shirts. Jimin pulls it on without complaint. The hem reaches the middle of his thigh over his own sweatpants. Jungkook stays in just his team shorts, chest still bare and damp.

Once they sit on the wooden bench, touching shoulders, Jungkook leans his head against Jimin’s. “I want to come back here with you again,” he confesses quietly. “When it’s just us, swimming at night. Just… this.”

Jimin is silent for a moment, then he tilts his head so their temples rest together. “I want that too,” he admits, soft. “It’s really peaceful here. And I like watching you in the water. You look… happy. Free.”

Jungkook smiles, feeling warmth blooming in his chest. He reaches over and laces their fingers together on his thigh.

“Then we’ll do it again. Soon. Whenever you want.”

Jungkook shifts on the bench until they’re sitting face to face, knees touching. He can’t look away from the way the oversized shirt hangs loose on Jimin’s soft frame. The collar slips off one shoulder to reveal a collarbone and the marks Jungkook left earlier. His blond hair is wet, strands clinging to his forehead and cheeks. He looks soft and hot at the same time.

Jungkook reaches forward, catching the hem of the shirt between his fingers, and tugs Jimin closer until their foreheads almost touch.

“You look really good in my clothes. Especially with your hair like this.”

Before Jimin can reply, he leans in and kisses him. Jimin melts into it, his one hand coming up to rest against Jungkook’s bare chest. When they part, Jungkook stays close, brushing his thumbs over Jimin’s hips through the fabric. He swallows, suddenly nervous.

“Hyung…” he starts, reluctant. “Would you… consider being my boyfriend? Like, officially?” The words come out slightly stammered, and Jungkook winces at how awkward he sounds.

Jimin pulls back to look at him, one eyebrow raised, lips curved in a teasing smirk. “I’ll consider it,” he says lightly, clearly enjoying Jungkook’s flustered expression.

The younger laughs, relieved. He drops his head to Jimin’s shoulder, shaking with it. “You’re cruel. I’m dying here and you’re considering.”

Jimin’s expression softens as he threads his fingers through Jungkook’s damp hair and tugs gently. “Gotta keep it cute.”

They leave the natatorium a few minutes later with their hands intertwined the entire way to the motorcycle. Jungkook helps Jimin climb on behind him, making sure his arms are wrapped securely around his waist. Before he starts the engine, he turns his head and kisses Jimin once more, quick but sweet.

“You look really sexy on my bike,” he murmurs against his lips.

Jimin nips at his bottom lip. “It’s not the only place I look sexy on.”

“Oh, I know.”

When they arrive, the house is dark and mostly asleep. They slip inside as quietly as possible, trying not to wake anyone, feeling like highschoolers. They barely make it to the kitchen before Jimin stops, tugging on Jungkook’s hand. “I’m craving something sweet,” he whispers.

Jungkook’s eyes light up. He opens the fridge and pulls out a small white box. “I may have bought your favorite strawberry shortcake earlier today.”

Jimin lifts a hand to his mouth. “You’re insane.”

They take the cake upstairs. Once inside Jungkook’s room, Jungkook lies back on the bed with his arms behind his head, watching as Jimin sits cross-legged beside him and opens the box with fondness.

Jungkook gets inpatient when Jimin spends almost a minute just admiring the cake’s design instead of eating it. He sits up and kneels behind Jimin so he can wrap his arms around him from the back. His lips find the side of Jimin’s neck, trailing kisses from his shoulder up to his ear. He tugs gently on the damp ponytail, tilting Jimin’s head back so he can kiss along his jaw too.

Jimin lets out a soft moan.

“Shh,” Jungkook whispers against his skin, smiling. “Everyone’s sleeping.”

Jimin’s reply is breathless. “Then stop kissing me like that.”

“No.”

Jimin suddenly pushes Jungkook back onto the bed, climbing over him and straddling his hips. “Put your hands on the headboard,” he orders. “Don’t let go. If you’re good, you’ll get a reward.”

Jungkook’s eyes darken. He reaches up and grips the wooden slats of the headboard without hesitation. “Yes, hyung.”

Jimin chuckles, pleased. He reaches down, slides his hand into Jungkook’s shorts, and frees his already hardening cock. He strokes him once, twice, teasingly slow, then sits back.

And picks up the fork.

While Jungkook lies there, flushed and aching, Jimin casually takes a bite of strawberry shortcake, eyes never leaving Jungkook’s face.

Jungkook lets out a choked laugh, half amused, half desperate. “You’re fucking evil.”

Jimin licks cream off the fork, looking far too innocent. “I’m eating. You’re the one who’s being needy.”

He takes another bite, then casually drags the sole of his foot up the inside of Jungkook’s thigh, brushing teasingly against his cock before pulling away. Jungkook’s grip tightens on the headboard. “Hyung—”

“Be good,” Jimin reminds him sweetly, taking another bite of cake. “Or no reward.”

Jungkook groans, letting his head fall back against the pillow. He’s never been more willing to behave in his life. His grip on the headboard tightens until his knuckles turn white.

Jimin drags the fork across his lips sensually, catching stray cream with the tip of his tongue. His soft little hums of satisfaction go straight to Jungkook’s cock.

“Hyung… please,” he pants, strained.

Jimin tilts his head, pretending to consider. “Hmm, begging for mercy already?”

He sets the plate aside, climbs up Jungkook’s body, and hovers over him. Instead of touching where Jungkook desperately needs him, Jimin picks up the fork again, scoops a piece of cake, and brings it toward Jungkook’s mouth.

Jungkook opens obediently. Right before the spoon reaches his lips, the piece of cake slides off and lands with a soft, creamy splat right in the center of Jungkook’s bare chest. Jimin’s eyes widen in fake innocence. “Oops.”

Jungkook lets out a breathless laugh that turns into a groan when Jimin leans down and licks the cake off his skin, thoroughly with his tongue, cleaning every bit of cream and strawberry from Jungkook’s chest while deliberately avoiding his nipples.

“Fuck… you demon,” Jungkook pants, laughing even as his hips jerk up helplessly.

Jimin chuckles against his skin, clearly enjoying himself. “Accident. Totally an accident.”

The next time he actually feeds Jungkook, he follows it by licking the corner of Jungkook’s mouth, then sucking lightly on his bottom lip. Jungkook’s patience wears thin. He lets go of the headboard, sits up and snatches the plate from Jimin’s hands. He sets it safely on the nightstand, then flips them so Jimin is on his back beneath him.

