Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

City lights twinkle in the valley below him like a river of candles. Namjoon sits cross-legged in the dirt and scraggly weeds, ignoring the gravel digging into his thighs. The ground is warm here still, baked from a day of endless sun, a comforting contrast to the cool evening breeze.

He doesn't remember when he started seeking out time alone. Perhaps he had always craved it but didn't know how to turn down friends when he was younger. Friends then were friends by simple merit of them being there. Not that he didn't have fun, but suffice it to say, he hadn't seen any of them since Sophomore year of college, hadn't tried to.

It's fine, happens to everyone, if they're lucky, Namjoon thinks. He'd since gotten friends that were friends by merit of some kind of genuine connection, something more nondescript and better, even, than common interests. They're down there somewhere in the heat-haze of lights, but he doesn't feel like he's trying to escape them. It's a comforting thought.

He tosses the twig he was fiddling with down the steep slope of the hill. As usual, thinking of his friends makes him feel less lonely than actually being with them. His brain is fast and abstract and always too many steps removed from the present, making for a natural awkwardness. He knows it, they know it, he knows they know he knows it, and all that knowing dulls the loneliness of trying to be himself around others enough, just enough.

Still, here he sits in the most solitary place he knows of within a half hour, relieved to yet again find that he does still like himself, he can fill out to the edges of his skin.

A text notification illuminates his face in the darkness: Hoseok telling him to meet them at the noodle shop on 58^th. A smile stretches across his face, letting out a little sigh, boots scrape through gravel as he stands. He climbs onto his bike, a black 1976 Triumph Bonneville t140v that he had fixed up over a year in his spare time at the shop a few years ago. He's long since accepted that he may be a little too attached.

The engine grumbles to life beneath him, cutting through the quiet rhythm of crickets. It settles his mind back down into his body, and for thirty blissful moments, he is present in the wind streaking over his arms, the gentle rev and chug of the engine, illuminated flashes of Oak branches and mailboxes whipping past in the dark. He is nowhere else; he is himself.

The noodle shop is crowded as always, being the only one open past midnight. Namjoon weaves through the restaurant, shaking his fingers through his helmet hair, long silver-blond, almost in need of a fresh undercut.

He spots Hoseok standing to hug someone he doesn't recognize before the stranger slings a backpack over his shoulder, getting ready to leave. Namjoon lingers several feet behind them, shrugging out of his thick leather jacket and letting them say goodbyes. To be polite, is the excuse; avoiding the awkwardness of meeting someone new and having to think of something to say is the reason.

But then there's Hoseok peering over the stranger's shoulder, saying “Oh, there's Namjoon!” louder than necessary, and the familiar clench takes him over. He smiles anyway, strides over, jacket in hand, swallows down the tightness.

“This is Jungkook,” Hoseok is saying, forcibly turning the stranger, arm slung over strong shoulders.

“Hey,” comes his voice, low and gravely.

“Oh my god,” shrieks the voice in his head, maybe making his eyes go a bit wider than usual, but nothing compared to the huge, round eyes looking up at him, literally sparkling.

“Hi,” says this Jungkook, looking away, looking back, glancing to Hoseok, darting down to Namjoon's tattoos, eyes landing back on Namjoon's before finally both of them look to Hoseok for explanation.

“He's in dance club. He's fucking good, too. It's fucking annoying,” he teases. “Can't just be a useless pretty boy, noooo....”

Namjoon tunes out Hoseok's teasing, fascinated by the shy smile that pushes Jungkook's cheeks to his eyes, that gets shier when he catches Namjoon looking.

“Be nice to your students,” he says, smacking Hoseok in the chest. Act like you weren't staring, also literally stop staring, god,

Hoseok clutches his chest in mock hurt. “Me?! I am the nicest,” he exaggerates. “I just bought him dinner because he won his first dance competition. Didn't I?” he says, Jungkook getting a smack to the chest this time.

“He did, he did,” Jungkook laughs, bumping into Namjoon in attempt to escape. “Ah, sorry,” he says, a little breathless.

Namjoon shakes his head. “You're fine.” His hand comes up to catch his shoulder but falls away.

“Whatever, get out of here already,” Hoseok grumbles through a grin.

“Test tomorrow,” Jungkook explains, eyes darting up to Namjoon's one last time, flushing to find Namjoon's eyes already there, again.

“Ah, sucks. Good luck,” Namjoon says, chest tightening at how boring the words sound.

Jungkook waves over his shoulder before he pushes through the door into the cool night air.

“Ah, he's a cute kid,” Hoseok says, shoving the last piece of sushi in his mouth as he hands Namjoon a menu. “A nice kid. He really works so hard.”

Namjoon snorts over the menu, fighting his mind that aches to replay the small bunny-ish smile from the doorway. “You sound like he's twelve years old.”

Hoseok shrugs. “Once they're students they're all my children,” he croons. Always with the dramatics. “Really though, for a sophomore, he's impressive. He's a vocal performance major, but he's taking Yoongi's music theory classes, for fun,” he grimaces. “And you saw that cute and shy shit, right?”

Dear god did he.

“You should see him when he dances,” Hoseok continues. “It gets sinful real quick.”

Namjoon gives a half-interested laugh. Meanwhile, his brain cartwheels through his head banging several cow bells at the image. What would sin look like on that face?

“Don't be gross about your children,” he says, managing to choke out some sarcasm.

Hoseok ignores him as usual. “I think he doesn't really have friends. I guess he transferred here this year? Anyway, I was thinking I'd invite him to stuff sometime.”

He tsks. “Pretty bad when friendless sophomores are your only options,” Namjoon says, shaking his head sadly. “Ran everyone else off, huh.”

“Fuck off,” Hoseok laughs, grabbing the menu from Namjoon's hands to smack him over the head with it before handing it back. “He's cool alright, Christ, let me be nice. It's my thing.”

Namjoon chuckles and raises his hands in apology or defeat, but his mind is a repeating mantra of hell yes Hoseok do it do your bizarrely friendly thing fuck yes Hoseok do it- “ Ah, yeah, I'll get the miso ramen please. Thanks,” he says to the waitress, closing the menu and sipping his water, face a picture of calm.

He chews on his straw, eyes out of focus on the napkin holder. Ah, how hard had he been staring for Jungkook to notice that much? He remembers the flush in Jungkook's cheeks and his toes curl in his boots.

+

Jungkook, 10 minutes early to his English Lit test and heavily caffeinated, stares at the cartoon Shakespeare on the wall and doesn't see it. His mind has decided instead to play the fun game of “here's 27 different ways you could've acted in that situation instead, 9 hours too late”.

“We should all eat again sometime, since I'm leaving right when you're got here,” or “How do you and Hoseok know each other?” or “Nice to meet you” or just a little more than “Hi” really would've been great. A little less involuntary blushing, a little less getting caught staring.

He sighs long at cartoon Shakespeare and scowls, fiddling an eraser across the tops of his fingers. Namjoon probably thought he was weird as hell, some twitchy idiot sophomore. Possibly, he is a weird as hell twitchy idiot sophomore, he thinks.

His mind lets go of scenarios and moves to phase two, which is a slide show of the easy way Namjoon walked up to them, the proud, relaxed slouch of his shoulders, curious black symbols tattooed haphazard across his forearms, silver-blond hair sleek and a bit unkempt, the dimples appearing on his smooth face when he wished him luck.

He had seen the motorcycle Hoseok had mentioned as he left the restaurant, black, heavy, solid, just, fucking cool. Namjoon had restored it himself, Hoseok had said. Jungkook had actually walked his moped out of sight around the side of the block before starting the ignition, a pitiful whir compared to what Namjoon's bike must sound like.

And ah, how hard had he been staring for Namjoon to notice that much?

+

One whole week passed before god or the devil decided to grace him with a vision of aforementioned sin.

He was supposed to meet Hoseok outside the theater and dance building after their night classes at 8:30, but here comes 8:47 and no Hoseok. Namjoon sighs and wanders into the building, plenty sure of the way to Hoseok's studio by now.

The rooms are dark down the hall until he gets to Hoseok's. He jams his face against the little square window in the door, meaning to scowl at Hoseok until he notices, hoping he jumps a little. What he sees has him lurching back and quickly rubbing the smudge from his forehead off the glass with a flannel sleeve.

Hoseok was there, leaning against the mirrored wall, looking every bit the confident, motivating dance teacher. Motivating Jungkook , who was in the middle of the studio, brows furrowed in focus, jaw slack. Sweat soaked right through his oversized tank top, a completely useless item of clothing covering not one bit of his strong arms or neck or the way muscle rippled over his ribs like waves of desert sand.

The way he was moving , like he was summoning the devil or maybe like the devil had summoned him. It was powerful, yet all ease, precise, yet the movements seemed to flow smooth and thoughtless from his body. Not thoughtless, though, no, the effort clear there, just there in the outer corners of his eyes. In the relieved, proud smile when Hoseok jumps forward to clap him on the back when he finishes.

“I think you got it man, just do what you did just now another 40 times or so until you can do it in your sleep,” Hoseok laughs, tossing a towel to him.

Namjoon wonders if he should knock before he gets caught lurking in the doorway like a weirdo at the exact moment Jungkook saunters away toward his duffle bag and rips the infernal tank top off his body, dragging the towel down his bare chest.

He pulls a t shirt from his bag but pauses, cocking his head as if a worry had whispered to him from the ceiling. His lips murmur the song from before and he runs through the segment of choreography where he dips to the side and rolls his body slowly. Because the devil loves or hates Namjoon an extra lot today, Jungkook does it again two more times before shrugging into his shirt.

" Jesus Christ ," Namjoon hisses at the door. His knees turn to jelly, he is thankful for the vision bestowed upon him, he is stressed, he is a fumbling mess. He pretends to notice none of this.

This is of course the moment Hoseok finally notices him and yells “PEEPING TOM! PERVERT!” He breaks into his hyena laugh and opens the door for Namjoon, who, to his credit, only considers making a dash down the hall for a second before walking inside the humid studio.

“Sorry man, we lost track of time. Jungkookie here is gonna be in a commercial, can you fucking believe it? Went to an audition and just, fucking, got it?? Ah, to be so beautiful,” Hoseok says wistfully, snapping his towel at Jungkook.

Jungkook rolls his eyes and pushes his sweaty hair back from his face, but doesn't fail to smile at the praise. “It's not that big of a deal,” he murmurs, flustered at the sudden appearance of Namjoon and compliments.

“Nah, no, that's impressive!” Namjoon says. He really meant it, but the words felt so flat in his mouth. He drops his eyes to the bike helmet in his hands before he can see the way Jungkook raises his face to him, gaze twinkling with wonder or wondering.

It's the oddest feeling, this itchy magnetic pull toward someone he's met all of twice. Jungkook slings the towel around his neck and Namjoon has to shove his hand in his pocket to keep it from wrapping around Jungkook's elbow. Namjoon, teased on the regular for his noticeable lack of touchiness.

The first time he'd hugged Hoseok, Hoseok laughed for five minutes at the awkwardness. No one knew how affectionate he wanted to be, except his ex. Other people he had dated he'd never trusted enough for them to see that Namjoon.

It wasn't something he loved about himself. Or, was he a little glad? If none of them had shown something about themselves that induced him to trust like that...

A thump lands hard on his forehead. “Where'd you go Namjoon?” Hoseok teases, not unkindly.

Namjoon blinks. Jungkook and Hoseok were staring at him, bags in hand. “Sorry, just uh, thinking about papers to grade.”

“Are you a professor?” Jungkook asks.

He shakes his head, neck flushing a little at the sudden attention. “Just a TA. Philosophy and Ethics TA.”

Jungkook's eyes go wide at that, staring at the wall, brows slightly furrowed, lost to the conversation for a minute as they made their way through the dark halls and neatly manicured lawn.

They pause in the parking lot next to Hoseok's tiny teal-blue Suzuki Sidekick, an oversized toy jeep in Namjoon's opinion, a metal version of a flip-flop, a giant toddler's—

“She can hear you thinking, Namjoon, you're gonna hurt her feelings,” Hoseok warns, patting the roof of his ridiculous car lovingly.

“Namjoon's a mechanic, because being a philosophy major is a horrible life choice,” he informs Jungkook. Namjoon shrugs and nods at the assessment.

“Cool,” Jungkook says, and Namjoon feels Jungkook's gaze on him like someone turned a heat lamp towards him in the dark night air.

“Hey, you wanna come hang out with us?” Jungkook and Namjoon whip their heads toward Hoseok. “We're just ordering pizza and hanging out, but,' Hoseok shrugs, and not for the first time, Namjoon envies how easily he does that. Just, befriends, rather than waiting to be befriended.

Jungkook's eyes are wider than Namjoon has yet seen them, but he's sure he's gone a bit wide-eyed too. “Okay yeah,” he stutters a little. “I'm all sweaty though,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

Hoseok had to tell him three times that it was fine to use his shower, but even still, Jungkook put every bottle of soap and shampoo he used back in the exact position he'd found it in, making sure the labels were facing front.

He hangs the damp towel carefully on the towel rack and gets dressed, listening to the sound of muffled laughter in the living room. It's Namjoon's laughter instead of Hoseok's. He hadn't heard it before, low and breathy compared to Hoseok's wild, musical laugh.

He pauses in front of the bathroom door, absently ruffling his fingers through damp hair. Was it weird that he was here? Hoseok was just a nice guy; did they really want him here? An awkward sophomore with nothing to talk about, much less with a mechanic biker slash genius of philosophy. In an abstract way, Namjoon was so much of who Jungkook wanted to be that it made him feel awfully small, if he thought about it.

So he wouldn't think about it. He's here now and he wanted to be, so he'd take his mom's advice and be a little selfish.

Namjoon's still laughing when Jungkook pads quietly in the living room, sprawled back on the sofa, clutching his stomach. His eyes were squeezed into little half moons, mouth wide enough to make those dimples disappear. Namjoon: solid, lean, sleek and grungy as the motorcycle he rode in on looked like a cuddly little kid.

Something does a flip flop in Jungkook's stomach, but he doesn't have the words to know what it means, or the confidence to say them to himself.

“Oh good,” Hoseok says when he see Jungkook, ripping him away from the moment. “What pizza toppings do you want?”

+

Three of Hoseok's infamous long island ice teas was enough to make Jungkook smile at who he was talking to instead of at the floor, apparently. Also enough to make him turn fully toward Namjoon on the sofa and talk to him, animatedly, question after question.

“If you're really so interested about philosophy, I have some books could borrow,” Namjoon laughs softly.

Jungkook shakes his head, tugging on his silver earrings as he'd been doing for the last hour. “I don't like reading so much? I just like thinking.”

“That's fair.” Namjoon concedes. He doesn't tell him that he writes in his free time.

“It seems like it matters more when you talk about it anyway. Like it makes the real world more real, not just theories.” Jungkook had pulled a photo album off Hoseok's coffee table, missing the blush that took over Namjoon's cheeks.

He slaps it shut, epiphany from his own words taking over his face. “Oh. You'd be a good teacher, you should be a teacher,” he urges.

Namjoon laughs a little and picks at the frayed end of his jeans. “That's the plan. Maybe. Sometimes I'd rather just fix cars and...think in my free time. ”

They were quiet together for a moment. “You're a vocal performance major, right?” Namjoon asks.

He nods, face pleased, but some pain edges in. “But, I don't... I mean I love it but it seems ridiculous sometimes. A waste of money? The odds of me becoming anything from singing or dancing are just...like what, am I gonna become some famous celebrity or something?” he frowns.

“According to Hoseok you're so talented, though. And you're gorgeous and—“ and oh fuck keep talking bury those words in other words maybe he didn't hear, fuck “AND you got that commercial and you seem really motivated and you won that dance thing, right? Anyway, you never know where life's gonna go; you can only chase after what you want, right?”

It takes a few full seconds of dutifully picking at a loose string for Namjoon to dare to look up. Jungkook's face is shy and wistful, the ghost of...cockiness? perhaps? tugging at his smile.

Hoseok and Yoongi had been looking at something on Yoongi's phone for the last fifteen minutes. Hoseok is leaned close over Yoongi's shoulder, head tilting almost to brush against Yoongi's ear every time they laughed. No matter who they were with, they inevitably made little bubbles of time for just the two of them.

Literally anyone with eyes would pin them as in love. Ask either of them though, and it's “not like that”. Neither of them would ever answer what it was like, though. It wasn't nothing.

Whatever it was or wasn't, Namjoon has always been a little envious. He would love to have someone that felt like home, which is what he figures they were to each other. But it isn't something you can just go out and find, he knows, so he tries not to think about it every time he's with those two, or alone. Which is to say, he tries not to think about it nearly all of the time because he's an introvert with exactly two close friends.

Namjoon realizes with a little twitch that he'd spaced out on Jungkook. His brain scrambles for something interesting to say, but Jungkook was spaced out too, eyes wide and serious at the wall behind Namjoon as his fingers tap along to the music playing. It was nice, for some reason, the mutual spacing-out.

After a moment, Jungkook shifts back to him, cuddling sideways into the couch and asks, “Do you ever wonder—“ but the doorbell rings.

Taehyung bursts through the door without bothering to wait for someone to open it, and Namjoon's heart sinks a little.

It's not that he doesn't like Taehyung, he really does, but he's sure Jungkook was only talking to him so much because Hoseok and Yoongi were in their little bubble. And Taehyung, Taehyung is fun. One of those effortlessly entertaining natural types.

It gets noisier, suddenly, as it always seems to when Taehyung appears. Namjoon hollers a “hey Taehyung” and walks to the kitchen. He leans on the refrigerator and chews a cold piece of pizza. He scrolls through his phone, half listening as they introduce Jungkook, who has a class with Taehyung, it turns out.

Good for them, Namjoon tells himself. Like Hoseok said, Jungkook is new, doesn't have friends, deserves friends. Taehyung would be good for him; it's impossible to stay shy around Taehyung.

He tries to ignore that he's alone in the kitchen, that he put himself there.

Not three minutes pass when Jungkook strolls into the kitchen and hops up on to the counter beside the toaster, grabbing a bag of chips. “So which was your first tattoo?” he asks, throwing a handful of cheetos in his mouth.

Namjoon blinks.

He left a room of people to come talk to you. He left Taehyung, a human puppy, to talk to you, a human fool.

He shushes his dumb mind; Jungkook was just hungry.

He had paused for just a beat but already Jungkook goes still and raises his arms in an odd, jerky motion. “Ah, sorry, I know some people don't like questions about their tattoos, sorry if—“

“No! No I don't care, I like questions.” He hadn't meant to say that last part, how had that come out? It wasn't even quite true; people never ask the questions he wants to answer.

But the moment Jungkook walked in the kitchen, Namjoon knew what the flip-flop in his stomach meant. He likes Jungkook's questions. He likes Jungkook.

Chapter Text

The next few days finds Namjoon taking inventory of things he learned about Jungkook.The harder he laughs the more his nose scrunches. Fallout 3 gave him nightmares for a month in junior high. He loves music but isn't a snob about it. He's wanted a tattoo for a while now. He looks really, really good shirtless. He likes to think but not read. He loves dogs but hasn't had one since 5th grade. He “doesn't get poetry” but sometimes words unwittingly fall out of his mouth that would make E.E. Cummings' heart ache a little.

It was a small list. There was a lot more to know about Jungkook in things that couldn't be cataloged. Namjoon tells himself that's why he keeps thinking about him. He's something to figure out. He's odd in a quiet, lovely way. He's hot as fuck. Namjoon is bored and a little lost in life right now, he could admit.

These were all reasons enough to explain why he found himself so interested in Jungkook, but not quite reasons enough to pursue him. Yet, he doesn't know the next time he'll see Jungkook, and a restlessness itches through his bones that he knows is either gonna fade when the novelty of a crush wears off, or, he's gonna have to have a serious talk with himself.

He's banking on the former; Namjoon doesn't have a type but if he did, Jungkook is too far from it. Namjoon doesn't believe in leagues but if he did, Jungkook is too far out of his.

Still, he finds himself craving Jungkook's presence and rebuilding him in his head, small facts and soft lashes, the dip of his collarbone and the way he frowns in concentration. He keeps imagining Jungkook's face happy to see to him again. If optimism is the true measure of self esteem, he figures he must like himself more than he usually thinks.

Ah, but fuck whatever far-fetched hopes he might harbor, he just wants to see Jungkook again. He craved it, innocently, chemically.

It wasn't gonna happen until Hoseok made it happen though, and any hint Namjoon could make toward that end would be highly suspicious. Hoseok would know, Hoseok always knows. He would give him that wild-eyed squint, that annoying Aunt Hoseok voice he gets when he suspects anyone has a crush.

+

He didn't have to wait as long as he feared. Wednesday afternoon he lets himself into Hoseok's apartment, a foot long chicken sub in hand per text request from Hoseok. He had come straight from the auto shop, still in his oil smudged jeans with the knees busted out and a once-white tshirt with holes worn through the shoulders. He was expecting a quiet apartment; Hoseok said he wouldn't be home until 5:30.

A wall of noise hits him upon opening the door, a distinctly Taehyung wall of noise. Sure enough, there's a screeching Taehyung cross-legged on the floor, xbox controller in hand, next to a focused, grinning Jungkook.

Namjoon freezes a second, fumbles Hoseok's sandwich but catches it lightning fast before it hits the ground.

“Nice catch,” Jungkook grins up at him for a second before he pulls his lip between his teeth in concentration, face flickering with light from the tv screen.

“Fuck! I'm gonna win next time,” Taehyung threatens, throwing the controller to the floor in frustration. Taehyung immediately picks the controller back up but Jungkook stretches, eyes following Namjoon as he kicks off his shoes and tosses the sandwich bag on the rickety dining room table in the corner.

His gaze traces the soft angles of Namjoon's body, the way the t-shirt stretches just a bit to accommodate lean muscles when he rolls his sore neck. Namjoon turns, sunlight casting his skin a creamy caramel. Their eyes catch for a moment, and in near synchronization, they bite their lip and look away to the same spot just beside the tv.

Namjoon swears his head is gonna explode if Jungkook catches him staring one more damn time. “Why are you guys here?” he asks unceremoniously, flopping face down onto the couch behind them. He grimaces and pulls his face out of the cushion. “Why does this couch smell like wet dog when there is no dog?”

Taehyung shrugs to both questions and tosses a controller back at Namjoon, shoving his huge beige sweater back over a bare shoulder. “Why do you smell like tires when there are no tires?” he ponders, motioning at the lack of tires around the room. “Jungkook's already Captain Falcon.”

“We can switch,” Jungkook cranes his neck back to offer. “I already beat Tae five times with him, so,” he smirks.

“Hell nah, I'm Princess Peach,” Namjoon, determination setting his jaw.

+

It went on this way for a couple weeks, whenever Namjoon showed up at Hoseok's apartment as he'd been doing for years, Taehyung and Jungkook were inevitably there, for a party, for Hoseok's xbox, for an excuse to eat something better than ramen, for a place to study cheaper than cafes.

Jungkook gravitated to Namjoon every time. It would almost be a stretch to say they sat together, but they ended up sitting beside each other, laughing as they watched everyone act like idiots. There was some kind of companionship in sitting just close enough to reach out and touch, even if they never did.

Jungkook would get called over into some Taehyung antics or get restless and instigate some Taehyung antics. Or Namjoon would drink too much and dance embarrassingly with Hoseok, or drink nothing at all and dance embarrassingly with Hoseok.

They flitted and fluttered and flapped through Hoseok's apartment a few handfuls of nights, sometimes full of people and music and shrieks of laughter, sometimes only the five of them, tired and subdued. But the two of them always ended up just near enough.

Inevitably, they would settle into each others' presence by the end of the night enough to be certifiably Sitting Together, asking questions, making fun of everyone together, glancing at each other only when one of them was looking away. Jungkook learns pretty quickly that Namjoon is a lot less cool in that intimidating, unapproachable way than he had thought, but they never seem to lose the shy, respectful distance, always a little in silent awe.

Jungkook answered Namjoon's questions with the least possible amount of words at first, sure Namjoon was just being polite. But the way Namjoon rested his face in his hand and leaned in ever so slightly, patiently as Jungkook found just the right words had him hesitating a fraction less every time.

Namjoon would nod his head as if Jungkook had given an incredibly satisfactory answer, and then he'd ask, “Why do you think so?” and Jungkook would be back to muddling through his words.

It was always some random topic that Jungkook felt embarrassed for even getting into with Namjoon, even though half the time it was Namjoon that brought it up. Did dogs feel emotion or was it all instinct? Did that lady's husband on the news really set the bed on fire with her in it, or did she do it herself to get him put away? Why do humans respond so completely to music, just patterns of sound waves? Was Taehyung a secret genius, and if so, does he even know it himself? Would being invisible or being able to read minds be more lonely?

They both agreed on reading minds. Namjoon didn't ask why Jungkook thought so, that time.

+

It was another night that looked to be soon turning into an apartment full of people and empty bottles if the number of texts lighting up Hoseok's phone was anything to go on.

They had been studying on Hoseok's faded blue couch for hours, Hoseok watching videos on his laptop, headphones in, brows serious. Hoseok stirs, announces the 11^th person who has decided to come over in an hour. Jungkook stretches, shoving Taehyung's legs off his lap. He falls to the floor, suddenly in a flurry of push ups. Neither of the other two bother to be surprised anymore.

He's pushing himself up into a bridge when Namjoon walks in, who does still bother to be a bit surprised. Jungkook grins upside-down at him, but Namjoon just gives him a little distracted twitch of a smile.

Jungkook hops neatly to his feet, watching as Namjoon throws his bag in a corner and flops into the massive bean bag. He pulls his phone out but stares at the floor, spinning the phone between two fingers. His eyes are distant, face heavy, delicate yet agitated.

Namjoon wanders to the sliding glass doors, watching the beginnings of a sunset beyond Hoseok's balcony. It casts a yellow glow across an endless clutter of rooftops, interrupted by the occasional palm tree, and on toward distant soft hills.

“Any requests? Jimin's gonna stop by the liquor store before he comes over with Yugyeom and that girl he's dating. Ah, and one of her friends,” Hoseok adds at the ding of another text.

Jungkook shakes his head, Taehyung calls out something about a bucket of margarita mix over his textbook, Namjoon remains motionless in the retiring presence of the sun.

An hour later, the atmosphere has significantly changed. The living room is full of loud laughter and louder music, Hoseok's spare room full of people crowded around his laptop, watching 90's music videos and laughing hysterically. Jungkook filtered between both rooms like a jellyfish before he escaped to the balcony, quieter, smoky, usually a good place to run into Namjoon.

But not tonight. Jungkook frowns; Hoseok's apartment isn't that big and there aren't that many people in it. He walks back into the the living room just in time to position himself inconspicuously between the door and Namjoon, who's throwing his bag over his shoulder.

“Leaving?” Jungkook asks over the music.

Namjoon nods, fidgeting with his jacket. “I'm just... not in a party mood, I guess.”

It looked like more than that, but Jungkook isn't sure if he should say so. He nods in agreement. “Do you wanna—“ He stops himself and stares down at the table. Ah, of course he doesn't wanna, he's trying to leave people, he doesn't want you tagging around.

But Namjoon is standing there still, head cocked a bit to the side, listening to the silence as he always does when Jungkook cuts his own sentences off. Eyes tired and a bit pained still, but there's a bit of something else there now. “Do you...?” Namjoon exhales. “Do you wanna come with me?”

Jungkook nods, eyes wide, and Namjoon smiles for the first time all night. “You don't even know where we're going,” he chuckles, moving for the door.

As soon as the quiet night air opens up around them, Jungkook can see Namjoon's shoulders release a bit, as if Hoseok's apartment had him in a vice grip. They walk under a line of palm trees in silence, bushes full of flowers glowing a dark neon pink in the street lights. Jungkook runs his hand along the rough branches and soft blooms, plucking one before they stop at Namjoon's bike.

“Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?”

He nods and slides in behind Namjoon. Hesitation holds him still for a second, but he snakes his arms around Namjoon's waist and his body sinks into his.

+

20 minutes ago Jungkook had given up and rested the side of his face against Namjoon's shoulder. 20 minutes ago Namjoon had nearly forgotten why he felt so bad in the first place. They flew through the darkness, winding upwards through the high hills that he loved. He could feel the rumble of Jungkook's throat against his shoulder, occasionally the musical rise or fall of a high note.

Was he singing into the wind? Namjoon grins to himself. God, he wanted to kiss the shit out of Jeon Jungkook. He finally admits the thought he'd been rationalizing away for weeks. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to pull this soft, solid Jungkook into his lap, wanted that bunny smile hovering over him before he kisses him so hard that Jungkook can't help but sigh a little.

The turn out that has become so familiar to him looms up on the left side of the road, right along the gentle sloping cliff side. He pulls into the little gravel parking and turns off the engine. Almost November, the quietness that envelopes them is colder every time he comes up here, he notes. Colder still with the sudden absence of Jungkook's arms around him, but he tries not to think about that.

“Wow,” Jungkook breathes, neck craned straight back. “I've never seen so many stars.”

Namjoon settles to the ground next to his bike, joined by Jungkook in a second, eyes still craning up to the sky.

“Really? We should—go to, um,” Namjoon falters a bit. Jungkook's face glows pearly silver in response to the moon and it's beautiful. Who the hell is he to be asking Jungkook anywhere?

But Jungkook's sparkly eyes are on him now instead of mirroring the sparkly stars. “There's this place, “ he continues, “um, maybe an hour from here? Anyway, it's the middle of fucking nowhere, so you can see like, ten times more stars than this, I swear. You can see the milky way.”

“Cool,” Jungkook says, eyes smiling more than his mouth.

Namjoon watches the lights twinkle in the valley and sighs louder than he realizes.

Jungkook slides his eyes back towards him. Obviously something was wrong, it'd be a stupid question to ask. And anyway, Namjoon would be talking about it if he wanted to talk about it, right?

“You're not gonna tell me cool star facts?” Jungkook grins, making fun of him just a little. Just wanting to pull away the troubled look Namjoon had been wearing all night.

Mission slightly accomplished; Namjoon smiles a little and hmms up at the sky. “Did you know every single star we can see, like, with our eyes, is brighter than our sun? All of them have higher luminosity. And, a lot of the stars we see are actually not just one star, they're binary stars.”

Usually when Namjoon gets talking about something he thinks is interesting, his whole body gets animated, everything around him seems to fall away as he follows his thoughts, words tumbling out faster than his lips can form them. But tonight he just goes quiet again, face tilted to the rich blue sky.

Jungkook sits up, squares his chest dramatically and slaps his shoulder comically hard. “Here.”

“Here what?” Namjoon asks, amused.

He laughs at the confusion on Namjoon's face but looks away, bravery gone now that he has to explain himself. He shakes his head to play it off. “My uncle used to do that, when I was a kid. Whenever I was thinking too much. He'd say I needed to give my big melon a rest or I'd blow a fuse,” he says in a fake deep uncle voice. “I'd always just roll my eyes so it usually ended in him putting me in a headlock to get me to put my head down.”

Namjoon laughs, a soft husky sound incongruent with the scrape of gravel as he shifts his legs. His head sinks heavy onto Jungkook's shoulder and Jungkook suppresses a twitch of surprise. “If you put me in a headlock I'd end up in the hospital, I'm sure.”

A lone car curves along the winding road behind them, briefly illuminating the two of them in a white flash. The motor is a distant hum uphill when Namjoon speaks again.

“Sometimes, I just don't feel... good. Everything is just, too much? Or no, everything is not enough, and that feeling is too much. And you can fill your life or your head with so much...whatever, but it's not enough because something is missing. Something missing in me, I'm pretty sure, since I'm the common factor, right? Like some people are just always happy no matter what's going on. And then there's me, who feels empty and distant all the time, even when I'm “happy”, even by my own standard of “happy”.

“You're not the only one,” Jungkook says softly, wishing a little that he was the kind of person who could just rest his head on Namjoon's.

“So, I like to come out here sometimes and remember that I'm small, we're all small, and it doesn't matter much if I'm happy or not.”

Jungkook snorts a little. “It does matter.”

He knows Jungkook probably was just saying whatever to make him feel better, but the idea of Namjoon's happiness mattering to Jungkook sends a sugary jolt to grip around his stomach.

He watches Jungkook's fingers pull apart a dead leaf. “I'm just, not an easy person to be with sometimes, not easy for myself to be with. There's too much going on in my head all the time and it's like, I can't get it to come out right.”

“But that's what makes you so—“ great, had almost slipped out of his mouth. “so you. It's not, it's not bad. I know I don't know much but, don't—I mean, it shouldn't...it's not something you need to feel bad about,” he ends dumbly, but he can feel Namjoon smile against his shoulder.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know you're right. It's just, sometimes, most of the time? Being around people is ironically so much worse? Like I lose all sense of myself because I don't know how to be around them.”

He looks down for another leaf to pick at, careful not to jostle Namjoon. “Sorry I tagged along then,” he laughs a little. He exhales slowly, Namjoon's words touched on something so familiar in him that it feels like a punch to the chest.

Namjoon shakes his head. “You're not...it doesn't feel that way with you.” he says quietly, and Jungkook can't help the little smile that overtakes his face. “And anyway, I asked you to come,” he chuckles.

Why did you? Jungkook is dying to ask even as Namjoon wonders, Why did you come?

They sit in a comfortable silence, thinking questions at each other, staring out at the dry autumn air. Owls give an occasional hoot, a distant airplane hums overhead, a lone cricket chirps off-rhythm. Jungkook starts quietly humming a tune Namjoon thinks he knows but can't quite place.

“You know, you're a vocal performance major and I've never heard you sing,” Namjoon laughs, sitting up finally.

“It's embarrassing,” Jungkook mumbles, twisting a blade of grass around his thumb until it turns a purpley-red.

He barks out a laugh. “You're a vocal performance major,” he repeats. “Nah I get it though, I used to do poetry readings and would've rather died than read my shit to anyone anywhere than on the stage at the reading.”

“Wow, really? Do you still write?”

“Yeah. You can read it sometime if you for some reason want to.” He glances up to a perplexed smile on Jungkook's face and laughs. “You can read it, but I won't read it to you,” he clarifies.

The appearance of dimples is almost enough to make Jungkook choke on air. “Yeah, I wanna,” he grins.

“Yeah? I thought you didn't “get” poetry,” he teases, throwing a crumpled up twig at Jungkook. It felt so flirtatious that he has to stand up and feign a casual stretch, strolling a few feet to stand at the edge of the gentle cliff until his heart slows down.

I don't, but I want to 'get' you, Jungkook is dying to say, would rather die than say. Imagines saying, and the queasy nervousness quickly confirms he could never say. Instead, he tosses a pebble and giggles when it pings off the back of Namjoon's head.

When they drive back just after midnight, Jungkook sings again into the darkness, drowned out by the wind and the rumbling engine, but wisps of notes whip past Namjoon's ears like remnants of a dream.

Chapter Text

A slightly haggard Hoseok greets him in the practice room the next afternoon, dark circles barely hidden by his long fluffy bangs.

“Where'd you go last night?” Hoseok asks as they stretch next to each other on the floor, waiting on the rest of dance team to show up. “Taehyung was looking for you to do god knows what but you were MIA.”

He shrugs. The weight of Namjoon on his shoulder under the night sky flashes though his mind and it suddenly feels too private. “Just went out. With, with Namjoon,” he says, trying to sound casual but saying his name out loud felt odd.

Hoseok hums and bobs his head, stifling a yawn. “Wait, went out with Namjoon ? Did you—on his bike?”

“Yeah?”

Hoseok is suddenly looking a lot more awake, a glint in his eye that's making Jungkook uneasy. “Wowww,” he draws out. “He doesn't let anyone on his bike. Like, anyone.” Hoseok is squinting mischief at him, lips parted like he wants to say something more but the door creaks open.

“Jimin!” Jungkook's voice echoes through the room.

Jimin jumps in surprise and dumps his three bags to the floor in a huff. He narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Yeah, that's me.” He unwinds his scarf and can't help but smile at a mysteriously flustered Jungkook.

“How's it going?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin peers over Jungkook's shoulder to look a question at Hoseok, face a mingling of confusion and amusement. “I'm fine?” He plunks down next to a grinning Hoseok and bends over an outstretched leg.