“My turn to teach you something.”

There is interest and a hint of challenge in Jimin's eyes. “Oh? And what’s that, captain?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he slides down Jimin’s body, pushing the borrowed team shirt up to his chest. He hooks his fingers in Jimin’s sweatpants and underwear, tugging them down and off at once. Then he settles between Jimin’s spread thighs, gripping his hips.

He looks up at Jimin through his lashes with a wicked little smile. “Something I've been dying to do.”

A few days later, Jungkook has a hard time focusing on his practice. His attention keeps drifting to the side of the deck, because Jimin is there. He’s sitting on the floor right at the edge, against the wall. There’s a thick dance theory book open in his lap. He’s wearing Jungkook’s oversized black hoodies, one of his cute wide pants that he so likes, and his blond hair is tied in a loose, slightly messy ponytail.

He looks cozy.

Every time Jungkook finishes a lap and surfaces at the wall closest to him, he hauls himself halfway out of the water, dripping, and steals a kiss.

The first time Jimin startles, eyes wide. By the fifth time he’s expecting it, already curving his lips into a small smile before Jungkook even reaches him. Jungkook loves that they can do this now—spend time together, even when they have things to do, combine business with pleasure without it feeling forced or hidden.

During the next break, Jungkook grabs his towel, slings it around his neck, and drops down onto the floor beside Jimin.

“Hey,” he says softly, warm. “How’s your day been? Tell me about dance.”

Jimin closes the book, using his finger as a bookmark, and turns to look at him. “Long. We’re working on a new piece. The choreographer keeps changing the counts every five minutes. My legs are dead.” He sighs, then adds with a tiny smile, “But I survived. How about you? You’ve been showing off again.”

Jungkook laughs, leaning sideways so his damp head rests lightly against Jimin’s shoulder. “Only a little. I had to make sure you were watching.”

He’s so happy.

This whole thing—sitting on the floor together, dripping water on the tiles, casually talking about their days like it’s the most natural thing in the world—feels surreal. They still haven’t put a label on it, but now Jungkook can feel them moving forward slowly, exactly the way Jimin needs.

Jimin looks extra sweet today, a bit disheveled after his own practice, with hoodie sleeves swallowing his hands, cheeks a little pink from the warmth of the pool area. Jungkook can’t help himself. He leans in and kisses him right there on the side of the deck where anyone could see.

The older tenses for half a second, still a little awkward about PDA, but then he relaxes and kisses back, one hand coming up to rest on Jungkook’s wet shoulder. When they part, Jungkook stays close, brushing Jimin’s nose with his. “You look really cute like this.”

“And you’re clingy,” Jimin teases, but his voice is fond.

“Always,” Jungkook admits, stealing one more quick kiss before the coach blows the whistle for the next set.

When practice finally ends, he hauls himself out of the pool one last time, shakes his hair out like a dog and beams when he sees Jimin still waiting exactly where he left him.

“Done showing off?” the dancer asks, closing his book and standing up.

“Never,” Jungkook replies, walking over with the towel slung around his neck. “But I’m all yours now. Come on, let’s get out of here before the coach makes me do extra laps for flirting.”

They head toward the locker room together. The moment the door swings shut behind them, the noise of the splashing water and calls fades into a quieter, more intimate space. Jungkook peels off his wet swim trunks without ceremony, tossing them into his locker. He’s completely naked for a second before he grabs a fresh pair of shorts.

Jimin leans against the locker next to his, crossing his arms and watching with open amusement. “You know, most people at least pretend to be modest in the locker room,” he teases.

Jungkook laughs as he steps into the dry shorts. “You’ve had your mouth on every inch of me. Modesty is a little late, don’t you think?” He pulls a clean t-shirt over his head and glances over. “Besides, you’re the one staring.”

“I’m supervising, nicely making sure you don’t trip over your own ego and crack your skull.”

He snorts, running the towel roughly through his hair. “My ego is perfectly balanced, thank you. How was the book? Learn anything useful, or were you just pretending to read while you watched me swim?”

“I was reading,” the older insists, though the corner of his mouth twitches. “Mostly. I was revising the entire middle section that was changed by the choreographer. I swear he hates us. My calves are going to fall off tomorrow.”

“Poor baby,” Jungkook coos, stepping closer. He reaches out and gently squeezes Jimin’s shoulder. “Want me to massage them later? I’m very good with my hands, you know this.”

Jimin rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away. “You’re unbearable. And yes, maybe. But only if you stop calling me ‘poor baby’. I’m not one of your teammates.”

“Deal.” Jungkook leans in and presses a quick kiss to Jimin’s temple. “Did I already mention that you made it really hard to focus on my turns?”

“That was the point. Distract the captain, classic strategy.”

Jungkook laughs again. He finishes stuffing his wet things into his bag and zips it shut. “Ready to go home?” he asks, holding out his hand.

Jimin takes it, intertwining their fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

Arguments happen in every relationship but Jungkook failed to consider that one day it might happen to him and Jimin.

He had never really thought about that until now. He’d been too busy floating in the honeymoon mornings, stolen kisses at the pool, and Jimin wearing his shirts. He never considered that one day the relationship might fracture and that he would be the one who didn’t know how to fix it.

On Thursday evening the frat organizes the party. They’re celebrating the swim team’s latest win—another trophy on the shelf is another excuse to drink. Jungkook stands near the kitchen island, only half listening to Taehyung’s retelling of the final relay while he watches the choreography video Jimin sent him earlier that day.

It’s beautiful. Jimin moves like liquid, light and graceful, and Jungkook can’t stop replaying. He’s on his third drink, when the front door opens and Jimin finally walks in. His presence immediately catches Jungkook's attention, as if they’re two stars pulled together by gravity.

Jungkook is so sensitive to Jimin’s moods that even through the crowd he can see the way Jimin’s shoulders stiffen the second he takes in the party. His eyes sweep over the crowded living room, and his expression falters. He’s still wearing the same clothes from dance practice, his bag;s slung over one shoulder. He looks exhausted.

Jungkook’s stomach drops. He realizes that he forgot to mention the party.

Jimin’s gaze finds him across the room. For a second his face softens, but then it hardens again. He rolls his eyes, the motion small but unmistakable.

Jungkook weaves through the crowd quickly, still holding his cup in hand. “Hey,” he greets, warm but cautious. “You made it.”

Jimin crosses his arms. “You forgot to tell me there is a party.”