Hoseok leans over, conspiratorial. “Jungkook thinks he can shut me up by starting a new conversation with you. Are you new, Jungkook? Have we met?”

“God forbid he actually ask me how I am,” Jimin grumbles.

Jungkook stands to stretch his arms overhead and rolls his eyes. He tunes out Hoseok's grand saga about 'Jungkook adventures in flirting', his quiet “I wasn't flirting” staunchly ignored.

Whatever, he thinks, until he imagines them bringing it up in front of Namjoon. He does a hasty shuffle and blasts the stereo to shut them up.

+

When he was younger, not so long ago, Namjoon fell apart violently. He would shake and cry until he was a damp hoarse mess crumpled next to the bathroom sink, but something flipped like a switch in him a year or so past. Crying has come to look a lot like the edge of cliff, and he backs down from it every time. He drinks more than he used to. He works more than he used to. He's all but stopped reading. He maintains the dam within himself, walks the careful line between bored and distracted, an ugly kind of practicality.

These days Namjoon falls apart unseen, shifting tremors in the depths. Sometimes alone, like animals that vanish when injured, some instinctual need. More often than not, Namjoon falls apart so quietly and deeply that he does it right there beside his friends with a smile on his face and a joke in his mouth.

Today, for example. He led a morning class, worked for hours replacing the transmission in an old Camaro, showered, went out with Yoongi and his friends, people he kinda knows. Some rubbery, ugly feeling caught in his throat all day, expanding, leaving less and less room to breathe.

Somehow Namjoon ended up in the middle of the table, one of those half circle booth tables, seat a cracked red vinyl. The bar is a dark, Italian themed remnant of the 80s, well-loved locally for reasons unknown. Yoongi's slowly munching down a breadstick, making a fond face at his phone. Probably texting Hoseok. Namjoon rips his napkin apart under the table and smiles wide at someone's joke, the bar too loud for anyone to notice his lack of laughter.

He gulps at his drink, and everything is fine until the thought crawls unbidden in the periphery of his mind: why do I feel so weird? Am I okay?

A simple feeling on the surface, but the implications clench around his throat. Now that he's seen the feeling, it's everywhere he looks. Heat prickles a familiar dread up his arms, washing cold beneath his skin. A dog-like whine stretches noiseless in his throat. Fear at nothing; fear at the sensation of fear.

Oh god, he really doesn't want to do this here, surrounded by smiling faces who would be sympathetic, but. He'd just be bringing down someone's good time. Yoongi wouldn't care but he doesn't wanna be Yoongi's Weird Friend. Voices warp into a foggy roar and he resists the urge to pop his ears.

He's gotten good at this, a panic attack so quiet that acquaintances and unsuspecting friends would never notice.

Only Hoseok ever noticed the laughter or sarcastic retort just a beat too delayed, a shade too hollow. But even then, he looked fine enough, right? Not hyperventilating, not howling through gritted teeth into his sleeve. Hoseok had been there for that, once. Namjoon is 'fine now'.

Now, Namjoon can fool even Hoseok into not asking if he's okay. He's not even sure why he does it.

The bar is a flat, stuffy, slippery, out of focus thing and it has nothing to do with the alcohol. Over and over, he tells himself, breathe in, and out. Tells himself he cannot go to the bathroom “just in case” because he is fine, fine; the nausea is because of his mind, nothing is wrong Namjoon, breathe in, and out. Here at the crowded table there's no room for the self pity that he knows is waiting for him in the bathroom mirror, in a quiet stall.

The room and everyone in it is layering and layering farther away, fuzzy and disjointed. He struggles not to drown in himself. Over and over, Namjoon don't, don't tell Yoongi you don't feel well. Don't think about it, stop thinking about it, stop. Laugh when everyone else does. Turn toward the person talking, focus. Breathe, breathe.

He made it through another hour before he figured it wouldn't raise suspicions to "turn in early". On the far end of tipsy, Namjoon careens into his dark apartment a few minutes after 12am and thinks of Jungkook mere blocks away in the same city.

He tosses his worn leather jacket to the sofa and stands a few moments in the loud darkness of his living room, tiny blue lights from the stereo the only brightness. His hands come up to his face and he stutters out a few dry sobs, sobering up when the tears threaten to fall.

How many times has he done this? It's stupid but he wants to talk to Jungkook. He's busy, probably. They haven't ever talked on the phone. Neither of them like talking on the phone.

But, he wouldn't mind, right? The inconvenience to Jungkook would be way less in comparison, right?

In comparison to what it would mean to me.

Namjoon groans and slumps to the floor, the room doing that jerking spinning thing. The back of his throat feels dry and linty, a lingering warped tequila sweetness. He stares at Jungkook's number in his contacts, face squished into the beige carpet until the tears obscure everything into a blob of light.

He closes his eyes and sighs, hating this, tired of himself. He's not a needy person. He's fine until he's not. He fantasizes briefly about Jungkook magically calling him at this moment instead. With a deep exhaling hum in attempt to steady his voice, he presses the call button and braces himself against the small terror of hearing it ring.

“Hello?” comes Jungkook's voice a bit nervous, a bit different through the phone, and it sounds a lot like dawn on the horizon of the sea.

“Hey,” he says, working so hard at steadiness. He draws his knees up to his chest, curled up like a shrimp in the middle of his living room.

“What's up?” Jungkook asks, a smile in his voice, and it's enough. It's enough.

“I, um, maybe might be a little drunk,” followed by a dry shiver of a laugh. An exaggeration, a good excuse.

Jungkook laughs at him, asks about his night. Namjoon tells him. Wonders why he finds himself aching to tell Jungkook how bad he feels, wonders why his dumb mind thinks telling him would be any better than past attempts.

“Did you have fun though?” Jungkook is asking, voice small and warm through the phone. “I dunno, you seem kinda....”

The rubbery feeling around his throat snaps. He tilts the phone away from his face as he exhales a silent sob. “I um,” he attempts to clear the tight waver from his voice. He fixes his eyes on a blinking blue light under the end table across the room. “I just don't feel great? I don't know why, but.” Ah, he'd done alright until the end there. He claps a hand over his mouth, body hiccuping silent through the tears.

Jungkook's quiet.

“I'm not a sad drunk!” Namjoon tries to laugh. “I just, sometimes, all day today...I— sorry.”

Well. That last part had a very choking back tears sound to it. He puts his hand back over his mouth where it belongs and curls inwards.

“I've been practicing some new songs,” Jungkook finally says. “Wanna hear some?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathes, pulling a pink blanket off the sofa, holding it in a tight ball against his chest.

Jungkook starts off softly, a song Namjoon doesn't know.

Please don't see just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasies

A shock tingles through him. Jungkook's voice is a nebulous, crystalline thing, beautiful like fresh snow-melt rivers.

Please see me reaching out for someone I can't see
Take my hand let's see where we wake up tomorrow

Soft, so soft, like iris petals under fingertips. But deep, rooted in some emotion that makes Namjoon wish he'd known him forever.

He balances the phone on the side of his face and closes his eyes, letting the tears run streams across the bridge of his nose and into the scratchy carpet. The novelty of hearing Jungkook's singing voice for the first time, the giddiness at the gift of trust softens the sadness inside him enough, just enough. Softens him just enough to let the sadness come out, maybe.

+

After singing the first two songs he'd purposely babbled, not wanting Namjoon to think he was waiting for a compliment. After the third song, Namjoon had talked over him, croaking a quiet “your singing is beautiful.”

Jungkook paused then, with a whispered “thanks,” before he resumed his modest rambling about the next song, parts he was having difficulty with, whether or not he should sing it next time he performs, things he likes about the lyrics.

The barely audible sniffles had ceased three songs ago. He keeps up the conversational stream of thought between songs, but he's pretty sure now that Namjoon had fallen asleep. Too afraid that the silence will wake him if he stops, Jungkook keeps singing softly until the clock shows 1am.

“Namjoon?” he asks gently. No response, which tugs his eyes into a smile. “G'night.”

His 3pm lunch of microwave bacon and BBQ chips the next day is interrupted by the sound of a text. He shoves a handful of chips into his mouth and rolls away from his laptop, homework happily abandoned.

Eager hands fumbled at the phone, but it's just Taehyung complaining about some picky asshole in front of him in line at Starbucks. Honestly, he had maybe, a little bit, expected Namjoon to text him, apologizing for last night or making a joke of it.

Taehyung tells him to meet him at Hoseok's, so of course he does. Hoseok is actually there in his own apartment first for once. It's quiet, full of yellowy sunlight on white walls, clean except for some scattered books and game cases half open. There's a bouquet of dried sunflowers on the windowsill that Jungkook always wonders about.

“Hey,” he calls to Hoseok who's peaking out of the kitchen.

“Hey,” he calls back. “No one's here but me,” he smirks, catching Jungkook peering down the little hallway.

Jungkook nods and falls onto the couch, trying to look indifferent. “Taehyung's not here yet then.”

He thinks he hears a mumbled “Sure, Taehyung's not here,” from Hoseok and he pretends not to.

The arm chair groans beneath Hoseok's weight. He takes a bite of chicken nugget and glances at Jungkook. “Yoongi's coming over later too. Haven't heard from Namjoon in a couple days, though. Sometimes he'll do that, just sorta drop off the earth for a few days and reappear, and god forbid anyone try to ask him what the fuck about it.”

“But he went out with Yoongi last night,” he says, feeling a dumb need to defend Namjoon's okayness.

It's quiet for a few beats as Hoseok chews. “Oh, did he?”

Hoseok's face is almost unreadable, unreadable for Hoseok's face anyway. It's teasing, but there's something else there now, serious consideration following the unspoken question of “how do you know where he was?”

The fact that Hoseok doesn't speak the question, doesn't try to embarrass him adds a shade of seriousness to this, this whatever with Namjoon that colors his body warm and shaky.

Either way he was thankful; no way in hell was he gonna say “I know because Namjoon called me crying last night and I sang him to sleep.” Giddiness rushes through his body at the thought, since that is, after all, exactly what happened.

Hoseok pauses eating, staring at the tiny smile crinkling Jungkook's eyes as he folds the corner of a takeout menu into a triangle over and over. For some reason, his expression stabs at something deep and starts a slow bleed into the top layers.

Two Jurassic Park movies and three pizzas later, everyone is in an odd, grumpy configuration. Taehyung is stomach down folded over the arm of the couch, loud sighing as he flips through his biology textbook open on the floor beneath him. He kept accidentally kicking Yoongi as he fidgeted over his homework, so Yoongi is now seated firmly on his ankles, leaning against Hoseok's arm. Hoseok, who had gotten mysteriously quieter as the night went on, is bordering on sulky now. Yoongi clearly had noticed and seemed to be trying for the ~make him smile about stupid shit to fend off something serious~ route.

Hoseok noticed, of course he did, and tries to smile for him, but can't hide anything with his face. Jungkook notices too, and wonders for the hundredth time about the not-nothing that Hoseok and Yoongi are. Wonders what kind of things crawl into Hoseok's mind to sadden him in the middle of a dinosaur movie.

Furthermore, Namjoon has apparently really done the aforementioned dropping off the earth. Jungkook can't help but feel restless and a bit guilty about it.

Taehyung groans as he rolls himself off to the floor, rubbing at his sore tummy. Yoongi says something dumb and looks up into Hoseok's face. Hoseok's mouth curves into a little smile that his eyes don't follow. Namjoon cried and called him; it didn't make sense. It probably makes less sense to Namjoon himself. He imagines Namjoon in at least six different situations, somewhere out there in the city, trying to shake off the weirdness of Jungkook hearing him cry. Hoseok starts collecting empty dishes in response to Yoongi's joke and Yoongi scowls at his lap.

Nothing was sitting right. Jungkook shoots to his feet. “I'm gonna go,” he says, feeling as mildly surprised as everyone looks.

There's a small chorus of byes before he shuts the door and exhales in a huff. He pauses, staring at nothing, thumb hovering over his phone. Frowning, he shoves it back in his hoodie pocket and shrugs his backpack over a shoulder.

Pausing again at the bottom of the stairs, he pulls his phone back out. He sits on the step as he finds Namjoon in his contacts and chews on his lip.

Five whole minutes later, he hits the send button. He jumps to his feet and shoves his phone away, walks five feet and pulls it right back out.

11:43

You know, you can call anytime you have trouble sleeping or whatever

He reads it three times, and on the fourth time a hot wave of panic washes over him. Does it seem like I mean it's okay to call me when he feels bad and that's it? He was just drunk anyway. Does it sound too serious? Too forward? Fuck. Jungkook stares stock still into the dark corner of the parking lot and tries to think of what he could add to make it lighter, make it more, something.

He's in the middle of opening google thinking “surely memes are the answer,” when the screen goes dark with an incoming call.

'Trouble sleeping?” he chuckles, and standing is really too much at this point. He plops down on the curb between cars and jams a shaking hand under his thigh.

Namjoon's voice is low and rich, a little raspy. “Only always,” he answers.

+

It's finally the end of the week and Namjoon is sitting on the back of the ugliest brown couch he's ever seen, one foot squirming into the crack between cushions, one leg propped up on the arm of the couch. Someone from dance team's house, small and shabby, but a whole house. Christmas lights are strung along the top of every wall, giving the room a dim, sleepy glow. He absently sips at a beer, laughing at Hoseok and Yoongi dancing to some Drake song.

Suddenly a weight is thrown against his shins in the form of Jungkook, smiling back at him as he settles into the couch between his legs. He stares down at Jungkook's red beanie and ponders the fact that if Jungkook turned around his face would be inches from his dick.

He's still happily pondering when the song changes. “Britney fucking Spears!” Namjoon cackles. “I'm a slave 4 u, Hoseok seriously?! No more playlists for you,” he shouts across the room but Hoseok isn't listening. Jungkook had just leapt up and pointed dramatically at Hoseok across the small room, who has already jumped into the same pose.

“What the fuck,” Namjoon mumbles as they burst into the same choreography, mirroring each other across the room. Dance guy slash party host stumbles in from the kitchen and joins them with a joyous screech. They sink slowly to the floor, hands dragging down their chest before their hips roll and they pop up into moves so sharp and fast Namjoon can only shake his head in amazement.

Everyone's laughing and rolling their eyes, but they're so good that most of the room has turned to watch, half-interested with occasional whoops of appreciation. Jungkook turns toward the couch, dancing still in the glow of Christmas lights, alternately beaming that goofy smile and biting his lip in mock sexiness.

“Dance team did this song for that spirit week thing,” Jungkook explains, shouting over the music before he drops to his knees, head arched back. His hips roll over and over and Namjoon for damn sure files that image away for later.

He can feel Jungkook's body heat through his jeans when Jungkook flops back against his legs, neck glowing with sweat. The song plays on, Hoseok still going hard in front of the snack table. Jungkook watches and laughs, occasionally half-assing some of the more dramatic moves on the sofa.

On the last round of the chorus, Jungkook arches backwards into Namjoon, dragging his hand hard down Namjoon's chest as he sings “I'm a slaaaaave,” and he giggles like it's supposed to be funny. But there's a smirk that lingers with giddy seriousness as he glances back at Namjoon before making his way into the kitchen.

The song ends and Namjoon, whose insides have turned to wobbly jello, goes to the bathroom. Music and the jumble of voices permeate through the walls, whirring around the memory of Jungkook minutes before, touching him, looking at him like he wanted to do it again.

Trance-like, he washes his hands and looks up at the mirror. God, he thinks. I look happy.

+

It's early still, darkest shades of dusk still illuminating the air. Namjoon is grading papers, sprawled out on his big bed. He has Jungkook on speakerphone, letting his voice wash over him as he practices newer songs. It had become a habit of theirs over the last week or so, comfortable, a slow intoxication.

It suddenly goes silent, the only sound now the low hum of the neighbor's tv through the wall. “Hey Namjoon? The sky is super clear tonight.”

“Yeah I noticed, there was a cute little crescent moon.”

There was a snicker on the other end. “Did you just call the moon cute? Anyway, I was thinking. Let's go to that place you were talking about, wherever it was we could see all the stars.”

“Right now?”

“I mean, if you really need to finish grading then—“

“No let's go!” he stutters, already scrambling to his feet. “I'll pick you up in...20 minutes?”

The night is cool bordering on downright nippy, but it's warm in Hoseok's dumbass Suzuki Sidekick. He turns off the engine in front of Jungkook's dorm and waits.

“I'm borrowing your car!” Namjoon had hollered into Hoseok's apartment, making a beeline for the keys on the kitchen counter, front door swinging wide open. Hoseok's face had slid from startled to a bright, evil beacon of gloating and joy that Namjoon steadfastly ignored.

He didn't even have to say a word. “You shut the hell up with that face!” he yelled, marching down the little hallway. 'I'm borrowing your sleeping bags too,” he shouted into the hall closet. He resorted to warbling a loud “LAAA LaLALAAAA” to drown out the sound of Hoseok saying something from the living room. Something gloating about Namjoon needing the car he had persisted in mocking for five straight years. Or something suggestive about why he needed a car and sleeping bags that would make Namjoon betray himself and flail and giggle like a fucking school girl.

“I don't need the car until tomorrow night, so have a good time,” Hoseok said behind him at the front door, voice low, face ominously happy.

Namjoon maintained his nonchalant bordering on grumpy facade, knowing that Hoseok saw straight through it. “Thanks man.”

“Mmhm. There's condoms in the glove box!” Hoseok slammed the door in his face before he can turn to reply. He could hear Hoseok's gleeful laughter on the other side of the door.

But it's warm in Hoseok's car, and Jungkook is walking across the grass now, shoulders hunched up to his ears in an old denim jacket against the chill. He starts the engine back up and bites away a smile, dimples giving him away anyhow.

“Hoseok's car?” Jungkook asks, incredulous as he climbs into the passenger side, comfy in grey sweatpants that look better on him than sweatpants should.

Namjoon shrugs. “It's warmer.” A shy thrill all over again at Jungkook in the flesh instead of Jungkook a disembodied voice on the phone. His smile so much brighter, skin so much smoother, body more solid than he'd endlessly daydreamed the last few days. So much more Jungkook.

“I got snacks,” Jungkook says, patting his backpack as he shakes the hair from his eyes, “but let's get burger king on the way.”