“I—yeah. Sorry. It slipped my mind. We won regionals today and the guys wanted to celebrate.” Jungkook offers a sheepish smile. “I can tell them to turn it down?”

Jimin exhales through his nose. “I’m not really in the mood for this tonight.”

Jungkook nods immediately. “That’s okay. We can go upstairs. My room’s quiet. Come on.”

He takes Jimin’s hand and leads him through the chaos, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. The second the door closes, the music dulls, but it’s still there, bass vibrating through the floor.

Jimin drops his bag by the desk and rubs his temples. “I’m tired,” he sighs. “I have a paper due tomorrow and I still haven’t started the last section. The party downstairs is going to make it impossible to focus.”

Jungkook sets his cup down on the dresser. He’s three drinks in and his head feels pleasantly fuzzy, but he can see Jimin’s frustration clearly. “I’m sorry,” he repeats again. “I should’ve texted you. I just… got caught up after practice.”

Jimin walks over to the window and stares out at the dark campus. “It’s fine. I just—I forgot this is what your life looks like most nights.”

The words sound sad, and Jungkook doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the way his own heart lurches. He steps closer. “It doesn’t—We can leave. I can’t drive right now, but we could walk to your dorm or—”

“And then what?” Jimin turns around. His voice isn’t angry yet, but it’s tight. “Tomorrow or in a week we’ll be back in the same place? I have to study, Jungkook. I can’t just party every night like you do.”

Jungkook blinks, the alcohol making his tongue slower than usual. “I don’t party every night.” At least not as often as he used to. “This is just… one night. For the team.”

The dancer lets out a short, tired laugh. “One night. Last week it was the victory party. The week before that it was the pre-game thing. The week before that it was ‘just a small get-together.’ Your life is loud, Jungkook. Mine isn’t. I need quiet to function.”

The room is shrinking. Jungkook rubs the back of his neck. “I’m trying to meet you halfway. I go to your studio sometimes. I sit and watch you dance. I thought… maybe you could do the same for me.”

“I did. I came to your competition. I sat by the pool while you practiced. But this—” he gestures toward the floor, “this isn’t the same. I can’t study with fifty drunk people screaming downstairs. And you’re three drinks in and not really hearing me.”

Jungkook’s stomach twists. He knows he’s not handling this well. The alcohol is clouding his thoughts, making his answers clumsy. “I’m sorry,” he says again, softer. “I didn’t think it would bother you this much.”

Jimin’s shoulders slump. He looks exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with dance practice. “I know you didn’t,” he agrees quietly. “That’s the problem. Our lives are just… different. And sometimes I wonder if you even see how different they are.”

The silence that follows is uncomfortably heavy.

He picks up his bag. “I should go. I’ll walk back to my dorm. I need to finish this paper.”

“Jimin—”

“It’s fine. We can talk tomorrow. When you’re sober.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He walks out the door, and the party swallows him as he leaves.

The only thing that Jungkook can think about is that the drinks Taehyung made were strong. He stands in the middle of his room for several long seconds, before the fog in his head finally clears enough for panic to hit. “Shit.”

He bolts. He doesn’t even grab a jacket, just runs down the stairs, pushing past a couple making out against the banister, and bursts out the front door into the cool night air.

“Jimin!”

The street is dimly lit. A few people are smoking on the lawn, but Jungkook’s eyes search and lock on to the familiar figure already halfway down the block, walking with that determined stride. Jungkook jogs after him with a heart hammering harder than it did during any race today. “Jimin, wait—please.”

Jimin doesn’t stop at first. His shoulders are tight, hands shoved into the pockets of the hoodie. When Jungkook finally catches up and falls into step beside him, Jimin doesn’t look over.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says immediately, a little out of breath. “I should’ve told you about the party. I wasn’t thinking. I just… got excited about the win and… I wanted you here.”

Jimin keeps walking. “It’s not about the party, Jungkook.”

“Then what is it about?” the younger asks, genuinely lost. The alcohol is slowing his thoughts, making everything feel a step behind. “I thought we were okay. We’ve been good, really good.”

Jimin finally pauses under a streetlight. He turns to face him, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“We are good,” he exhales. “When we’re in your world or in mine separately. But our comfort zones are different. You think a frat party is just a normal Thursday. For me it’s overwhelming. I need quiet to study, to decompress. I can’t do that when the floor is shaking and people are screaming downstairs. I don’t like too many people around me at all actually.”

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, frustrated. “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve realized—”

“I don’t need apologies,” Jimin cuts in, gentler but tired. “You don’t owe me anything. We just… live differently. That’s a fact. You like the attention and the people and the chaos. I like my books and my empty studio and my walks home alone.”

Jungkook’s chest tightens. “But I want to make it work. I want to figure it out with you. I don’t want you to have to walk home alone because I was too drunk to drive you. I hate that.”

Jimin looks away, down the dark street. “I like walking. It clears my head. And I’m not leaving my car parked around here on a party night. You know what happens to cars near frat row.”

That part is fair, Jungkook can’t argue with it.

He steps closer, hoping his voice sounds softer. “I know. I just… I hate fighting with you. I thought we were past the point where our lifestyles would clash like this.”

Jimin’s shoulders drop a little. He looks even more exhausted somehow, tired in a way that has nothing to do with dance practice.

“We’re not fighting,” he says sadly. “We’re just… realizing that this doesn’t feel as simple anymore. And I don’t know how to make our worlds fit together without one of us always compromising.”

Jungkook wants to say a thousand things. That he’s willing to compromise. That he’ll turn down parties. That he’ll study with Jimin in silence. That he wants Jimin in his life in every single way.

But his tongue feels thick from the drinks, and every sentence he tries to form comes out clumsy in his head. “I want to work it out,” is all he manages. “Please. Don’t walk away angry. Let me walk you home at least.”

Jimin studies him for a long moment. The streetlight casts soft shadows across his face, making him look smaller than usual. “I’m not angry,” he mumbles finally. “I’m just… tired. And I need to finish my paper tonight.”

He starts walking again.

Jungkook falls into step beside him, shoving his hands deep in his pockets so he won’t reach out and pull Jimin back. They walk the rest of the way in heavy silence.

When they reach the dorm building, Jimin stops at the entrance and turns to him. His expression is softer now, but still guarded. “I’ll text you tomorrow,” he murmurs. “When I’m not so exhausted.”

Jungkook nods, throat tight. “Okay.”

Jimin gives him one small nod, then disappears through the doors without another word. Jungkook stands there on the sidewalk for a long time after the door shuts, letting the cool night air sober him up faster than he wants.

The walk back to the frat house feels awfully long. By the time he pushes open the front door, the alcohol has mostly burned off, leaving behind a clear head and a heavy ache in his chest. He doesn’t like it. The fog had been easier to hide behind. Now the hurt is sharp and real, pressing behind his ribs with every breath.

The party is still going strong, but Jungkook ignores all of his captain duties and heads straight upstairs.

His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he reaches the second floor.

jimin: did you get home safe?

He stops on the landing, staring at the message. The simple question loosens something tight in his throat. He types back quickly.

jungkook: yeah, just got back.

i hope you have sweet dreams

The message is marked as read almost immediately. He receives no reply. Still… Jimin asked. That small gesture comforts Jungkook more than it probably should. It means he’s not angry, not completely shut down... At least not yet.

Jungkook exhales and continues up the stairs, but the sadness lingers as he replays the conversation in his head. Jimin had said their comfort zones were different, and he sounded exhausted about it, as if it’s been building up for a long time.

I don’t know how to make our worlds fit together without one of us always compromising.

Jungkook doesn’t want Jimin to always be the one compromising. But he also can’t ask the entire house to fall silent every time Jimin needs to study. He can’t keep turning down team celebrations, because he’s the captain. The team has expectations towards him, they look up to him. And deeper than that, Jungkook worries that Jimin might decide his own needs are more important than finding a middle ground at all.

By the time he reaches the top of the stairs, his shoulders feel heavy.

Taehyung is leaning against the wall near Jungkook’s door, sipping from a red cup. The second he sees Jungkook’s face, his smile fades. “Uh oh. You look like someone kicked your puppy. What happened?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. He just pushes his door open and walks inside. Taehyung follows without being invited, closing the door behind them.

Jungkook almost cries, because the room still smells faintly like vanilla and lavender softener, just like Jimin. His eyes stop on the white swim team t-shirt lying crumpled on the floor where Jimin had tossed it earlier. He picks it up without thinking and brings it to his nose, inhaling.

Taehyung makes a gagging sound. “Bro, you’re smelling his dirty shirt? That’s next level pathetic. I’m both impressed and concerned.”

Jungkook shoots him a look. “Your socks have cartoon bananas on them. I would think twice before calling someone else pathetic.”

Taehyung glances down at his ridiculous socks, and shrugs, completely unbothered. “Fair. But at least my socks aren’t the ones crying into a shirt, so...”

The younger huffs a weak laugh and sits on the edge of the bed, still clutching the shirt. Taehyung drops down beside him. “Talk to me. “What went wrong?”

Jungkook stares at the floor for a long moment.

“We argued,” he admits finally. “It wasn’t even a big fight with throwing stuff around, just… our lifestyles, the party tonight... He came in and looked so tired and overwhelmed, and I realized I forgot to warn him. He needs quiet to study. But I need to be there for the team. He said our comfort zones are too different and I didn’t know how to fix it. I was still a little drunk and my answers sucked.”

Taehyung nods slowly, listening.

“I want this to work. I really like him, hyung. Like… all of him. But I can’t ask the whole house to change for me. And I can’t keep saying no to the team every time they want to celebrate. I’m the captain. But I also don’t want Jimin to feel like he always has to be the one adjusting.”

Taehyung is silent for a beat, then bumps their shoulders together. “You’re not wrong to want both,” he validates. “But relationships aren’t about one person always giving in. You two just have to figure out the middle. Maybe some nights you can go to his dorm and help him study, and some nights he can come here and put on noise-canceling headphones. Or you find a middle ground, something like hanging out in your room with the door closed instead of downstairs. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”

Yeah, Taehyung clearly had more than three drinks, because his advice sucks. Jungkook imagines himself telling Jimin to wear noise-canceling headphones, and cringes.

He swallows. “What if he decides it’s too much work? What if he decides I’m not worth compromising for?”

Taehyung looks at him seriously. “Then that’s on him. But from what I’ve seen, Jimin’s been letting you in more and more. He came to your competition. He wears your shirts. He texts you when he gets home. That’s not nothing, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods, clutching the shirt a little tighter.

Taehyung squeezes his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. You’re both stubborn as hell, but you clearly like each other. Just… talk to him when you’re both sober and not exhausted. And maybe next time give the guy a heads-up before you throw a raging party.”

Jungkook lets out a tired laugh. “Yeah. Lesson learned.”

Taehyung stands up and ruffles his hair. “Get some sleep. And stop smelling his shirt like a heartbroken puppy. It’s weird.”

“Shut up,” the younger mutters, but he’s smiling a little.

After Taehyung leaves, he lies back on the bed, still holding the shirt against his chest. He’ll figure out how to make their worlds fit, even if they have to fight about it sometimes. Because Jimin is worth it.

The next morning Jungkook wakes up early, even though he has no classes. He lies in bed for ten minutes staring at the ceiling, then makes a decision. He showers quickly, throws on a hoodie and sweats, grabs his keys, and drives to campus.

He just wants to see Jimin before his classes start to fix the small fracture before it spreads. When he reaches the dorm building, he climbs the stairs to the third floor and knocks softly on the door. It opens almost immediately.

Of course Jimin is already awake. He’s dressed in loose black sweatpants and one of Jungkook’s old grey t-shirts. His hair is still slightly messy from sleep, but there’s a mug of something hot in his hand. He looks surprised to see Jungkook standing there.

“Jungkook?”

“Hey,” the younger greets softly. “Can I come in?”

Jimin steps aside without hesitation.

The room is the same cozy mess it was the last time, and it’s comforting to see. Jungkook closes the door behind him and turns to face Jimin.

“I’m sorry,” he says first, before either of them can overthink it. “I should’ve told you about the party. I got caught up in the celebration and it completely slipped my mind. That wasn’t fair to you. I should’ve thought about you, because going into it, I promised to commit myself to you the way I would to my team.”

Jimin sets his mug down on the desk and leans against it, loosely crossing his arms.

“It’s okay,” he answers quietly. “You couldn’t have known I had a huge paper due today and that I was already exhausted. I overreacted. I was tired and the party just… got to me. I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “You didn’t overreact. I keep thinking about what you said… that our comfort zones are different. I wonder how many times you’ve been out of yours because of me and I just didn’t notice.”