+

There's more sky than earth where they lay on a spread out sleeping bag, feeling like they were hovering weightless over an inverted ocean. The desert is spread out all around them, flat with sudden jagged hills here and there, silent, serene.

“Wow,” Jungkook whispers for the tenth time, lantern-bright eyes flung open to the expanse above them. “Wow,” he muses again, craning his neck back to trace the entire arc of the milky way, a long swipe of crushed silver powdered across the black sky.

“I never knew it looked like this,” he finally turns his round eyes toward Namjoon, shivering but too awed to care.

“Oh,” Namjoon suddenly remembers the extra sleeping bag in the backseat. He fiddles the zipper open and flings it over Jungkook, who laughs when the sleeping bag settles mostly over his face.

“Gotta make a burrito,” Jungkook announces, flopping side to side so the blanket tucks up under his body. He snakes an arm out of the sleeping bag and jabs the blanket tight under Namjoon's side, giggling when Namjoon yelps in ticklish pain. “Lift your feet a little,” he says, doing a quick whoosh to trap the blanket up under their feet too.

“Perfect,” he says, finally settling, arms and calves pressed flush against Namjoon's.

“You're so weird,” Namjoon laughs, voice more husky than he expected.

They watch the stars in comfortable silence save a few fragments of songs Jungkook hums to himself. Namjoon doesn't think he even realizes he does it.

His eyes watch a tiny speck of a satellite traverse the sky but his mind is fully present in the warmth of Jungkook's arms against his, in the fact that if he shifted his hand three inches to the right he could weave his fingers through his.

How soft would his skin feel? Would he pull his hand away? Namjoon's pinky twitches dangerously and he really almost tries it.

“How long does it take to get to the moon?” Jungkook turns and asks, snapping him out of it.

Namjoon turns to him, heart doing a weird surge when he sees all the starlight glowing opaline across his cheeks and nose. “I think like a coup-couple of days?” His eyes catch and stay on the way the stars highlight the dip and curve of Jungkook's lips. Rose pink lips which have been hanging slightly open since he opened the car door and looked up in awe.

He jerks his gaze away but Jungkook doesn't.

“I dunno about technology now but I think Apollo took like what, three days or something? Gotta be shorter now, though. Like, rich people will probably get to visit for fun within our lifetime.” He's babbling, he knows, and finally stops himself.

It's quiet, and Jungkook hasn't looked back up at the sky. He feels like he's gonna burn to pieces trying to act like he doesn't know Jungkook is watching him.

When he speaks, his voice has a soft tightness that seems new and odd enough to Namjoon to have him turning back. “You know, you can—“

He flusters when Namjoon's gaze is back on him, blinking away. They were really laying a lot closer than he realized.

“Can what?”

“You can—“ he tries again, eyes only making it as far up as to catch on Namjoon's plush lips before they fell shyly back down. Ah, he probably misread it, he thinks, sad but not surprised. Probably had been misreading the whole, thing between them, seeing what he wanted to see, not like Namjoon had ever—

“Kiss you?” Namjoon whispers.

It takes Jungkook a second to reorient, the thrill that claps through him almost taking his breath. He looks up into Namjoon's eyes and nods.

This is actually happening, is all he can register before the warmth of Namjoon's mouth presses into his. A big hand slides along his jaw to notch right beneath his ear and he feels deliciously small.

There's a hesitant beat before Namjoon kisses him again, so slow, tender in a way that makes Jungkook feel like he's a gift being unwrapped.

He pauses to look down at him, as if to confirm that Jungkook really isn't trying to change his mind and run away. The barest of sighs escapes him when Namjoon slots his lips gently to his with a reserved strength, as if he was holding himself back from kissing the living shit out of him.

The thought has Jungkook's body searing; Namjoon wants him. He drags his fingers feather-light down Namjoon's ears and sucks on Namjoon's big, pretty lip just to see what happens.

Namjoon's hand glides up his shirt, thumb swiping over the hill of his ribcage. He feels a little weak; every drag of tongue or lips or fingers against his skin is buzzing, as if his whole body is trying to surge up and give itself to Namjoon. It's so quiet out here in the desert expanse that every little groan Namjoon tries to suppress, every petal-light ahh that tumbles from Jungkook's lips as Namjoon sucks lightly below his ear is audible before the breeze carries it away.

He digs his teeth into the muscle of Jungkook's shoulder a bit, takes note of the way Jungkook can't hold back the moan when he does. He rises to look at Jungkook, the realness of the moment finally hitting him. They look each other in the eye, searching, smiling at what they find there.

Namjoon laughs a little, letting his forehead fall to Jungkook's shoulder. “I didn't bring you here to do this, you know,” he chuckles into the crook of Jungkook's neck, pecking a warm kiss there.

He laughs. “You didn't bring me out here; I asked you.”

Namjoon's distracted, gently nuzzling his nose into the soft hair at Jungkook's temples. “Wait,” he freezes, face shocked amusement, “Did you bring me here to do this?!”

Jungkook grins up at him, tugging Namjoon's earlobe softly between his fingers. “Do you know what it's like to have a view like this? All this and—and you,” he ends softly, dazed by Namjoon framed by thousands of twinkling stars, cheeks and lips flushed from kissing him.

Kissing him! He really hadn't brought him here for that, not in any realistic part of his brain at least. He just wanted to be with Namjoon, and he almost couldn't understand why. They could barely talk to each other, it was never a smooth, natural thing. But he wanted to be with him, wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel his voice vibrate around him. The world didn't feel right without it, like a drawing without any depth or shading.

“Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?” Namjoon asks, bending to peck another kiss to his lips.

“Really?” Jungkook grins, and there's honest surprise on his face.

“Yes—god, yes really, Jungkook I—, really, really really—“

“Really really?” he teases.

“I really really, really like you.”

Something like oh, falls from his mouth. Eyes dazed on the bashful Namjoon above him, his limbs go slack for a second, embodiment of an oh.

He pulls Namjoon down by the back of his neck and kisses him again, needed to kiss him again, addicted already to the way Namjoon's mouth moves and tastes. Addicted to the way Namjoon kisses him like he likes him, kisses him like he's been dying to do it for weeks.

Somewhere deep down and not so far off, the ever familiar worry hovers. It couldn't last, right? They didn't make sense together. Namjoon would definitely get bored with him. Ah, but he's never felt like this, never, and Namjoon is here now, purring a little against his lips.

So fuck it, he decides, and slinks his leg over Namjoon's thighs to pull him closer.

They kissed for hours, until the chill in the air started to numb their cheeks despite the heat under the sleeping bag. Namjoon struggles to arrange his long body into some sort of comfortable position in the cramped backseat of Hoseok's car, Jungkook awkwardly crammed against him. Blankets and limbs twisting and jutting out, awkward giggles and grumbles fill the car.

“This is nice,” Jungkook slurs as they finally tire, face smushed at an awkward angle under Namjoon's arm, Namjoon struggling to not slide off the edge of the seat.

They burst into laughter, sitting up frustrated, hair sticking up in every direction from making out like 15 year olds and the static of fighting against blankets and car seats. Delirious and defeated they stare at each other, breathless.

“Here, come here,” Namjoon's voice is raspy as he pulls Jungkook into his lap like a giant koala bear. He stuffs one sleeping bag between his back and the car door, the other he smooths over Jungkook on top of him.

“This is nice,” Jungkook says again, heart pounding between them, and this time he means it. Namjoon, warm and lean beneath him, kissing the top of his head where it's nestled against his jaw.

+

They wake in the same position with the sharpness of the sun pouring through the car windows. Jungkook stirs a little but settles back to Namjoon's chest when he remembers where he is.

He pretends to fall back asleep, not wanting to break the moment quite yet. It's a bit hard to do though, with Namjoon's fingers curling up and down the bare skin just below his ribs where his shirt has hitched up. He bites his lip to silence the tiny whimper in his throat when Namjoon wraps his arms around him tighter, fingers prodding into his stomach just a tiny bit.

The pads of Namjoon's long fingers are swirling lazy circles just above his hip bone, sending delicious ticklish jolts down through his thighs. Feather light, but every couple swirls he digs into his skin, like fingers scooping through icing. Jungkook's eyes flutter back in his head, struggling to breathe steady. He knows it's either stop this now or get a raging boner right there on top of Namjoon, and he'd really rather not- to both options.

He sits up and sighs, squinting happily in the sun, hair a golden sunlight haloed mess.

“Coldddd,” Namjoon whines, voice shades deeper in the morning. Jungkook looks down and realizes he took the whole sleeping bag with him when he sat up.

“Sorry,” he laughs, and falls back down on Namjoon, pulling the sleeping bag up over their heads. They stare at each other, bleary eyed and puffy, almost nose to nose in the cozy bubble of blanket and body heat. Faint sounds of breaths, soft rustling of fabric, silence of sunlight outside the car.

Namjoon looks happy, relieved maybe, that the feeling between them hasn't changed since last night. Or Jungkook was projecting his own feelings, maybe. Big, warm hands slide up Jungkook's sides to cradle his face for a moment and Jungkook's eyes flutter shut. Thumbs brush across his cheeks and he feels warm, in every molecule.

"You're so pretty," a hushed sentence before warm lips brush across his, and this time Jungkook can't stop the whimper, body like melted jelly. They kiss, slow with the laziness of morning but deep and deeper and wet with the curiosity of wanting.

Hunger wins out after a while and they untangle from each other, Jungkook laughing at Namjoon's growling stomach. They're halfway down the narrow rocky road, sagebrush and dusty-orange boulders on every side when Jungkook asks, “You like me?”

Namjoon barks out a laugh. “I like you.”

He glances over to see Jungkook grinning out the window. “I like you too,” he says softly, face bathed in yellow sunlight.

Namjoon snorts in embarrassment to mask the sheer glee tickling through his body. He wants to pull the car over and cartwheel through the desert or scream and clap and kick Hoseok's tires. “I'd hope you wouldn't let me kiss you that much if you didn't,” he jokes, not knowing what else to do.

They're awkward and smiling in different directions. Jungkook reaches for Namjoon's free hand and argues, “I kissed you.”

Chapter Text

Busy with classes, all they had between them the next two days was a few texts, most recent of which to confirm the other would be at Hoseok's in a few hours.

It's dusk now, all the peachy orange having just left the horizon, and Namjoon feels like he's going to jump out of his skin. He can't even bring himself to look up at Hoseok's balcony, knowing Jungkook is in there. Not just the regular gorgeous Jungkook, but the gorgeous Jungkook that said he likes him! Held his hand! Kissed him for hours!

The small sound of Jungkook's moan against his lips surfaced in his mind and it hits him; that sound was a memory, not a fantasy. He bites at a grin until he gets to the cover of the stairwell and does a jerky, squawky dance that looks like he's trying to brawl a swarm of invisible flies.

Okay. Okay. Face steady. Be cool. He tugs on the hem of his woolly sweater and opens the door. Everyone looks up with a “hey” and a “Namjoon! I haven't seen you in forever!” from Jimin.

He squats down and works at the laces of his combat boots for a few seconds before he dares to look up. His eyes catch on Jungkook's and he really can't breathe for a moment. Jungkook, only feet away, more lovely than in memory.

It becomes too much for both of them at the same second and they're both staring at their feet, dopey grins stretching across their faces.

“There's leftover Chinese in the kitchen if you want,” Jimin tells Namjoon.

He steps over Taehyung starfished in the middle of the living room and doesn't manage to exhale until he walks past the stove. Fuck, did Jungkook get cuter? He wonders as he piles leftover mystery noodles onto a plate and slides it into the microwave.

“Hey,” he hears from behind him and his heart skips.

Jungkook slides himself up on the counter beside the microwave and smiles shyly down at him. Namjoon moves as if his body isn't his own, unable to deny his hands the need to slide around Jungkook's thighs.

Feet curl around the back of his knees to pull him closer, knees spread just enough to let him in.

“Hey,” Namjoon murmurs, eager hands gripped at Jungkook's waist.

The microwave beeps and Namjoon rises on tip toes to kiss his soft lips. A soft hum feeds into his mouth and Jungkook's arms curl around his neck, pulling him closer.

Suddenly it feels more serious, he needs Jungkook closer and the damn kitchen counter is in the way. He wraps his hands around Jungkook's narrow hips and scoots him closer in one swift motion. There's a whimper in Jungkook's throat and Namjoon kisses down the side of his neck, thumbs digging into the bend of his thighs.

Both of them started off meaning to remember that a room full of friends were waiting for them, but the thought is far gone. Nothing else exists but the re-memorization of each other's lips and scent and shape.

Namjoon is running his hands up and down Jungkook's chest, somehow managing to touch him everywhere but his nipples and it's building up an itchy frenzy in him. Frustrated, he drags his teeth across Namjoon's bottom lip and hops down from the counter into Namjoon's chest. He walks Namjoon backward and pins his body against the wall with a huff. Namjoon's long arms wrap tight around him and they're close, finally so close.

The sound of someone's laughter bursting dangerously close to the kitchen has them jumping away from each other. No one comes in and they giggle nervously, Namjoon pulling him to his chest again with a flustered sigh.

“I wasn't sure if, y'know, if you wanted me to tell them, Hoseok and everyone,” Namjoon stammers, kissing Jungkook's hair.

“Why wouldn't I?”

Namjoon shrugs, glad Jungkook's face is buried in his neck so he can't see the dumb way he can't put words together. “I dunno, I...”

He pulls his face away to look up at Namjoon. “You like me?” he interrupts, being cute, but Namjoon thinks he sees just a hint of doubt pass through his eyes.

He cradles Jungkook's head in his hands and kisses him on the side of his mouth, the top of his nose, the curve of his top lip. “Jungkook. I like you,” he murmurs.

“Then, you can like me anywhere, anytime, in front of whoever.” He crinkles his nose, looking embarrassed. “It's, I dunno, it seems kinda weird to like, announce it, or like, I mean, I dunno, you know?” He laughs at himself and ducks his gaze down to his socked feet tucked in between Namjoon's.

“Yeah, I know,” Namjoon smiles. “Let's go make out in front of Hoseok just to fuck with him.” He pulls his half-cooled noodles from the microwave and leads Jungkook out by the hand.

Everyone is distracted with the arrival of some other friends of Hoseok's at the door, so Jungkook sinking himself down on Namjoon's lap and tucking his long arms around his waist goes unnoticed. When Namjoon slides his arms tighter, it goes unnoticed. It does not go unnoticed, however, when Jungkook giggles at something Yoongi says and Namjoon plants a long kiss behind his ear.

“Since when!” hollers a tipsy Jimin, finger jabbing toward them, round face rounder in amused shock.

No one else seems particularly surprised, or has the decency not to make a scene. Namjoon shrugs, feeling Jungkook's body go a little rigid on top of him. “He came in the kitchen to get a drink and what can I say, my microwave skills are hard to resist.”

Everyone snorts or rolls their eyes, attention back on the tv series they were marathoning, and truth be told, Namjoon is relieved.

Hoseok, though, lingers a bit on the two of them. He smiles when Namjoon notices and looks away, but Namjoon didn't miss the odd sadness that clouded over his smirk. He fiddles with the hem of his sleeve for a minute before jumping up, suddenly determined to out-drink Jimin, it seems.

Under the blanket of blaring tv noise and chatty laughter he quickly becomes an aggressive happy, like a dog growling while it wags its tail. Those who know Hoseok best know it's the kind of happy that covers up an ugly sadness. Those who know Hoseok best know to leave it alone.

Yoongi knows Hoseok better than anyone, but love never lets anyone leave well enough alone.

When he tries to take the shot of everclear out of Hoseok's hand after seeing him puke in the kitchen trash can, he's rewarded with a vicious “Fuck off, Yoongi.” Eyes linger fire-dark on his before he breaks into a carefree smile for the rest of the room, half empty bottle tucked under his arm and he's gone.

It's a self destruction under the guise of fun; if you destroy the man you destroy the feelings that plague him.

+

It's weird, almost, how Jungkook hadn't been a known existence just a month before, and now of course life included Jungkook, how else could it be? Like when you get a new haircut and suddenly can't for the life of you look in the mirror and picture what you looked like before.

There's work and classes same as usual, but they feel different. He spends time alone, but it's different, warmer, fuller, steadier. Little things sprout and weave into Namjoon himself: the way Jungkook always ties his straw wrapper in three knots, the gentle heaviness of his laugh instead of a giggle, soapy hands as he washes dishes at the end of every party, humming to himself. Carried like a lantern in Namjoon's mind, the bright, unassuming existence of Jungkook casts a glow into the darker corners.

It's a funny thing, how someone so seemingly different could feel so familiar so quickly, he thinks, walking across the quad to meet Jungkook at the school gym.

The gym, he snorts, giddy and incredulous still that he's dating someone who does things like lift weights and jog for fun. Opening the glass doors, he peers around the huge, open gym, EDM wafting aggressively throughout the humid clutter of treadmills and weight machines.

His eyes lock on Jungkook in front of a massive mirror, headphones in, wearing that god forsaken tank top which flashes peachy tan skin with every movement. Jungkook is staring fiercely at himself in the mirror, as if daring himself to stop pumping the huge dumbbell up and down.

Biceps swell and release, sweat trickles down his jaw and neck, he sneers at himself with every forced exhale. He finally drops the weights with a loud grunt and wipes sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, exposing firm abs contracting with every heavy breath.

“I popped a boner,” he admits to Hoseok the next day at lunch, burying his face in his hands.

As expected, Hoseok cackles around a mouthful of pizza, clapping one loud, gleeful clap. “Right there in the gym? Just watching him? Dude.”

“Don't judge me,” he whines weakly. “It was like live porn I swear, the corny jock in the locker room porn I pretend not to like,” he mutters.

“You've got it bad,” Hoseok shakes his head, popping one of Namjoon's potato chips in his mouth. “You two are fucking gross, I hate it,” he says, but he's smiling. “I thought you guys were boinking already, though.”

Namjoon falls against the window laughing. “Boinking! Ah, I'm glad you're around to remind me that boinking exists as a word. Nah, we have not yet done the boink.”

He thinks for a minute. “I don't know how to say this without sounding like a loser but, I kinda want him to initiate it. Not because I'm scared or something but, I wanna make sure he really wants to? I want it to happen naturally? Ah, this is an embarrassing conversation,” he chuckles.