Jimin looks down at the floor for a moment, then back up. His voice is calmer, but honest. “I don’t want us to have to make huge sacrifices. We can work it out. You can party with your team when you need to. I can stay at my dorm on those nights and we can see each other the next day. Or on random party nights, you can come here instead. Just… remember to warn me. That’s all I need.”

Jungkook nods, relief mixing with the lingering worry in his chest. “I can do that,” he agrees. “I will do that.”

He steps closer, gently taking Jimin’s hands in his.

“But I’m worried,” he admits, quieter. “It’s not just parties. It’s… everything. The—the people, the late nights, the way our schedules and lifestyles don’t always line up. I don’t want you to keep feeling like you have to adjust to my world all the time. And I don’t want to keep feeling like I’m dragging you out of yours.”

Jimin squeezes his hands once, then lets go and reaches up to fix the collar of Jungkook’s hoodie. “We’ll figure it out,” he announces simply. “One thing at a time. I’m not going anywhere just because we had one argument. I’m tired of pretending I don’t like spending time with you, Jungkook. Even when it’s not something I usually do.”

Jungkook’s shoulders finally relax. He pulls Jimin into a hug, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Jimin hugs back, resting his cheek against his chest. They stay like that for a long minute, breathing each other in.

“I missed you last night,” Jungkook whispers into his hair.

“I missed you too,” the older answers, muffled. “Even though I was annoyed at you.”

Jungkook laughs softly. He presses a kiss to the top of Jimin’s head and holds him a little tighter.

The next day passes slowly.

Jimin spends most of it in the dance studio, having long hours of practice for an upcoming showcase. Jungkook knows this because Jimin texted him a simple “studio all day, see you tonight ❤️” in the morning, and the emoji made Jungkook’s whole day.

He tries to keep busy at the frat house, but he ends up zoning out in the kitchen instead. He’s been standing in front of the open fridge for almost ten minutes, staring at nothing, when Namjoon walks in.

“Are you planning to fight the fridge or something?” Namjoon asks, gentle and amused.

Jungkook startles, then sighs and closes the fridge door. “I miss him.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow and leans against the counter. “Jimin?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook rubs the back of his neck. “He’s been in the studio since morning. I know it’s his thing, but the house feels so empty without him. I don’t even know what to do in my spare time anymore.”

Namjoon studies him for a moment, then pulls out a chair and sits down, gesturing for Jungkook to do the same. "Talk to me,” he says simply.

Jungkook sits. The words start slow, then tumble out. “I’m scared,” he admits. “We had our first real argument last night and it felt… bigger than it should’ve. Like it showed me how different our lives are. He’s introverted. I’m surrounded by people all the time. I’m the captain, the center of the team, the guy who throws the parties. I can’t just disappear from all of that. But I also don’t want him to keep feeling like he has to step into my world when it drains him.”

He pauses, thinking about it, then adds quieter, “I’m terrified he’ll decide I’m not worth the effort. That one day he’ll realize our comfort zones are too far apart and he’ll pull away.”

Namjoon listens without interrupting, nodding slowly. When Jungkook finishes, he speaks with that calm, thoughtful tone that always makes him sound wiser than his years.

“Relationships aren’t about being identical, they’re about choosing to build bridges instead of expecting the other person to move entirely to your side. The fear you’re feeling is normal. It means you care deeply.” He leans forward a little. “But you have to talk about it before it festers. Tell him exactly what you just told me. And listen when he tells you what he needs. Compromise doesn’t mean that one person sacrifices everything. It means both of you lean a little toward the middle.”

Jungkook nods, absorbing every word. The knot in his chest loosens just a fraction.

Namjoon smiles softly. “You’re good for each other. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. And the way you light up when he walks into a room. Don’t let one rough night convince you it’s doomed.”

The younger lets out a long breath. “Thanks, hyung. I needed that.”

Namjoon takes a bite of his apple, then suddenly pauses, eyes widening like he just remembered something. “Oh, and speaking of people who are bad at hiding their feelings… did you know Taehyung has the biggest crush on Hoseok?”

“Wait, what?”

He winces, realizing he slipped. “Shit. I thought everyone knew. Tae’s been pining for months. The constant teasing, the way he lights up when Hoseok walks in… it’s painfully obvious. Even Yoongi noticed and Yoongi notices nothing.”

Jungkook’s mouth falls open. Nothing was painfully obvious to him. And he’s pretty as hell sure that Jimin didn’t notice anything either.

“Jimin and I are the only ones who didn’t know?”

“Apparently. Taehyung thinks he’s being subtle. It’s adorable.

“That idiot. I can’t believe I missed it.”

Namjoon stands up and ruffles Jungkook’s hair affectionately.

“Go see your boy,” he encourages. “He’s probably still in the studio. Don’t sit here missing him from the kitchen like a sad puppy. Go be with him.”

Jungkook smiles, grateful and a little lighter. “Yeah,” he says, already reaching for his keys. “I think I will.”

He arrives at the dance building full of lightness and hope. He walks down the hallway with a small smile, imagining surprising Jimin, maybe stealing a kiss between sets or simply sitting in the corner and watching him move. But the moment he reaches the large glass wall of the main studio, everything turns sour.

Jimin is inside, but not alone. He’s facing another guy around their age. The stranger looks angry, disheveled, wearing a faded hoodie. They are arguing, that much is clear. Jungkook cannot hear the words, but the tension is clear in their sharp gestures and stiff postures.

He suddenly grabs Jimin’s wrist. Immediately, Jimin twists free with ease, the motion so fluid it looks like something he had done many times before. Jungkook’s stomach drops. He’s reaching for the door handle, when the stranger shoves past Jimin and storms out through the second exit on the far side of the studio. By the time Jungkook steps inside, the stranger is already gone.

Jimin spins around at the sound of the door. His eyes widen in shock and clear embarrassment when he sees Jungkook standing there. “Jungkook… what are you doing here?”

Jungkook’s gaze darts toward the door the stranger disappeared through. “Who the hell was that? Are you hurt?”

The dancer quickly steps forward and grabs his arm with both hands, physically stopping him from going after the guy. “He’s gone. It’s fine. Just… leave it.”

“Jimin. He grabbed you. That didn’t look fine.”

Jimin’s shoulders slump. He looks exhausted. His ponytail has almost completely slipped out of the tie, blond strands sticking to his damp forehead and neck. He looks smaller than usual.

He lets go of Jungkook’s arm and sinks down onto the studio floor, sitting with his back against the mirrored wall. His voice comes out quiet, almost ashamed. “Can we just… pretend that never happened?”

Jungkook’s heart twists. He crouches in front of Jimin, then sits on the floor too, close enough that their knees touch. He places a gentle hand on Jimin’s knee, stroking slowly with his thumb. “No,” he disagrees softly but firmly. “Talk to me. Who was that?”

Jimin stares at the floor for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is flat, like he hates every word. “He’s my stepbrother.”

Jungkook blinks, processing the information. “You told me you don’t have any siblings.”

“I don’t.” The older’s fingers twist in the hem of his shirt. “I was adopted when I was six. My biological parents… they weren’t around. The family that took me in already had a son. He’s a few years older than me. They’re all addicts—my adoptive parents, him, everyone. I was never close to any of them. I left as soon as I turned eighteen.”

He swallows, still not looking at Jungkook.

“He shows up sometimes… When he runs out of money for booze or whatever he’s on that week. He thinks I owe him. Or that I have money because I’m in college. It’s been like this for years. I usually handle it a-alone.”

His voice cracks on the last word. He looks deeply embarrassed, eyes fixed on the floor like he wishes he could disappear into it.

Jungkook feels a painful sting, heavy and sad, as it settles deep in his chest. He had always known that Jimin kept parts of himself locked away, but he never imagined what lay beneath. The shame in Jimin’s posture, the way he’s curled in on himself—it hurts to watch.

He moves closer, sliding his hand from Jimin’s knee up to his arm, then gently cupping the side of his face so that Jimin has to look at him. “Hey,” he calls gently. “None of that is your fault. Not a single part of it. You don’t have to be ashamed. It doesn’t change how I see you, not even a little.”

Jimin lets out a bitter, shaky laugh. His eyes glisten. “It’s embarrassing,” he whispers. “Having a family like that. Having him show up and grab me like I’m still a kid he can push around. I didn’t want you to see that.” He covers his face with his hand. “I didn’t want anyone to see that.”

Jungkook’s heart aches. He has never seen Jimin like this, so raw, so vulnerable, close to tears, the usual sarcasm gone.

He leans in, takes Jimin’s hand away from his face, intertwining their fingers, and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, then another to his temple, lingering there.

“You don’t have to hide anything from me,” Jungkook assures, moving his lips against his skin. “Not your family, not your past, not a single part of you. I want all of it. I’m not going anywhere because of this. I promise.”

Jimin stays still for a moment, swallowing tears, then slowly leans into the touch, letting out a shaky breath. Jungkook keeps kissing him softly—forehead, temple, the corner of his eye, where a single tear hangs on for dear life.

“You’re not defined by them. You’re you. The person who is funny, loves strawberry shortcake and dances like the music is part of his soul. That’s who I care about. That’s who I’m falling for.”

Jimin’s breath hitches. He does not cry, but his eyes are shiny when he finally looks up at Jungkook.

Jungkook pushes the hair away from his face. After a long silence, he decides the moment needs air. He pulls back, smiling. “Completely unrelated, but Namjoon accidentally told me something today. Apparently Taehyung has been crushing on Hoseok for months. Like, full-on pining. And everyone knew except us.”

Jimin’s eyes widen, then he lets out a surprised, watery laugh. “No way,” he breathes, and the tension in his shoulders eases visibly. “Taehyung? And Hobi? That explains so much.”

Jungkook beams, relieved to see even a small spark of the usual Jimin return. “Apparently it’s painfully obvious to everyone but us.”

Jimin shakes his head. He leans forward and rests his forehead against Jungkook’s shoulder, the fight draining out of him. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For coming…. For not letting me push you away.”

Jungkook wraps both arms around him, holding him close. “Always,” he mumbles into Jimin’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

When they finally leave the studio, the sky is already darkening into deep evening blue. Jungkook takes off his leather jacket without a word and drapes it around Jimin’s shoulders. It’s too big on him, sleeves hang past his fingertips, but Jimin pulls it closer, burying his nose in the collar for a second. Jungkook’s chest tightens at the sight.

They walk to the motorcycle in silence. Jungkook helps Jimin climb on behind him, making sure the jacket is zipped up properly and Jimin’s arms are wrapped securely around his waist.

They have only gone a few blocks when Jimin suddenly laughs. It’s a bright, unexpected sound. Jungkook glances back at him, surprised but amused. “What?”

Jimin rests his chin on his shoulder, still laughing softly. “It’s funny,” he says, his breath warm against Jungkook’s ear. “You’re literally everything I planned to avoid.”

Jungkook’s lips curve into a smile. “Is it the bike?”

“Amongst others,” Jimin answers, squeezing his waist. “I had a whole list. The frat boy, the captain, playboy… I was supposed to stay far away from all of it.”

Jungkook slows the bike at a red light and turns his head to look at Jimin properly. Seeing him like that, wearing his jacket with eyes a little sad, but a familiar, amused smirk playing on his lips, Jungkook feels his chest fill with so much emotion it almost hurts.

He reaches back with one hand and gently fixes a few strands of Jimin’s hair, tucking them behind his ear. “I’m glad you failed at avoiding me.”

Jimin’s smile softens. He doesn’t reply, but he presses his cheek against Jungkook’s back and holds on tighter as the light turns green. When they reach the frat house, Jungkook kills the engine and helps Jimin off the bike. Before they go inside, he turns to him.

“Do you want to talk about what happened earlier?” he asks gently. “With your stepbrother?”

Jimin shakes his head, but his voice is quieter than usual. “Not tonight. But… I don’t talk about it much because it always feels like I’m carrying their mess with me. I spent years trying to become someone completely separate from them. Sometimes it still feels like I failed.”

Jungkook feels a surge of pride for Jimin—for being strong and for trusting him even this little bit. He cups Jimin’s face with both hands and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “Thank you for telling me,” he whispers. “Even just that much. I’m proud of you.”

Jimin’s eyes flutter closed for a second. He leans into the touch, then nods once. They go inside together.

Jungkook heads straight to the kitchen and makes them both a simple late dinner—rice, eggs, and some leftover banchan. Jimin sits on the counter and watches him cook, stealing like a thief whenever Jungkook isn’t looking. The younger pretends not to see. After they eat, they go upstairs. Jungkook changes into comfortable clothes, then pulls Jimin into bed with him. He wraps his arms around him from behind, spooning him tightly, resting one hand over Jimin’s stomach, and feels Jimin relax slowly, hears breath evening out.