Hoseok looks tense, faraway and happy, a mysterious combination. “Nah I get, it's nice when the other person makes it clear without you having to ask.”

Lips pursed in an awkward smile, Namjoon doesn't know what to say for the hundred thousandth time to what is clearly a Yoongi related statement. He shoves his basket of chips across the table to Hoseok and stares out the window.

+

Something lo-fi and dreamy is trickling from Namjoon's laptop speakers in the corner, no competition for the not so quiet whimpers coming from Jungkook. Homework abandoned, they'd been kissing on Namjoon's bed since before sunset. It's dark now, the only source of dim light coming from the bathroom where Namjoon forgot to turn it off earlier.

Notebook paper and textbooks crinkle beneath their weight when Namjoon drags Jungkook closer, hands firm around his hips, hovering over him.

“Fuck,” Jungkook whispers, a desperate sound. He sits up into Namjoon, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers twining up through his hair.

Namjoon yanks him onto his lap, loving when Jungkook is this close, filling all his senses. Jungkook's scent of open sky and taste of warm skin, the sound and feel of him straining to keep his body pressed to his. Big dark eyes stare into his in the near-dark and Namjoon wonders what he sees there.

He slides Jungkook's shirt off, amazed that he could look in his eyes and know, Jungkook would let him. He groans and falls back on the bed, pulling Jungkook alongside, half on top of him.

“You're so beautiful, what the fuck,” he murmurs at the sight of Jungkook pulling himself up and leaning down to kiss the side of his neck, bare chest glowing in the crack of light from the doorway.

“Everything you do is so pretty, so, fuck—,” He feels it, the hesitant, involuntary grind against his thigh.

Jungkook stills his body, embarrassed maybe, but Namjoon wraps his hands around Jungkook's ass and shoves his hips gently down into his thigh.

“Shit,” he gasps into Namjoon's neck, nearly collapsing to his chest.

“Don't stop,” Namjoon whispers, hands urging his hips down again with a squeeze. “Everything, everything you do,” he rambles breathless and catches Jungkook's lips with his.

Kisses slowly devolve into low pants against each other's lips, noses bumping a little with every rise and push of Jungkook's body.

He may have started off shy but Jungkook is grinding the hardness in his sweats against Namjoon's thigh in an slow, earnest rhythm. He scrapes teeth across Namjoon's neck or cheeks, egging Namjoon on to dig his fingers deeper into his flesh.

It's blissful, the way his mind is only here now, in his body, reacting to Jungkook, not floating distant on a tether.

He can feel the shaky way Jungkook starts falling out of rhythm, accented with low, determined gasps. “Do you wanna come like this?” he asks with a breathless chuckle.

Jungkook sits up a little and shakes his head. 'Like this,” he whispers, and shifts his body fully on top of Namjoon's and grinds down slow against Namjoon's achingly hard cock.

He moans, long and low. A part of Namjoon's mind is baffled at dry humping each other like they don't know what sex is, more turned on than he's been in his life. Jungkook is unreal, a pornographic dream come to life, smirking at the way Namjoon is falling apart with him now, and he feels more found than lost for once.

“Fuck, Jungkook. I can't, believe, how much I—I want you,” he stammers, chest heaving. “It's ridiculous, you're the prettiest, the most—ah, baby fuck,”

He could feel the way Jungkook's body tensed and stuttered before he came and Namjoon held his hips tight to his. Short, small cries melt into happy hums against his jaw as Jungkook rides it out, struggling against Namjoon's tight grip.

Namjoon scoops him up and all but throws him back against the pillows and crumpled papers and kisses him silly.

“Can I?” Jungkook is asking shyly, finger toying with the button of his pants. Namjoon blinks for a second, forgetting himself, forgetting there was anything to do but make Jungkook feel good.

“Yeah, yes,” he rushes. “You can like, clean up a little first if you want,” he laughs, looking down at Jungkook's stained sweatpants.

But Jungkook shakes his head, face shy still but eyes bright in this way Namjoon has noticed a few times now. Almost as if when Jungkook decides to be fully honest, to not withhold, he really owns it. It almost becomes a casual cockiness, if not for the ever present shyness, the uncanny eyes searching, reading.

“I don't...know how to explain it but, I like it when shit feels weird?” he laughs a little but he's serious. He unzips Namjoon's pants and pulls them off. “I could get hard again just at what a gross mess I am, because of you.”

“You like it when shit feels weird,” Namjoon echoes, eyes owlishly wide. He collapses back to the bed. “Fuck, I'm gonna come in my pants too,” he half-moans a laugh, a little stunned.

Jungkook looks pleased, and mouths at the wet spot on Namjoon's tight underwear. Eyes flick up to Namjoon's face when Namjoon groans and he continues. “The other day I got off imagining you spanking me with a yardstick and rubbing it between my thighs. I don't know why.”

His eyes are glittering up at Namjoon, happy at how he felt Namjoon's dick jump at his words. He pulls his underwear off and noses along Namjoon's smooth thigh, sucking hard on mouthfuls of skin.

“Yesterday I kept thinking about what it would feel like if you fingered me, but like, with an ice cube.” He drags his tongue up the ridge of Namjoon's hipbone and snickers bashfully, at himself, at Namjoon clearly about to lose it.

A long sigh of agitated relief fills the room when the wet warmth of Jungkook's mouth finally envelops him in one long, smooth motion. Jungkook's gaze is locked on Namjoon, fascinated at being able see the way he's making him feel. If he swirls his tongue like this, Namjoon shudders and bites his lip; if he digs his tongue there, Namjoon's stomach and fingers clench tight.

If he sucks hard and steady he's rewarded with a growly “ahh, baby fuck,” and it goes straight to his sticky cock. Which makes him moan around the cock in his mouth, which produces a growl in Namjoon's throat again and Jungkook almost wants to giggle at the chain reaction.

“I... I have these lace panties,” he starts again. Namjoon's eyes fly open and he props himself up on his elbows, staring at Jungkook like he's some kind mythological creature.

He thought he was content keeping private fantasies, but finding himself able to tell Namjoon, to trust him this much, is an addicting release. He stares back at Namjoon, hand sliding lazily over his wet dick. “I want you to fuck me in them,” he whispers, nervous smile gathering at the corners of his mouth.

Lightning fast, Namjoon sits up and yanks himself closer to Jungkook, smashing his mouth to his, desperate and devouring. “God Jungkook, yes, everything you want, that's so, you're so, fuck.”

The words won't piece together and Jungkook's hand is moving in a determined frenzy, filling the air with squelchy sounds. His body seizes and he's coming hard onto Jungkook's bare chest with loud, satisfied gasps.

Before he knows what he's doing he's smearing his fingers through it, dragging it up over Jungkook's nipple in innocent wonder. It was beautiful; Jungkook was beautiful. Jungkook made him feel beautiful, or rather, that he was living beautifully.

Jungkook watches Namjoon's fingers glide slick over his skin and bites at his lip at the sensation. “Do you think I'm weird?” he murmurs after a moment.

“For what?” Namjoon jolts a bit from his daze, dropping his hand from the sticky mess.

“For, for....wanting all that,” he says, growing too shy to repeat it.

“Oh,” Namjoon grins. “Yeah. And I love it.” He peels his sweat-damp shirt off and pulls Jungkook up off the bed. He meant to bring him to the shower but he can't help pulling him close to kiss him again.

“I mean it," he murmurs against Jungkook's temples. "I want to see you get everything you want, I wanna give it to you. I wanna fuck you in your god damn lace panties so bad, Jungkook, holy shit.” He walks him backwards into the bathroom, hands squeezing his ass when Jungkook whimpers a little.

“They're pink. Pink lace,” he says shyly as Namjoon turns the shower on.

Namjoon hums a happy sound, wrapping his arms back around his waist. “My pretty freaky baby,” he teases, kissing along his shoulder as they wait for the water to heat up.

Chapter Text

“What's going on with them?” Jungkook murmurs into his ear. Namjoon is sprawled across Jungkook's lap in Hoseok's lumpy bean bag chair, giant bowl of popcorn wedged between them.

Yoongi has Hoseok caged against the Christmas tree for the briefest few seconds as he reaches over him to put the golden star on top, but it's enough to turn Hoseok flustered and squirrely. He accidentally kicks a box of glittery ornaments into the wall as he hurries to busy himself with something other than gawking up at Yoongi.

Namjoon leans into Jungkook and whispers as close as he can, “Yoongi told him he thinks he's pretty last week.”

“Seriously?!” Jungkook screeches in a whisper, eyes huge. “What!?”

“Shh, yeah, he just said it and left one morning,” he nods and shrugs a shoulder. As an afterthought, he pecks a kiss to the side of Jungkook's cheek. “You're just cute,” he says in response to Jungkook's questioning smile.

The first few synthy notes of 'Last Christmas' come up on shuffle and the room erupts into a chorus of rowdy appreciation. “The only Christmas song I need!” Taehyung declares, dragging Jimin to his feet to 80's dance with him, santa hats slipping to the side.

Namjoon turns back just in time to see Jungkook dipping his tongue into the popcorn bowl, presumably to see how much would stick. Jungkook freezes and slides his eyes over to meet his. Namjoon is falling back in laughter, eyes squinted shut.

He sticks his popcorn covered tongue out at Namjoon and laughs with him, sheepish. “You're fucking weird,” Namjoon says fondly, and bites a piece of popcorn off his tongue.

“You're supposed to be stringing that with the cranberries, not eating it, ya perverts!” Hoseok yells at them.

“Who the hell actually makes popcorn cranberry garland anyway,” Namjoon grumbles, reaching for the needle and thread.

“I do, damnit,” Hoseok insists. “Let me have my Christmas cheer, Namjoon, it's been a weird year, alright.”

Namjoon laughs softly and nails Hoseok in the butt with a cranberry. “Every year is a weird year my dude,” he calls back over the ruckus of Taehyung and Jimin.

“I've never started Christmas this early,” Jungkook laughs, rearranging himself higher on the bean bag under Namjoon so he can string garland across Namjoon's chest. He rests his chin on top of Namjoon's head and gets to work.

“Last year Hoseok tried to put the tree up before Thanksgiving. Yoongi actually stole it from him and drove the damn thing around in his car until December 1^st,” Namjoon's grin morphs into a wince as the needle pricks the side of his thumb. “Hoseok just... doesn't quite know what to do when he has a lot of feelings? So he tends to channel them into 'fun' things. A bit aggressively.”

He can feel the hesitation in Jungkook, and turns to peer up into his big eyes. “Did you guys ever date?” he asks, focused on the cranberry between his fingers instead of meeting his gaze.

“Me and Hoseok? Nah,” Namjoon drawls. “Me and Yoongi did though. I mean, technically,” he adds in haste when Jungkook's gaze jerks sharply.

“We actually met on what we found out was a group date. Like, found out after it started,” he laughs. “We bonded through our shared awkwardness I guess, and went on another date that just ended up being hanging out with Hoseok, and they've been like this ever since. We've been like this ever since,” he corrects himself. “I'm also here.”

The last part struck him a little sad, a lonely way to talk about his closest friends. He watches the way Namjoon sticks his chin out in concentration, face holding a tight, bare smile. It's a mask that melts away when it's just the two of them, he's noticed. Garland forgotten for a moment, he squeezes his arms tight around Namjoon's chest, nose buried in his hair.

“You're here the most to me,” he mumbles, and means it, and doesn't quite know what he means. He blames it on the mushy Christmas music and hot buttered rum.

+

The first week of December starts hectic, finals looming too close for comfort. Namjoon has endless amounts of papers to grade, students to tutor and his own dissertation to present. They haven't seen each other for three days now, and don't even talk much on the phone; mostly it's heavy sighs and keyboard clacks from Namjoon as Jungkook sings the same problem notes over and over.

Everything feels a little off, stretched and patchy. “Namjoon?”

It's quiet like he's waiting for Namjoon's permission to continue. “Yeah?” he sighs and stretches. It's 2:12 a.m.

“Can... could I come over? To just, sleep? I have dance practice at 8:00 but I just wanna—“

Namjoon is already saying yes, and the smile in his voice is enough to keep Jungkook from asking if it's really okay.

He's greeted at the door by Namjoon in red flannel pj pants wrapped up in a thick blue down comforter. His hair is a fluffy mess, sticking up on the sides and hanging half across his eyes. Stress has his face looking a bit haggard but he grins at Jungkook, a dimpled honest thing. Namjoon opens his arms like blanket wings and pulls Jungkook into the warmth of his bare chest.

They stand cocooned in the middle of the living room for a minute, breathing each other in. Jungkook snakes his cold arms around warm skin and everything grows close. They're silent but listening, a vulnerable realization that they're both considering letting the other be something they hold to, something they need.

Namjoon nudges Jungkook's face up to his with his nose and kisses him slowly, toothpaste taste lingering on his lips. It was a different kiss, intimate, something new and hesitant, a question neither of them are sure they want asked or answered. The sweetness and safeness of it aches through tired limbs.

“Come on baby. Let's sleep,” Namjoon murmurs into his hair.

Drowsy fingers tracing the flowers tattooed on Namjoon's chest, he falls into a restless shifting sleep. Now and again he surfaces to awareness of Namjoon's legs sliding through his and drifts back down to dreams of Namjoon paddling him in a canoe through a sea of red poppies.

+

A rushed Wednesday crammed with last minute studying, exams and a persistent headache is finally done. He feels run into the ground, not enough time for what he wants and not enough energy to do what he needs. He's sure he failed biology, he misses Namjoon, and he needs to revise another essay tonight but he just can't. Everything feels off. Never one to lash out at others, his bad mood sinks into sulkiness.

“Where's Namjoon?” Taehyung asks, digging his elbow into Jungkook's side.

“I don't know,” he squirms away, agitated. “I haven't really seen him. He's super busy this week with classes and grading and his dissertation thing; I'm trying not to bug him. He said he didn't really have time to do anything until the weekend, so,” he shrugs, trying to keep his tone light. It was fine, he'd told Namjoon it was fine, that he was busy too. It was fine. 

“No Namjoon, huh?” Taehyung tries with Hoseok who's trotting out of the kitchen, bag of chips in hand.

“Nah, Jin's in town apparently, just for a few days,” he answers, flopping onto the couch beside Taehyung.

“Jin's his ex, right? The chef guy?”

Taehyung pulls the chips from Hoseok's lap, and neither of them notice that Jungkook's heart has leapt up into his throat to choke him.

Namjoon hadn't mentioned anything about it, hadn't mentioned much of anything this week besides being too busy to even talk.

He told Hoseok but not me. The thought stings and the world shifts into something uglier than it was five seconds ago.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Hoseok says at the ding of his phone and he's turning the screen toward them. A picture of Namjoon laughing, arm around one of the most attractive people Jungkook has ever seen on Seokjinniejin's instagram, posted one minute ago.

Heat prickles over his suddenly cold skin and he freezes, too queasy to swallow the chips in his mouth. It's only me he's too busy for, he realizes, misery crawling through his veins. Only me he lied to.

The ceiling had nothing to say to him, but he's staring at it like an anchor in the the 3 a.m. darkness. Namjoon never called, and his heart physically hurts. The ceiling has nothing to say, but waiting for it to answer his persistent why?  keeps him from imagining what Namjoon might be doing with Jin at 3 a.m. instead of calling him. Keeps him from fretting over the fact that Namjoon's not even his boyfriend, officially, and what that fact might make Namjoon feel free to do.

A faint voice argues back. Namjoon didn't call, but you don't talk every single night, right? He likes you, Jungkook, he said so. But the fact remains that Namjoon didn't tell him specifically, and that can't mean nothing.

Stupid, he thinks, so stupid. Stupid for thinking him and Namjoon would last, stupid for thinking it was over because of a picture. Stupid for assuming Namjoon felt as much as he did.

He remembers only three nights ago, falling asleep on Namjoon's chest, waking up to Namjoon kissing his face softly all over, the curve of his shoulder cool to the touch from the December morning air. The red ink of the poppies on his chest and cream sheets, the rich brown of his dark eyes disappearing into a smile when Jungkook scrunched his nose at the ticklish kisses.

God, he thinks, turning from the ceiling to curl around a giant pillow, I'd do anything not to screw this up.

So he won't call, he decides; he'll give Namjoon space. He'll hold his stupid feelings in and try not to breathe until he comes out the other side of the tunnel. Worth it, it's worth it if it means Namjoon will kiss him even once more in the cold light of morning.

+

Two hectic, sleep deprived days pass and Jungkook has never so heavily disliked anyone as much as he's come to dislike Jin. Namjoon texts him once in two days and all it says is “How'd the music theory exam go? I'm gonna die before I get these papers graded”

He can't even bring himself to answer. Jin had just posted a picture of Namjoon at some cafe grinning down at a stack of papers, and maybe he should be reassured that Namjoon is texting him while out with Jin, but, he's out with Jin and not me. He said he didn't have time to go out, was on a stubborn loop in his head.

The suspicion that Namjoon saying he “didn't have time to do anything 'til the weekend” was a convenient way to clear his schedule for Jin is settling into an obvious truth. It makes his bones ache like a fever.

A scowl permanently settles on his face and he shoves his phone in his pocket, dirty dishes slammed harder than necessary against the tray return shelf. It's really too chilly to linger, but Jungkook flops down on the dry grass outside the cafeteria and stares up at the gray clouds.

He's sick of the guilt at stalking Jin's instagram, a queasy sort of compulsion. He's sick of the way Namjoon smiles in pictures with Jin, loud and goofy, carefree. It's a different Namjoon than Jungkook has seen and he hates it, and he hates that he hates it.

With a choked sigh he closes his eyes against the cold wind, ignoring a pair of students that have to circle around him. He has one last exam in twenty minutes. Sitting up, he fidgets with the phone in his pocket. He wants to call, yell at Namjoon, make him feel an ounce as pathetic and small as he does, or beg him to stay, to come back to him, to hear him explain it was somehow all some misunderstanding.

But his natural restraint holds strong; he won't be that guy, he decides. He'll take a hint and won't make himself a nuisance. Backpack slung over his shoulder, he heads for the music building, the decision digging like cold iron in his chest.