Jungkook stays awake a little longer, pressing occasional soft kisses to the back of Jimin’s neck and shoulder, listening to his breathing grow deeper and steadier as he falls deeper and deeper into his dream.

The next morning, Jungkook wakes up slowly, warmth wrapped all around him. His arms are looped tightly around Jimin’s waist, one leg thrown over Jimin’s thighs, face buried in the back of his neck.

Jimin turns out to be awake, sitting up slightly against the headboard with a book in his hands. The early sunlight filters through the curtains and catches on his pretty messy blond hair. He looks peaceful, completely absorbed in whatever he is reading. Jungkook can’t help as he smiles sleepily and tightens his arms around him, pressing a lazy kiss to his arm.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “What are you reading so early? Something filthy at least?”

Jimin doesn’t look up from the page, but the corner of his mouth lifts. “Very filthy,” he confirms calmly. “The main character is currently tied to a bed while the love interest describes in great detail everything he’s going to do to him. Very educational.”

Jungkook groans softly, nuzzling closer, so Jimin finally glances down at him with amusement. “You asked.”

The younger shifts until he can rest his chin on Jimin’s stomach, looking up at him with a soft, hopeful expression. “It’s Sunday,” he says. “We’ve got no classes, no practice, no nothing. Can we spend the whole day together? Just us?”

Jimin raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the way Jungkook is looking at him. He closes the book slowly and sets it aside. “Hmm… I don’t know,” he teases, pretending to think. “I might have plans. Important plans. Very busy Sunday.”

Jungkook pouts, tightening his hold around his waist. “Cancel them.”

The dancer laughs quietly, running his fingers through Jungkook’s messy bed hair.

“Why should I?” he asks teasingly.

Jungkook hesitates for a second, suddenly shy. He bites his lip, then admits in a small voice, “Because… it’s my birthday today. September 1st.”

Jimin freezes. His eyes widen and the teasing expression vanishes instantly. “You’re kidding,” he breathes. “You never told me. I didn’t prepare anything, no gift, no cake, nothing.”

Jungkook chuckles, a little embarrassed. “I don’t usually make a big deal out of it.”

Jimin stares at him for another second, then narrows his eyes in mock anger. “You absolute idiot,” he sighs, full of fond exasperation. “I’m going to edge you for six hours straight for this. Maybe seven. How dare you not tell me it’s your birthday?”

Jungkook laughs brightly, relieved. He pulls Jimin down until they are face to face again, their noses brushing. “I don’t need anything,” he whispers. “Just you. This. Us.”

Jimin’s expression softens completely. He cups Jungkook’s face with both hands and kisses him. When they finally pull apart, Jimin rests their foreheads together, breathing softly against Jungkook’s lips.

“Happy birthday, captain,” he murmurs.

Jungkook smiles, eyes closed, heart completely at peace.

It’s already the birthday he has had in years, with Jimin in his arms like that, and it has only just begun.

Thankfully, this morning Jimin doesn’t edge him for six hours—Jungkook isn’t tied to a bed post—but he does something far worse. He uses his mouth in a way that’s merciless, bringing Jungkook right to the edge over and over again, only to pull back at the last second with a wicked little smile. Then, when Jungkook is shaking and begging, Jimin finally sinks down onto him and rides him. His hips roll in perfect, devastating circles until Jungkook is gasping, oversensitive, and coming so hard he sees the stars and maybe a few planets.

By the time Jimin finally lets him off the hook, Jungkook is a trembling, breathless mess. “Mercy,” he wheezes, heaving. “That was… not mercy.”

Jimin leans down, kisses the corner of his mouth, and whispers sweetly, “You should’ve told me it was your birthday.”

Jungkook laughs weakly, still trying to catch his breath. After a few minutes of recovery, he drags himself to the shower on shaky legs. The hot water feels like heaven on his oversensitive skin. When he returns to the bedroom with the towel around his waist, Jimin is in bed wearing nothing but Jungkook’s black t-shirt, even though he refused to move earlier. He looks so soft, rumpled, and unfairly beautiful.

Jungkook drops the towel and crawls in beside him. Jimin immediately shifts closer, resting his cheek on Jungkook’s bare chest and draping one leg over his thigh. Jungkook wraps an arm around him, gently caressing the smooth skin of his shoulder and upper arm.

“Everything and nothing,” Jungkook murmurs. “Tell me whatever you want to do.”

Jimin sighs, tracing lazy circles on Jungkook’s stomach. “I’m still a little mad you didn’t tell me,” he repeats again, but there’s no real heat in it. “I’m thinking of new and innovative ways to punish you. Maybe I’ll make you wear those ridiculous banana socks Taehyung loves while I ride you next time. Or I’ll make you watch me while I touch myself and not let you touch me.”

Jungkook chuckles, the sound rumbling under Jimin’s cheek. “You’re terrifying. I love it.”

“You deserve it.”

They talk about everything and nothing, sharing silly stories from dance practice, Jungkook’s worst relay race, what they want to eat for lunch, which of Taehyung’s underwear prints is the worst. After a comfortable lull, Jungkook presses a kiss to the top of Jimin’s head.

“Want to go swimming later?” he asks softly. “I just want to be in the water with you.”

Jimin lifts his head. His eyes are warm. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Jungkook’s smile grows. He pulls the dancer even closer, wrapping both arms around him until they are completely tangled. “Can’t wait,” he whispers.

At some point as they descend the stairs, before they can slip out the front door, loud voices stop them in the living room.

“Birthday boy! Don’t you dare sneak out without your presents!”

Seokjin, Namjoon, Yoongi, and Taehyung are all sprawled across the couches like they have been waiting for them to come downstairs. A small pile of wrapped gifts waits on the coffee table.

Jungkook freezes, and his cheeks turn pink unexpectedly. Jimin stops beside him, clearly amused.

Seokjin goes first, handing over a neatly wrapped box. “New wireless earbuds. So you can stop stealing mine when you forget yours at the pool.”

Namjoon gives him a thick book. “It’s a philosophy of sport anthology. Thought you might like the chapters on flow state and performance.”

Jungkook doesn’t think he ever read a book but he thanks him, anyway.

Yoongi slides over a small black box. “Noise-cancelling headphones for when you need to drown out Taehyung.”