Chapter Text

Another day passes, another “Hey, whatcha doin?” text from Namjoon ignored. It's Saturday, the day Namjoon was “finally” free. The day Namjoon finally had time for him.

Fuck you, Jungkook thinks miserably at his phone, lips pulling into a pout. He knows he doesn't mean it, which hurts worse. He can't even be mad at him. He blinks away the sudden heat in his eyes and pulls on his huge denim jacket, hesitating.

The quiet calm of a free afternoon had felt like a slow suffocation. He flipped through netflix, heated up a burrito, only managed to eat half of it, did push ups, scrolled through twitter. Everything felt itchy.

He slaps his laptop shut and it's deadly quiet, like his dorm room is waiting for him to explode. He realizes the harried tumult of exams and studying for exams and performances and practicing for performances for the last week had served as a fence of noise in his head between him and the feelings threatening to drown him.

He shoots to his feet, feeling like there are bees under his skin. It's early yet to meet up with Taehyung, but he grabs his keys and slams the door on the way out.

Taehyung was always a good distraction, especially paired with the buzz of loud songs he sorta knows and copious amounts of gin and tonic. He's perched on an ancient metal filing cabinet in someone's dusty garage, boots clanging against the side as he swings his legs. Taehyung is losing at beer pong and Jungkook laughs.

His phone is buzzing in his pocket and he knows who it is. He ignores it along with the jagged flutters in his stomach. What would he say if he answered? For two days he's imagined answering the phone and his heart being ripped open in two ways: hearing brittle, forced cheeriness from Namjoon, and crushing it by telling Namjoon he knew about Jin.

If he answers the phone, he'll have to hear how the guilt sounds in Namjoon's voice attempting to end everything in the nicest way possible. If he answers the phone, it'll be the end.

The phone goes still and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt like a violin string tuned tighter and tighter, and any next pluck of a finger would snap something inside. He jumps to his feet before he screams and hunts down another drink.

+

Namjoon stares at his phone as he sinks down to the dirty floor of Hoseok's balcony. The unease he'd been managing to keep at bay the last few days leaps to life like a flame in his throat. The floor is ice cold but he can't feel it.

Being left on read a few times wasn't so bad. He wasn't the greatest of texters anyway, and they had talked about how busy their finals week was gonna be. Jungkook was just struggling to keep afloat through finals week he assumed, same as he was. They had talked about it, he thought everything was fine.

But a third call unanswered, when Jungkook had just posted a snap of a drunk Taehyung doing the macarena in someone's front yard, something was wrong.

The panic rises ever familiar in his throat but it's worse somehow this time, worse now that the panic is about something rather than nothing.

A deep breath, Namjoon, a voice pleas in his head, but it's too far away. His fingertips are already numb and fumbly, skinny jeans pulling too much at his thighs.

He had just begun to believe they would actually stay together, to trust the idea that Jungkook wouldn't get sick of him and all his bullshit. He remembers the way he kissed Jungkook awake the last time they were together and hates it, and misses it. Stupid, he thinks. So stupid.

Stupid for thinking he wouldn't drive Jungkook away like everyone else who had better things to do than stay with him. Stupid for crumbling into a panic attack at a few missed calls. Stupid for assuming what they had meant as much to Jungkook as it does to him.

He folds his long legs into his body as best he can, huddling against the balcony railing. The metal digs into the side of his leg but he doesn't notice. Face buried in his hands, his body hiccups with the force of silent sobs. He's not breathing enough and his body clenches furiously. He felt pathetic, how relieved he'd been to present his dissertation last night and never have to think of it again, how excited he'd been to fill his time with Jungkook again instead.

The sliding door grinds open on it's rickety track, followed by an “Oh,” in the unmistakable voice of Jin. And in a move that sums up everything that didn't work between them, Jin leaves to get Hoseok.

Namjoon knows it's Hoseok he fetched by the signature pop of the knees that kneel beside him. “Joon. Hey, Joonie,” Hoseok whines, a soft sound of concern. His body tightens at Hoseok's warm hand on his shoulder. Quick, uneven breaths shudder through him.

“Hey, come on. Come here.” Hoseok can't get Namjoon to budge, so he scoops his arms all the way around him and topples him to his chest like a stone statue, hands clapped over his face still. “Hey, it's okay. Breathe in, remember? Good, yeah, big breath out,”

Namjoon tries to exhale but a loud, heavy cry wavers instead. It's a pathetic sound. “It's too much,” he chokes out. “Why doesn't anyone want to stay with me? Am I so hard to—to—“ words dissolve into tears against Hoseok's chest. “I'm not gonna ever be enough for anyone, I try so hard but no one wants to stay,” his voice breaks, lungs trying to pull in too many shallow breaths for the words to push around them. "I try so hard but it looks like shit to everyone else."

The words sting at Hoseok, not even knowing what brought them on. It was so out of character for Namjoon to outburst so emotional, and he knows he'll be embarrassed about it later. He rests his cheek on the top of Namjoon's head and rubs over his arm, hoping to god Jungkook hadn't really left him.

“Take a deep breath, Joon,” he murmurs, but Namjoon is too far gone. He takes Namjoon's hand by the wrist. “Here, feel the rug? It's scratchy, right? Right?”

There's a pause. “Yeah.” A tight, small sound. A beat before a sob bursts out with renewed vigor; “And I hate sleeping alone, I hate when he's not there, what if I never—“

“Shh, here, feel the banana plant leaf? Doesn't it feel like rubber?” Years ago, when Namjoon had first had a panic attack with him, Hoseok googled a list of things to do to help. This was #6 on the list, "tactile distraction". It helped pull Namjoon out of the panic loop in his head the most. He curls Namjoon's hand to the bars of the railing. “Cold, right? And smooth?”

Namjoon sniffles and stays silent, but he's stopped shaking for the most part. “And this dead rat,” he continues, guiding Namjoon's hands to pet over a fuzzy sock that had dropped from his little laundry rack.

“I'm kidding, just kidding,” Hoseok laughs when Namjoon jerks his hand away.

“Fucker,” Namjoon grumbles, sitting up, eyes trained on the ground. Hoseok can see for the first time how violently puffy his face had grown.

“Joonie, what happened?”

"He just, he's done I guess. I knew it was gonna happen, it's stupid that I'm surprised." He tries to suppress a cry in the back of his throat, but his face scrunches in pain, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"But did something happen?" Hoseok pulls his arms inside his t-shirt with a shiver.

He gives a broken little laugh. "No. That's probably the whole problem, huh? Nothing happened. Nothing happened at all." He could practically taste the bitterness in Namjoon's words.

Hoseok frowns and tries to pull Namjoon to his feet. "I don't, I don't wanna go back in yet," Namjoon says softly. Hoseok studies the tear streaked swollen face and doesn't blame him, thinking of everyone inside. They were supposed to be celebrating the end of finals week, and it had been Namjoon stretched the thinnest this last week.

"I'll bring you a blanket? A cup of tea? Peanut m&ms? My big stuffed Eeyore?" Namjoon shakes his head at every option, fiddling with a dead leaf he found on the floor. Hoseok pats his shoulder and goes inside. He starts making water for tea anyway, frowning in thought at the kettle.

"Is he alright?" Jin asks from the doorway.

He sighs. Jin had always been like this. He was great for Namjoon in the way that he made him so...happy isn't quite the word. Jin kept him distracted from his sadness, most of the time. Not in a fake way; it was a valuable, wonderful thing the way he could pull Namjoon from his own head. But the sadness wasn't something that ever went away, and when it inevitably surfaced, Jin was at a loss.

You can't force someone, or yourself, to be what the other person needs. But Hoseok can't help but resent Jin for it a little anyway, because it was Hoseok that saw the way Namjoon isolated himself even more after they broke up. It was some kind of preemptive self protection, to keep from hating himself when someone else leaves.

Jin knew that the break up had been harder for Namjoon than it was for him, but he hadn't been there to see the way it changed him.

Hoseok reaches for a mug and a box of teabags. "Namjoon will always be alright," he says, not even to Jin, not even to himself. It's a wish to the universe, a spell, as if declaring it will send it floating on the night air to settle in Namjoon's bones.

“I know you think I'm a dick, but, I just, I know you could help him more than I ever could, so,” Jin shrugs.

I don't think you're a dick, man,” he chooses to believe, and claps Jin on the shoulder. “You help him in different ways.”

By the time the tea is made, Namjoon has snuck past all of them to Hoseok's bedroom, wrapped around his giant Eeyore after all. To his surprise, it's Yoongi who sits gently at the edge of the bed.

"Hey Joon," his voice is a comforting rumble. There's no answer besides a sniffle. "Look, you gotta talk to him."

"I tried," he whispers. "I don't wanna bother him. He obviously doesn't want to talk to me. I don't wanna annoy him more, it's getting embarrassing."

"That's not how love and shit works though." The bed creaks a little as Yoongi crosses his legs.

Namjoon sits up and turns to him finally with a brittle laugh, Eeyore shoved aside. "You're gonna tell me how 'love and shit' works? You're gonna tell me how to talk to someone? Really?"

Yoongi doesn't meet his eyes. "That's different."

"It's not. In theory it's great and all to just fucking, go around announcing feelings and making declarations of love with wild abandon in the name of 'telling the truth'. But the reality is, relationships have more to do with decisions than some fated feelings bullshit than we'd like to think." Namjoon had gone into a tired version of one of his quick-tongued rants, limbs gesturing less frenetic than usual.

"I just, don't give up, is all I'm saying. You don't even know what happened yet, right? It's worth it to try, it's worth it to make yourself look dumb. It's worth it to call six times when you think five is too much. I know how much you like him, don't let it just fade."

He sees Namjoon opening his mouth to argue and cuts him off. "And don't give me some bullshit about how 'if it can just fade away it was meant to fade', because like you said, relationships have more to do with decisions than fate."

Namjoon stares at him as sharply as eyes that puffy and exhausted could. Biting words were melting away on his tongue in favor of a thoughtful gaze, somewhere between pity and camaraderie. It made Yoongi more uncomfortable than any jabs at his lack of action with Hoseok could have. He could see the thought on Namjoon's face, "he's gonna end up brokenhearted by his own fault, just like me."

They're lost in thought beside each other for a minute. "Is Jin still here?" Namjoon asks, tugging the stuffed Eeyore back to his lap.

"Nah, he was supposed to pick his boyfriend up from the airport tonight, remember?"

Eyes glued to the black bed sheets, Namjoon nods and blows out a big breath. "I hate being like this. No one-" he cuts himself off with a shake of his head.

"Hey, you're fine, ok? You're fine."

+

It's noon before he wakes up in Hoseok's bed still in his jeans and a hoodie, memory of the night before immediately present when he opens his eyes. He shuffles into the bright living room, the day feeling oddly fresh compared to his weary body, his weary heart. He presses his palms into his eyes and sighs.

Yesterday's pain is replaced with a calm dullness. Namjoon realizes it's been one whole week since he's seen Jungkook. Besides the anxiety that aches in his bones, his misses him, plain and simple. His soft hair between his fingers, the lilt of his voice, the weight of his body on his. The dumb jokes and the look like he just saw a ghost when he's deep in thought. How Jungkook holds his hand in both of his when Namjoon gets anxious in public.

It's quiet in the apartment, and he assumes everyone has already left, better things to do on a sunny Sunday than sit around. He stares out the window for a moment, adjusting to the light and the idea of a new day when last night felt like the end of everything.

There is always a new day, he reminds himself. The heavy remnants of anxiety dims any hunger, but he tells himself to eat something anyway. He heads to the kitchen, and leaps back at the scene he's met with. There's a colander of noodles spilling down the side of the counter to the floor, a pot of tomato sauce splattered across the linoleum.

In the middle of all this, Hoseok is in Yoongi's lap, pinned back against the cabinet door, skinny legs wrapped loosely around Yoongi's waist. He's whimpering a bit into Yoongi's mouth as his hands clench at the back of his shirt. His foot is stuck in a puddle of sauce and he doesn't even seem to care. Namjoon watches his toes curl when Yoongi pulls him closer.

They don't even see him until Hoseok arches his neck back for Yoongi to suck on, and his lust-heavy eyes land on a stunned Namjoon in the doorway. He screams and Yoongi wrenches away from his neck.

"Jesus christ what-- oh, it's just Namjoon. Fuck, Hoseok," he breathes.

"I'm gonna just, go," Namjoon croaks, amused at the two of them avoiding eye contact with anyone. He turns back to the living room. "Thank fuck," he yells back in approval.

He stops at the park between his apartment and Hoseok's and watches a huddle of ducks follow each other through the dry grass. A smile plays at his lips, wondering if Hoseok and Yoongi are fucking by now or if they were being shy and stupid. He finds that he's not jealous at all, and it's a relief that his heart is free of that particular ugliness.

It turns into a meandering sort of Sunday afternoon. The idea of laying around his lonely apartment doesn't sit well, so he sits at the patio of a tiny cafe and watches sparrows bounce among the pastry crumbs under the tables.

His latte tastes like toasted marshmallows beneath the bright blue sky, and it already feels like the kind of nothing day that will linger vivid in his memory anyway. Mind too tired to create the constant swarm of thoughts, he just soaks in his surroundings for once, everything more literal and present. He feels like a winter tree, bare and barren beneath the rays of sunlight, waiting for potential futures to open up like spring.

It's 5:30 p.m. and Jungkook hasn't called him back. What happened? his mind asks, over and over. No matter how he thought about it, the only conclusion was that a week away from Namjoon just made Jungkook lose interest, plain and simple. Jungkook was too nice; he'd never say that, so he was just... not answering, and hoping Namjoon got the idea, probably.

The thought causes a fresh shudder of hurt. A couple tears roll down his face in the open light of day. He quickly wipes them away and downs the last bit of cold coffee.

He ran out of places to wander to, and his apartment is just as lonely as expected. There's nothing of Jungkook in here besides memories. He flips the light switch and tosses his keys in the vintage frog bowl on the end table. It's too quiet, though quiet is what he had been seeking all day. He quickly turns on his stereo, the fake happiness of tv shows unappealing in his current raw mood.

Favorite pink blanket wrapped tight around him, he snuggles into the corner of the couch and stares at the wall, letting the music wash over him. The sun is down when he pulls his phone from the blanket nest, limbs weak still from the strain of last night.

It's pitiful, but he misses Jungkook's voice singing the anxiety away so badly. It had been the most real presence of beauty in all his young life. In a wooden trance, he dials Jungkook's number and ignores the warm tear traveling across the bridge of his nose. It goes to voicemail again. Attention tuned to the song, he grits his teeth against the dip in his heart and recalls what Yoongi had said. The voicemail beeps, and he closes his eyes.

+

"Hoseok? Look I'm sorry if you're like, trying to fuck Yoongi right now but-"

"I am not tr-"

"BUT I maybe just did something dumb," he barrels over Hoseok's protests. "I called Jungkook again just now."

"Okay, well good, you should-"

"And I left a voicemail." Wrapped up tight in his pink blanket still, he's pacing circles like a penguin around his couch.

"Okay..." Hoseok says, a bit wary now.

"I sang. Sang a song on his voicemail and hung up."

A laugh bursts through the phone. "Aw, Joon. That's kinda cute. Well, I guess it depends on the song, if it was like, Slipknot or something..."

"Slip-no, it was 'Wonderful'. That Lianne La Havas song. You do too know it! Listen, here," he shuffles over to his laptop and restarts the song, sticking the phone in front of the speaker.

Did the world get a little bit colder, Not wiser just a little bit older, So slow that we're bound to fall over.

Did the heart grow a little bit harder, too much, too late, too far, too gone.

But, wasn't it kind of wonderful? Wasn't it kind of wonderful, baby? Wasn't it kind of wonderful, wonderful.

"Ohh, that song, yeah," he hears Hoseok say when the chorus plays and puts the phone back to his ear. "So you sang that emo ass song and just, hung up?"

"Yeah, yep," he says nervously, plopping to the floor like a blanket dumpling.

"Are you drunk?" Hoseok laughs.

Namjoon shoots back to his feet. "Do you think he'll think I just drunk dialed him?"

"I mean I dunno-"

"Fuck," he hisses and hangs up, for no discernible reason now sitting under his dining room table. The thought grips at his lungs as he tries to breathe steady, dialing again in a rush. He knocks the top of his head into the wooden underside of the table over and over as his listens to the call ring and ring.

He's almost used to the stab of it going to voicemail. It beeps. “Jungkook, I... I just don't want you think I drunk called you just now." A dry, brittle laugh.

"I just, missed your voice, and... remember the first time I called you? I honestly wasn't drunk then either, I just wanted to talk to you so bad. You were—are in my mind constantly, you have been since I first saw you. I got through this last week of hell by counting down days until I could see you. But if it's not the same for you, if...”

“Look I...” he sighs, a shaky thing. “I want you to be happy so bad, so I want to say it's fine if you don't wanna be with me anymore, if it's too much, but. But the truth is, I still want it all, I, I want you, I miss you so bad.” He voice gets that tight sound he hates when he tries not to cry. “I don't want to annoy you but, I guess I thought I had to tell you, to not be scared and, and tell the truth for once.”

He can taste the pleas on the tip of his tongue for Jungkook to call him back, to answer his texts, to reconsider, to anything. He hangs up before the words can leap out of his mouth.

Chapter Text

It's well past the buzz of evening and into the night that settles like dust, amplifying the quiet and the sounds that dare disturb it. Namjoon managed to fall into the most uneasy sleep in recent memory, angry voices in dreams jarring in his head, jolting him awake every twenty minutes or so.

The dreams and waking from them are swirling through the anxiety of leaving those voicemails, rousing dread at only having the option to wait on Jungkook now. Maybe to wait forever, until it's a wound faded into a messy scar instead of healed.

After a few hours of this, he's too terrified to fall back asleep and face the loop of waking panic again. He's exhausted to tears, too lazy to properly cry or wipe them away. He wraps the blanket tighter and shuffles to the kitchen, staring dead-eyed at the open refrigerator. Jungkook might not call back. He might have to learn how to exist in so many places again without him, to see him across campus and be hit with fresh pain instead of a thrill of joy. 