Snorting, Taehyung stands up with a flourish and presents a brightly wrapped package. Jungkook opens it and immediately bursts out laughing. Inside is a pair of neon orange boxer-briefs covered in tiny cartoon bananas wearing sunglasses, plus matching socks with the same design.

“You absolute menace,” Jungkook says, holding up the underwear. “These are even worse than your cat ones.”

Taehyung beams. “Limited edition! Now you and I can match. Best friends forever.”

Jimin lets out a chuckle. His eyes sparkle with genuine delight as he looks at the ridiculous banana print. “I like it,” he declares, smirking at Jungkook. “You should wear them soon. I want to see the captain of the swim team in banana underwear.”

Everyone giggles. Jungkook groans, but he is smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

After the gifts are opened and everyone has teased him thoroughly, Jungkook finally manages to escape with Jimin. They ride to the natatorium as the sun begins to set, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks. The pool is completely empty as expected, save for the two of them and the quiet hum of the water.

Jungkook loves how pretty Jimin looks the moment he walks into the pool. The golden light of the sunset rests on his wet skin, turning the water around him into liquid sunlight. His blond hair floats behind him, and every graceful stroke makes Jungkook’s chest feel too full.

They swim side by side at first, then start playing, splashing each other, racing short distances, pretending to compete. Jungkook catches Jimin around the waist underwater and spins him until they’re both breathless and grinning.

At one point Jimin floats on his back with his eyes closed, his face bathed in the last rays of the setting sun. Jungkook simply watches him, feeling his heart swelling with affection.

“You look beautiful like this,” he says softly, treading water beside him.

Jimin opens one eye, smiling lazily. “Flattery won’t make me go easy on you in our next race.”

Jungkook laughs and pulls him close, wrapping Jimin’s legs around his waist so they float together. It feels like the perfect way to end the best birthday he has ever had.

When the sky finally turns deep indigo and the underwater lights shift the pool into a dreamy, glowing blue, they kiss and grow desperate. Jungkook holds Jimin closer, arm wrapped tightly around his waist, the other hand tangled in wet blond hair. He presses Jimin gently against the tiled wall, deepening the kiss until they are both gasping. His hands roam greedily over wet skin, gripping Jimin’s thighs, his tiny waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

Breathless, Jimin breaks the kiss to speak against his lips. “Maybe… after all… we should try the pool sex,” he pants, teasing. “Right here, now.”

Jungkook laughs. He sounds rough and wrecked, just the way he feels. He rests his forehead against Jimin’s. “I would never be able to focus during practice tomorrow,” he groans. “Every time I look at this wall I’d remember and I’d be hard the entire session.”

The older nips at Jungkook’s bottom lip. “Think of all the people who must’ve already come in this pool,” he whispers filthily. “We’d just be adding to the list.”

Jungkook makes a horrified noise, widening his eyes. “Don’t say that. I’m traumatized now.”

Jimin bursts out laughing, echoing across the empty natatorium. The sound is so infectious that Jungkook starts laughing too, even as he grabs Jimin’s hand and drags him toward the edge of the pool.

“Come on, you menace,” Jungkook calls, still chuckling as he helps Jimin climb out. “We’re not defiling the competition pool.

They stumble into the locker room, dripping wet and still laughing. The moment they step under the hot spray of the shower, the laughter fades. Jungkook lifts Jimin effortlessly, pressing his back against the wall as their mouths meet again.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Jungkook groans against his lips, grinding up into him.

Jimin moans, nails digging into the younger’s shoulders. Jungkook pants, biting down on Jimin’s neck. “Wanna fuck you here against the wall.”

Jimin’s head falls back against the tiles. “Then do it,” he challenges. “Or are you all talk, captain?”

Jungkook chuckles.

Once they are dried and giggly, he suddenly grabs Jimin’s hand. “Come on,” he whispers, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I want to show you something.”

He turns off the locker room lights, plunging them into darkness, then drags Jimin out through the back exit and across the quiet campus. They run through the grass until they reach a small cluster of bushes and low trees far behind the natatorium—a hidden little spot Jungkook discovered during late-night runs.

“Shh,” Jungkook hushes, pulling Jimin down with him into the shadows.

They crouch together, shoulders brushing, hearts racing from the sudden adventure. A group of late-night joggers passes by on the path only a few meters away. Jungkook covers Jimin’s mouth with his hand as they both try to stifle their giggles. The moment the joggers disappear, Jimin slaps Jungkook’s arm.

“You’re reckless,” he scolds, but he is laughing too. “What if we got caught?”

Jungkook grins, unrepentant and happy. “I wanted you all to myself under the stars. Look up.”

The sky is full of stars, densely scattered across the dark, cloudless surface. They stay hidden a little longer, until the campus grows completely still around them. When they step out, Jungkook takes Jimin’s hand, but stops in the middle of the empty grass field and turns to face Jimin, suddenly nervous but determined.

“Hyung… Will you be my boyfriend?”

Jimin blinks. Then, a teasing smirk spreads across his face. “Hmm… I don’t know,” he answers playfully. “Are you just asking so you can finally get access to my filthy book collection?”

Jungkook laughs, but then his expression turns serious. He steps closer, cupping Jimin’s face gently with both hands, brushing thumbs over his cheeks.

“I’m asking because I’m in love with you,” he confesses, full of emotion. “All of you. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to fight with you and make up with you and build something real with you. You make me happier than I’ve ever been, hyung. Please… be mine.”

Jimin’s smile slowly fades. His eyes widen, lips part in surprise, as if he didn’t expect such a deep confession. Or anything at all. For once, he has no quick comeback. He looks genuinely stunned, scrambling for words.

The swimmer chuckles softly, then leans in and kisses him under the stars. The kiss is slow, deep, and full of everything he has been holding back. When they pull apart, Jungkook rests their foreheads together. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” he whispers. “It will be, no matter what you answer.”

Jimin lets out a shaky laugh, still a little dazed. “It doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it?”

Jungkook smiles, brushing his thumb over his bottom lip. “I’m happiest with you,” he admits simply.

Jimin looks at him for a long moment. His brown eyes are soft and shining under the starlight. Finally, he nods, small but certain. “Okay. I’ll be your boyfriend.”

The brightest smile appears on Jungkook's face. He kisses Jimin again, happy, relieved, filled with joy, and then hugs him tightly. They stand like that for a long moment, swaying gently under the stars, before Jungkook finally takes the older’s hand and starts leading him back toward the motorcycle.

“Let’s go home, boyfriend.”

Jimin squeezes his hand, smiling. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”