He fills a plastic luigi cup with grape juice and sinks to the linoleum floor, wedging himself into the corner of the cabinets. He takes a sip and holds it in his mouth before swallowing. It doesn't taste the same. He can hardly taste it at all, too far away from everything, far away even from his tongue and whatever fires in his brain to register taste.

A broken thing, body and mind. He calmly sets the cup down on the floor and bursts into tears, pulling the blanket up over his head to muffle the sound. A hinge on the cabinet door is digging into his shoulder but he doesn't feel it, the self-made pain sharper.

The doorbell rings and he stops sobbing with a shudder. Knowing it's just Hoseok coming to check on him, he grabs a paper towel to blow his nose and doesn't bother with the tears. Hoseok knows he's been crying, anyways, is probably expecting his face to look like bees attacked. He sighs and stumbles to his feet.

Pink blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, he makes his way to the door, smearing the back of his hand across his wet eyes before he opens it.

“Hey Hos—“ he freezes. It's not Hoseok shifting nervously from one foot to the other in front of his door.

Jungkook's face shifts from apprehensive to something raw and panicked when he takes in the Namjoon's appearance. He wrings his hands and blanches a little, eyes shinier than usual.

An arm appears from the mass of pink blanket and reaches to his cheek. The lightest of touches, the way one would press fingertips to a ghost, just to check.

Namjoon jerks his hand away like he touched fire. “Sorry—ah, sorry.” His face crumples a little and he stares at the floor, determined to control it.

“Joon? I, um.” His voice is so soft, better than blankets or sleep or anything.

Confusion at Namjoon's voicemails had been wearing away at his hurt and anger all night. Nothing was clicking together right. Now that he's here, watching fresh tears dampen Namjoon's eyelashes, Jungkook can't quite figure out why he's so upset. The gap between Jungkook's reasons and the wrecked Namjoon in front of him wasn't clicking together. 

He steps forward a bit and Namjoon's heart surges. “You...you still wanna be with me?” he asks, and it sounds like a stupid question even as he says it, a stupid thing to say in an open doorway, a stupid thing to say before “hello”.

The look on Namjoon's face is a solid are you fucking kidding me?  But wary heartbreak bleeds around the edges. His hand goes forward to touch Jungkook again and jerks to a stop.

“Yes, yeah—I, of course ,” he chokes, letting his hand rise up to rest on Jungkook's arm like it wants. If Jungkook was about to let him down easy, he'd at least touch him one last time.

Jungkook is squirming a little and chewing on his lip, eyes stuck to the raised up flap of carpet at the door sill. “But what about...a-about Jin?” he asks, finally working up the nerve to look Namjoon in the eye. He tries not to wince at the swollen red mess of his face, aching to kiss it all over.

Comically puzzled, Namjoon stops sniffling for once. “What about Jin? How do you even know Jin?”

Ah, there it is. Jungkook scowls. “I don't. Why would I, right? If you're leaving me for...for him...” he runs out of steam, seeing realization crackling through Namjoon's wet eyes.

From the look on Namjoon's face, he's sure what he just said was embarrassing but he doesn't know why. He saw the photos of them together, together when Namjoon was “too busy” to be with him. It doesn't mean nothing to hang out with a secret guy every single day you told your boyfriend you were too busy.

I'm not his boyfriend, Jungkook reminds himself bitterly. And that was it, wasn't it, that was the hurt too deep down to name itself. Namjoon didn't keep Jin a secret from his friends, their friends, because he mattered that little to Namjoon. It meant nothing to anyone if Namjoon was dating his ex again, no one would bat an eye. Jungkook wasn't Namjoon's anything, he was just, around.

“Is that what all this was about? You- you're not sick of me?” The disbelief in his tone almost overpowers the hope and Jungkook winces in confusion. Namjoon claps his hands to his face and the blanket slumps to the floor, leaving hunched shoulders exposed. He plops down to the carpet, face hidden, shoulders shaking.

“Joon?” Jungkook rushes forward to crouch beside him, tentative grasp on his arm. “Hey,” he says softly, worried when the shaking continues. Voices and footsteps are coming up the stairwell behind them. Jungkook frowns, gently lifting Namjoon's knees so he can close the door.

After a moment of Jungkook opening and closing his mouth to speak and thinking better of it, he places a tentative hand on Namjoon's knee.

Namjoon finally lowers his hands, voice low and tired when he speaks. “Right now, in all likelihood, Jin is doing god knows what with his boyfriend. Soon to be fiance, probably, the way Jin was going on about him all week.”

“Oh,” Jungkook breathes. “But you- you said you didn't have time, and then all week, you were with him, a-and you...” He stops himself. God, I sound like a petty whiny baby, he thinks, teeth ripping through the skin on his lip.

“Jin is just like that, he just shows up and invites himself everywhere. He's an old friend and lives out of town now and things are kinda... like, if I insisted he couldn't hang out, it'd be a thing, you know? So I told him I'd just be studying and grading and studying some more but he came anyway to talk at me. I swear I know more about his boyfriend than I do about you now,” he huffs with the most pathetic attempt at a smile.

His face is a sour pout in response, unwilling to acknowledge any fondness toward Jin. He sinks down to sit cross legged in front of Joon, knees almost pressing together. 

“What?” Namjoon chuckles at the face, a thick clunky sound in his stuffy nose.

“You looked really happy. I hate how you smile with him,” he says, miserable and a little humiliated. Just pouting now, he knows, but he'd been so upset for days.

“Rude,” Namjoon laughs for real now, an odd honking sound. “Hey, leave your lip alone,” he asks quietly, pulling Jungkook's hand down from his grumpy face. He interlaces their fingers in his lap and rejoices when Jungkook doesn't pull away.

A sigh before he starts, heavy with the weight of the last week. “Jin... is good at making the atmosphere into something fun. And you have to come ready to match that atmosphere, you know? You're the asshole, you're the human black hole if on that particular day you don't—you can't—“ he stops, lips pressed into a firm line.

Jungkook swipes his thumb slowly across Namjoon's hand in support, and it's enough to soothe the old ache in Namjoon's chest. “It's not all bad, Jin's not a bad guy at all. And in a twisted kinda way it trained me to separate from myself. Forced me to function or at least look like I was functioning instead of... looking like this," he motions to his swollen face and attempts a laugh.

He tries to shrug the blanket back over his shoulders with one hand, refusing to let go of Jungkook's. Jungkook quickly moves to tug it tight around him and wiggles his hand back under Namjoon's.

“My point is, with him, with most people, I'm stuck in a version of myself, not the whole Namjoon. There's no room to change, or have off days, or, or have a future. I'm always stuck here, in my head, everywhere I go, but when I'm with you, I'm- I'm with you. I've never, ever felt really comfortable with anyone, not even my parents. But with you I feel so at home. Like I've landed on my home planet after decades in space.”

That makes a giggle burst through the smile Jungkook was trying to contain. He scoots closer, hooking his legs over top Namjoon's knees. “Are you saying I'm your whole world,” he teases, voice coy and goofy.

Namjoon just smiles shy at his lap. A big, shaky exhale after a moment. “I'm so glad you didn't come here to break up with me. I was trying to be okay but I was so scared,” he whispers. 

He raises his eyes from fiddling with Jungkook's knuckles. “Fuck, you're so pretty. I miss seeing you and thinking how pretty you are a thousand times a day. This week was so, so much, I just, I missed you so much,” he rambles, raising Jungkook's warm hand to his face and kissing his palm and his wrist before cradling his face in against it.

Jungkook wiggles into Namjoon's lap, taking the blanket off his shoulders to wrap around the both of them. “I'm sorry,” he whispers, brushing away the wetness on Namjoon's cheeks. "I was too scared to answer your calls. I thought you were calling to break up with me, I thought-" he drops his gaze between them and tries to laugh it off, but it's not funny. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head with a sniffle. “Me having panic attacks is never your fault, okay? I don't want you to feel like you ever have to tiptoe around me.”

The fingers caressing his face still. “You had a panic attack? Joon, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” He wraps his limbs tight around Namjoon in a giant koala embrace and pins him to the floor.

“It's not your fault,” Namjoon argues, hugging him tight anyway. So used to everyone assuming he had a panic attack, he's almost confused at Jungkook's reaction.

Jungkook nods against his neck, kissing his shoulder. “I know. I'm so sorry,” he repeats, fingers soothing through Namjoon's hair.

Tears are welling up in his eyes again and he's not sure what this feeling is. Not quite relief, not quite self pity. It doesn't make sense that an apology from Jungkook for a mental condition that isn't anyone's fault is making him feel so grounded, so free.

“But I'm the one that fucked up,” he rasps.

“Neither of us did. We're just dumb, just....just us. We're okay. I'm sorry Joon. I'm sorry,” he whispers again and again, each one cutting free the rubber bands too tight around his heart.

“Don't, I'm so gross,” he laughs or cries when Jungkook starts kissing his wet face all over.

"Yeah," a big toothy grin as he smears his shirt sleeve across Namjoon's nose and Jungkook is back at it, ticklish kisses that make Namjoon laugh more than cry until they're both giggling and struggling against each other, a squirmy blanket lump in the middle of the floor.

A nipple twist is all it takes for Namjoon to finally win and they sit up, panting and smiling at each other, Jungkook still in his lap.

“I think I really like you,” Namjoon murmurs after a moment.

A laugh slips past Jungkook's lips, an unspeakable happiness glittering in his eyes. He untangles himself from Namjoon and the blanket and scoops Namjoon up easily in his arms, carrying him to the couch.

“I gotta kiss you some more,” he announces. “Lots of times I should've been kissing you last week, gotta catch up.” He sits, Namjoon straddling his lap and looking shy about being manhandled and the state of his face.

“You're not sick of me?” Almost too quiet for Jungkook to catch.

He shakes his head and kisses the bridge of Namjoon's small nose. “How could I be?”

“Because, I'm boring and sad and bad at this and a lot of work and, I dunno. I know it's not fair to say shit like this, like what else are you gonna say besides 'that's not true' and—“

“I love you, a lot.” He smiles and bites his lip when Namjoon's eyes jump up to his. “...is what else I'd say,” he finishes. “Those things don't change that.”

“I love you too,” Namjoon says softly, gazing at Jungkook like he's a figment of a dream the wind could blow away. He inhales suddenly to cup Jungkook's face, like surfacing from the darker layers of hope and reality. “I love you too.”

When they kiss, it's different than before. Walls built to protect or cage themselves torn down, they kiss each other, bare and exposed and whole. Urgent but tranquil, like two kids running to shelter at the start of a summer rain.

Chapter Text

The sound Namjoon wakes to is heavenly. Sunlight glows red beyond his eyelids and Jungkook is singing softly, curious fingers brushing across his eyebrows and earlobes and the bridge of his nose.

When he gets to the slope of his lip, Namjoon snarls and bites at his finger, laughing when Jungkook gasps in genuine surprise.

Namjoon stretches with a groan and pulls Jungkook close, crushing his face into his chest.

“Air! Air!' Jungkook yelps against his skin, jabbing his fingers into Namjoon's ribs to get him to let go, Namjoon's raspy morning voice in shrieks and laughs.

They fall back into the luxurious morning silence, eyes closed for a long few minutes, spooned together under the fluffy blankets.

“Whatcha thinkin' about?” Jungkook teases, wiggling his ass against the boner he was suddenly aware of.

“Shut up,” Namjoon smirks. “You.”

“Me? Me what?” he smiles, grinding back slow on Namjoon again.

A breathy little grunt and he holds Jungkook tighter. “I was thinking about, ah, I dunno, it's...”

“If you tell me, I'll probably let you do it to me,” Jungkook giggles, reaching an arm back to press Namjoon's hips harder into his.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sliding his hand beneath the waistband of Jungkook's boxers, trailing his fingers over Jungkook's tummy and down the front of his thighs, touching everywhere but where he wanted.

They move lazily against each other, sleepy still with the post-finals, post-makeup high of finally nothing to do all day and each other to do it with.

Namjoon bites gently at Jungkook's ear, teeth and tongue pulling small sounds from Jungkook. “You couldn't let me even if you wanted to.”

He dips his hand down again to caress Jungkook's thighs, making him shiver when he grazes against his balls. “I was thinking about you at the gym, all hot and ripped and shit,” he laughs. “And...and fucking you over one of those weight benches.”

Jungkook laughs but it comes out more like a whimper, Namjoon's hard cock digging against his ass. “Mm, I know that fantasy well. Keeps me motivated doing reps. Too bad we can't rent out the whole gym.”

He gasps when Namjoon yanks down one side of his boxers, eagerly lifting his hips to help pull them off. A long moan escapes him when he feels the hot, hard length of Namjoon's cock slide between his ass cheeks.

He reaches for his own aching cock but Namjoon swats his hand away, laughing and kissing Jungkook's neck when he whines.

“Wanna see how hard you get. How messy,” he murmurs against his ear. “My pretty jock baby,” he laughs.

Jungkook grinds back on Namjoon, dying to feel the drag of his dick against his hole. “If I'm the jock, what does that make you?” he giggles, craning his neck to kiss Namjoon, sloppy and needy.

“The intellectual bad boy, obviously,” he laughs, reaching over Jungkook to rummage in the open drawer by his bed.

He snorts, running his hand up and down Namjoon's thigh. “So the grumpy nerd wants to fuck the gorgeous jock is what I'm hearing,” he grins, the bunny smile that makes Namjoon crazy.

“God, yeah he does,” Namjoon nearly growls, his lubed up cock squeezing between Jungkook's thick thighs.

“Oh fuck, Namjoon, shit,” Jungkook pants, hand flying up to grab at Namjoon's hair.

Namjoon fucks his thighs slowly, savoring the sensation, drinking up every soft whimper Jungkook feeds into his mouth when Namjoon's dick rubs and pokes against his balls.

The blankets have been kicked to the floor but they're burning up in the chilly morning air, sweat gathering where they're skin to skin, Namjoon's chest to his back, thighs flush together. They move together, slow and deliberate and overwhelming.

Jungkook's cock is practically dripping onto the sheets but he hasn't even tried to touch himself. It makes Namjoon's skin go all tingly.

Honestly, he probably wouldn't have stopped Jungkook if he'd tried to touch himself again. But the fact that Jungkook didn't even question it, just... obeyed, has Namjoon thrusting harder now, entranced with the rhythmic bob of Jungkook's rigid cock.

He drags a hand up to Jungkook's nipple and rolls it between his fingers. Jungkook's whole body jolts as he stutters out a long moan, louder than Namjoon has ever heard him.

“Wow, baby,” he snickers a little. Panting, Jungkook's lips twitch into something like a smile but he's too far gone, body tense and squirming against Namjoon, every pinch and pull making his red, neglected cock twitch.

Jungkook moves to play with his other nipple, other hand gripping Namjoon's ass behind him, reveling in the clench and release of muscle, over and over.

“I know I said I wanted to see how messy you'd get but, baby, wow,” Namjoon breathes, sucking a hickey onto his shoulder. Jungkook is a writhing, sweaty, panting mess, grinding back of Namjoon's cock mindlessly, voice hoarse from moaning at the work of Namjoon's fingers.

Namjoon doesn't know what odd curiosity makes him do it, but Jungkook's cock is just so hard. So he reaches down and, just hard enough to feel the satisfying stiffness, flicks it with his finger.

A raspy shout fills the room. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook pants, body shuddering. “Do it again, Joon, harder, fuck,” he begs.

So he does. A tentative flick, then harder, and again, dull thumps against the side of his dick making Jungkook jump and quiver and shout pretty little whimpers.

He can't resist the drip of pre come and drags a finger through it, circling around the thick head. Jungkook's whimpers turn into a long groan, head tossing back against Namjoon's.

He smears the slickness down Jungkook's length with just a finger and thumb and back up, stroking his thumb across the fat head and back down.

“Fuck, don't stop,” he whimpers, thrusting eager between Namjoon's fingers and back against his slick cock. “Love you, love how you feel,” he breathes, fingers digging into Namjoon's thigh.

It does funny twingey things to Namjoon's stomach, hearing Jungkook say such a thing while looking so fucked out and getting off in about four different ways. He's never done this before, never been this wide open with anyone.

Love and fucking have never been spoken as the same thing, one or the other being too embarrassing to speak much about when the other was happening. Namjoon's never trusted anyone to let love melt into sex, to let his desires bloom freely from open affection.

He ignores the rush of nerves and leaps over the mental gap again, trusting Jungkook won't judge him, won't love him less no matter what comes out of his mouth.

“Love you too baby. Every inch of you,” he murmurs, kissing behind his ear. “Love how your body moves, how your mind works. You look so wrecked, baby, I-, I wanna watch you come."

He gives another hard flick to Jungkook's cock and envelopes it finally with his whole hand. Jungkook gives a blissful moan and shakes. Mouth hanging open in pleasure, Jungkook eagerly thrusts into his fist, voice breaking with every gasp before he comes hard, chest heaving.

Namjoon tries to let go of his length, not wanting to over stimulate him, but Jungkook quickly grabs his hand. “Fuck me,” he hums, grinding back on Namjoon again.

So he does, thrusting hard and fast between Jungkook's pretty thighs, Jungkook dragging both their hands over his over-sensitive cock. Namjoon comes hard, shooting white between the squeeze of Jungkook's thighs, Jungkook moaning with him.

Messy and desperate and smiling, they waste no time crashing their lips together, again and again. No words are spoken but really it's the same thing, an I love you over and over.

+

Incessant ringing wakes them hours later. Namjoon scrambles for his phone, reaching over Jungkook, who squeezes his eyes shut against the sunlight and noise.

“Hey,” he answers, smiling fondly at Jungkook's sleepy face, tracing his fingers through his hair.

“Sup man.”  Yoongi's voice through the phone is a little awkward and trying too hard not to sound it.

A peaceful smile stretches across Jungkook's face and he brings Namjoon's hand down from his hair to kiss his knuckles.

“Did your boyfriend make you call?” Namjoon asks wryly.

“Ah, no- yeah-, look we both wanna know how you're doing,” Yoongi insists.

Jungkook sits up on his elbow, eyes dancing. “boyfriend?” he mouths.

“Hoseok,” Namjoon answers. Jungkook's mouth falls open at the news.

“Yeah?” Hoseok calls back on the phone, a bit distant in the background.

“You have me on speakerphone phone, don't you.” He chuckles when Yoongi doesn't even try to deny it. “I was just telling Jungkook who Yoongi's boyfriend is,” he says, and holds his breath, knowing the curiosity he's just piqued in the other two.

Suddenly Hoseok's voice is much closer to the phone. “Jungkook?! So you guys, are you uh.... are things, uhh.... you know, did you uh, …. speak Namjoon, what the fuck I'm dying here,” Hoseok demands.

“We're good,” Namjoon laughs. “Way better than good. We just, it was a misunderstanding.”

“I knew it, I told him—ow,” Yoongi could be heard in the background.

“I'm glad, Joon,” he says, drowning out Yoongi's protests at being smacked in the stomach. He doesn't say more, but Hoseok's relief is palpable. “Are you guys coming to dinner tonight? We're going to that noodle shop on 58^th.”

The one where he'd first seen Jungkook, just some pretty stranger Hoseok knew. It's a subtle shock, the transit of time and relationships. Things you try for move so slowly, a constant grind. And sometimes, things you never dreamed of burst into your life like daffodils in February.

"Uhh..." he shakes himself out of his thoughts.

Jungkook shrugs a sure, why not? to the question in Namjoon's eyes.

“Sure yeah, what time?” Namjoon answers, still marveling at the idea that the pretty stranger Hoseok knew is now naked in his bed, kissing his fingers with love in his eyes.

“Jin asked if 5:30 is okay, him and his boyfriend are going to a concert or something at 8.” Hoseok continues on about something else, but Namjoon doesn't really hear, nervous at the way Jungkook's small smile fell immediately at the mention of Jin.

He lowers the phone. “We don't have to go,” he whispers.

Jungkook shakes his head and tries to smile again but it's a little too stiff. “It's fine. Seriously,” he says, motioning for him to keep talking to Hoseok.

His face brightens up as they go about their afternoon, showering together, coffee and cereal together as they watch some old horror movie on tv and laugh at the awful special effects. Every so often though, Namjoon catches the distracted frown that Jungkook is trying so hard to conceal.

“Baby, we really don't have to go,” he says, shooting Jungkook a look over his phone.

“I said it's fine,” he says, a little too snappy. He wants it to be fine, knows it should be.

But he can't help but resent Jin still for being close enough to Namjoon to barrel back into his life without a worry that Namjoon might drop him. He hates how it exposes the ever-present insecurity that he has to keep trying to deserve a spot in Namjoon's life.

He chews his lip and flops his head against the couch, wishing Namjoon would read his mind and come kiss him.

Jin had once known Namjoon the best, he thinks, despite Namjoon explaining that Jin had never really known him.

Still, Jin had known a younger Namjoon, a Namjoon Jungkook would never get to know. How much of Namjoon had grown out of experiences with Jin? How much of himself does Namjoon keep hidden from Jungkook as a reaction-turned-habit because of Jin? How many of the ways Namjoon moves his body against his started with Jin?

He doesn't want to see them together and find out.

He hates it. It's unfair and immature, two things he's determined to never be in front of Namjoon again. 

"I'm fine," he repeats, though Namjoon hadn't asked again. Jumping up to change clothes, he stuffs the stupid feelings down and pecks a kiss to Namjoon's forehead.

Chapter Text

Really, he had shown up ready to try his best. Introductions went well; he was fairly certain no one could sense the fires of jealousy crawling up his neck when Jin hugged Namjoon in greeting.

Namjoon had wrapped an arm around Jungkook as he said, “This is my Jungkook I was telling you about,” and Jin held out his hand and said “Nice to meet you,” and Jungkook shook it and said “You too,” and no one knew.

No one but Namjoon, who squeezed his shoulder and kissed his hair. The night air was cold, but that wasn't why Jungkook burrowed down into his chunky knit scarf.

They all clamored into seats around a long table, Jin joking with Yoongi, Hoseok asking Jin's boyfriend about himself, Namjoon interjecting witty remarks as he flipped through the menu and jiggled his leg.

They order and Jin leans forward to ask Jungkook about himself, making his muscles clench up. Namjoon jumps in to brag about him, Hoseok and Yoongi chiming in with "this asshole can do anything" and "I've never taught anyone like him" and "we still haven't figured out what Joon bribed him with to date him."

Jungkook smiles and shyly shakes off the praise. He appreciates it, reminds himself that he does, even if it doesn't quite seem to sink in tonight. The compliments roll off him like raindrops, but it's nice that they're saying it in front of Jin.

The worst thing is, Namjoon was right, Jin isn't a bad guy. He's funny, not easily offended, the kind of person that could make it feel like you'd been friends since forever. He includes Jungkook in conversation so naturally it's as if they have some inside jokes only they are privy to, instead of the reality of knowing each other less than an hour.

As the night goes on though, Jungkook's valiant attempt at a good mood sours. Unfair, so unfair, but seeing Namjoon so lively, so chatty, makes Jungkook feel like shit.

At Jin's prodding, Namjoon is telling Jin's boyfriend some story about a student who silly stringed their professor in class years ago. He leans back, watching Namjoon bright eyed and animated, confident and carefree. 

Glancing or flinching away when Namjoon laughs, big and loud, he busies himself with making an arsenal of straw wrapper balls. We never have so much to talk about, when its the two of us alone. It sounds petty and pouty but it hurts. 

He stacks the little paper balls up into a pyramid, but it collapses after the second layer. You've seen him with his friends how many fucking times, Jungkook? You're only upset because you're jealous of Jin and it's stupid.

So he sits up straight, echoes laughter, sips his drink, picks at the appetizers they ordered, ignores the thought that Namjoon is just a little different with Jin than anyone else. Stupid, stupid, stupid, on loop in his head.

Seeing Jin laughing across the table, mentions of people and stories Jungkook has never heard of, it's like seeing Namjoon's diary on his nightstand, knowing he can't read it, knowing it's ridiculous to be angry at it existing. Namjoon flops over on him in laughter and Jungkook wants to shove him, yell at him, cry so Namjoon asks him what's wrong.

He loves you, Jungkook, shut the fuck up already. Hesitant, pitiful if anyone could see his thoughts, he reaches under the table and squirrels his hand under Namjoon's in his lap.

It clips Namjoon's laughter at someone's joke, probably Jin's. His sharp eyes search Jungkook's face before he gives him a tight, worried smile.

Jungkook instantly feels both satisfied and guilty at the less than convincing smile he gives back, and the way it makes Namjoon frown.

Good, he thinks, wondering at the back of his mind why it justifies his pain to make Namjoon feel it too.

But then, Namjoon surprises him. Big hands envelop his face and before he can focus he's being pulled in for a kiss, messy since his lips won't seem to un-pout. Namjoon laughs and kisses him again.

"The brooding look is pretty hot on you, honestly," he murmurs in his ear before laying a big kiss there too. He sweeps Jungkook up in a warm, slow kiss, smoothing thumbs across his cheeks. “I love you,” he says loud enough for the whole table to hear, pressing kisses all over his blushing cheeks.

“God, Joon, not in front of the sushi,” Jin laughs, shading the sushi's view of their romantic spectacle with his hands.

“Can't help it,” Namjoon answers, kissing Jungkook's forehead one last time before pulling away. His cheeks are red but he squeezes Jungkook's hand.

Heat prickles through him, a clash of shame and relief. He hates that Namjoon noticed he needed attention. Worse knowing that Namjoon did all that for his sake, Namjoon who'd normally be too awkward to profess love and kiss passionately in front of people.

It's embarrassing that it worked: he feels warm and loved and special, smug and preening that Namjoon did that in front of Jin.

It's embarrassing too, that it didn't quite work: he feels disgusting and worthless that Namjoon went out of his way for him, given the ugly state of his thoughts, given the fact that he can't even let it cheer him up.

Their food comes, and more beer, and Namjoon and the rest of them get caught up in old stories, idiotic drunken adventures. Like the time sophomore Namjoon had to hide naked in the bushes for five hours. The parents of the guy he hooked up with surprised their son at the dorms bright and early on the first day of midterm week to take him out to breakfast. Jin had been that guy's roommate, apparently. That was how him and Namjoon met, apparently. Naked, in Jin's dorm.

Jungkook didn't need to know, hated knowing. Had a sick, twisting need to know more. Like when you have a hangnail that you know you should leave alone but can't stop picking at.

He was always bad at that. He'd pick and pick until his cuticles were bloody angry shreds that he couldn't quite work up the courage to rip off once and for all.

Jin's boyfriend was laughing along with everyone else, not a sign of tension in his smile. Jin's not kissing his face off and he's fine. Jungkook slurps down his noodles so he has an excuse not to smile, sipping broth and zoning out. Everyone's older than me, always will be. More fine than me, always will be.

Snippets of a very not fine Namjoon from the night before flash through his brain, but it's snapshots, flat, a world away from the sludge his brain's got him stuck in right now. It doesn't help to remember anyway, Namjoon sobbing and distraught because of him, in contrast to this happy go lucky Namjoon with his friends. What if I just make him sad? What if we don't last?

“I'm gonna go to the bathroom,” he murmurs, maybe loud enough for Namjoon to hear over his own laughter or maybe not.

The silence of the bathroom is a jarring relief. It should be soothing but instead it's just filled with the ugliness of Jungkook's thoughts. His reflection in the mirror cringes when he looks up; his thoughts are written all over his face. All he can think of is, is this what my face looked like out there? I bet Jin thinks me and Joon are never gonna last. I bet they all do.

If this is what his face looked at the table, it's no wonder Namjoon tried to cheer him up. What could he possibly tell Namjoon? He knows he'll ask later.

"I was never the jealous type until you, I swear,"  or "I hate that you had a life before me," just doesn't seem to cut it as a reasonable explanation, and neither one was entirely true.

"You deserve better than me," feels more true but he's selfish and doesn't want to give Namjoon any ideas.

He turns on the sink and flicks his finger through the stream of water, watching how it bubbles and sputters in the drain. It calms his mind a little. He fantasizes about Namjoon coming in to check on him, and telling him everything and then, and then, what? Namjoon will magically have some words to make it all better?

Stupid. This is your problem, you need to just get over it.

Namjoon doesn't come in to check on him. Because Jungkook is a full grown man who doesn't need checking on and babying from his boyfriend. He shuts off the water and stares into the mirror until he can coax his face into something more relaxed before returning to the table.

Finally the bowls of noodles and plates of fried shrimp dumplings are emptied, and Jungkook hasn't said more than two sentences to anyone.

His stomach twists. This was not the plan. The plan was to try his best and show Namjoon's friends, and Jin, especially, particularly, that he was good for Namjoon, that the risk Namjoon took in dating someone younger and not quite as cool as anyone else was worth it.

At this point he could only hope he came off as 'not much fun' instead of 'sulky brat'. Maybe it was fine. Everyone was nice to him, even Jin seemed un-phased.

The car door slams shut, blocking out the farewells and laughter and it's quiet for a breath until Namjoon opens the driver's side door and yells some joke at Jin's boyfriend and waves goodbye.

"I'm still not used to having a car," he chuckles. "I keep reaching for a helmet after I put the keys in." Namjoon had bought a 1968 Chevy Malibu and fixed it up at the shop, claiming earlier that day that "I don't wanna make out with you in the back of Hoseok's Suzuki shoebox ever again."

"You okay?" he asks, noting Jungkook's unusual silence as they wait for the light to turn green. No cars are coming but it takes forever.

"Yeah." The glowing yellow light of a familiar bookstore on the corner draws his eye. He used to sit there daily, for hours, alone with headphones and comic books for company. Before he met Namjoon.

It's jarring, the difference. Just a few months ago, the pain of having no one and now, the fear and wonder of having someone and inevitably losing them.

"Really okay?"

He turns to look at Namjoon, really take him in. Mismatch of tattoos, fingernails permanently blackened with engine grime, sharp jaw and soft eyes, blond undercut and plaid cardigan scrunched up to his elbows. Jungkook's heart sinks; he's way too good for a nerdy sophomore who couldn't even make friends by himself.

"Yeah," he answers, trying to make his voice bigger than he felt. The light turns green and he feels like a frayed wire.

"Okay." They get a couple blocks down the dark streets, Namjoon throwing little glances at him when Jungkook doesn't do much besides hum in response to anything he says. 

"Wanna stay over at my place?" Namjoon asks, rounding a tight corner.

"I just, I think I'll just go home. Tired." 

Namjoon goes silent, the stillness in the car becoming thicker, choking. Suddenly he's slamming on the breaks and veering into a Wendy's parking lot. Haphazardly pulled into a parking space in the far corner, he shuts off the engine and stares at his lap.

Fuck, is he mad at- I made him feel bad. I'm shit, I'm awful. He really had expected Namjoon to just let it go. It wasn't Namjoon's fault, so he just wanted to go home and be a shit human by himself and not ruin Namjoon's opinion of him.

"Jungkook, please talk to me," he says, almost a whisper. He can't even take his eyes off his lap. "Do you... do you not like us?"

He jerks his head over to Namjoon, frayed wire-heart jolting in touchy shock. "What?"

"I mean, I know you said you hate how I am around Jin- loud and happy and shit. But do you... hate that we're not like that?" He finally raises his desperate eyes to Jungkook, picking a loose piece of leather on the old steering wheel, face glowing yellow from the giant Wendy's sign.

"No- Joon I-, do you? Do you hate it?" That's what he's really worried about, after all.

"What? Fuck no. Kook, all night, this is all I wanted, this here, to be alone with you in this god damn car. I know I'm boring but, for me, this is better than anything."

“Me too," he whispers, guilt pulling his eyes down to Namjoon's fidgeting hands. "I just..."

Ever since he could remember, it just didn't seem worth it to speak his feelings. Maybe it was a genuine desire to not upset people, or maybe he feared confrontation that much.

Either way, the words seem cemented inside him. But for Namjoon, who's asking him to talk to him, for them to be together, he wants to, he has to.

It takes a long time. Full minutes pass in the musty engine warmth of the old car. Namjoon is frowning and nervous at the gear shift, looking up occasionally to Jungkook with lips pursed like he's still looking for the words. "I-, I'm just being awful. I don't hate how you are when you're around Jin. I hate how I am when you're around Jin. Or, maybe other times too. It's not your fault," he says, so quiet. "You're not mine, you...you've lived a whole life. You deserve a lot better, I'm just, stupid.”

Namjoon pulls Jungkook's hand from his lap and frowns at him. “I'm not yours?”

He opens his mouth, but hesitates. Are you? he's dying to ask. 

“I just mean, you're yours. I'm not being fair, just jealous,” he whispers, hating how his ugly words fill the car.

“Can I- can I be yours, then?”

Every vein in his body surges at the words. He closes his eyes, the need to memorize the sound of those words too strong. It's too lovely a thing to say on a night when Jungkook has been so undeserving, he thinks.

"Jungkook. Hey." He waits until Jungkook looks up at him, eyes sparkling with tears he won't let fall. "I love you. You make me happy." When Jungkook's chin wobbles and he looks away, Namjoon cups his face in his hands.

"I love you. You make me happy," he repeats, eyes steady and pleading. "I wanna make you happy."

"You do," Jungkook finally answers. "So happy. I just... make myself sad," he tries to laugh but it makes the tears he was holding back spill, pooling around Namjoon's thumbs on his cheeks. "I'm stupid, I'm sorry." He sniffs and wills himself to stop being such a drag and smile. "I'm fine," he says. 

Namjoon slides across the black vinyl seats of the old car and wraps himself legs and arms around Jungkook, the world's most gangly koala bear. "No you're not." The words are muffled in Jungkook's scarf.

"You don't have to be like that, please I- I want you to tell me when you're not okay, every dumb shitty thought. I want you to tell me when you think you aren't great so I can tell you how dumb and great and perfect you are."

Tears fall easier, now that Namjoon isn't looking at him. Jungkook slides his hands inside Namjoon's coat and holds him tight.

It's not a test of Namjoon, but rather a leap of faith for himself to tell Namjoon the ugliest thought in his head, the one he'd normally always bury and smile over.

"I just- I...." The stubborn words cling around his ribs like a shadow. He exhales and, terrified, lets go in a tumble of wavering, choked up words. "I wanted everyone to see that I make you the happiest but then I- all I could see is how I don't, and then I couldn't snap myself out of it, and all I could see is how that was making you more unhappy, and that I don't deserve you, but I shouldn't tell you that because I don't want you to realize it, but also I want the best for you so maybe I should. I'm sorry," he whispers through a loud sniffle.

He's half expecting Namjoon to take the confession as a way out, so the soft, sympathetic chuckle against his hair doesn't make sense. "Baby, that's a lot. And I would know, because every day, just a little bit, I'm preparing myself for you to get tired of me, because how could I be good enough for someone so...bright."

There's a bitterness in the quiet words that has Jungkook pushing Namjoon up so he can take a better look at him.

They stare at each other for a while in the parking lot dimness, weary and vulnerable and weaving together.

Namjoon presses a cold nose to his forehead and breathes deep. Comforting, somehow, the chill of December air, the way their bodies can warm each other, not enough or just enough.

"Jungkook, I love you. I just- I just do; the sun rises every day, the leaves fall in autumn, I love you," he lists each one as facts. "You have me." He murmurs the words against Jungkook's temples and jaw, rubbing his nose against skin in a desperate affection before kissing his lips so softly.

It's hard to say if he believes it or not, but he wants to, so so bad. And maybe, if Namjoon says it enough, and he wants to believe it enough, maybe, just maybe.

Chapter Text

“Can we just, stay in bed for a few days?” Jungkook laughs and sniffles, letting Namjoon climb off of him to get back in the driver's seat.

“Yes please, god,” Namjoon bumps his head on the ceiling of the car and chuckles, but the emotional exhaustion is evident.

“I'm sorry I get like this,” Jungkook says quietly.

Namjoon stops his seatbelt fumbling and looks back over at him. “You don't need to apologize. But you know, I love you for wanting to? For trying so hard to be good, to be better. At anything, you know? You don't need to try so hard, but you do anyway.”

A little smile appears on Jungkook's worried face, and Namjoon accepts it as enough for now, turning in his seat to finally leave the Wendy's parking lot.

They really do stay in bed for a few days. They normalize, melt into each other, spend hours just being a couple, something they never really had in the chaos of shyness and finals and angst. They sleep in late, watch movies, laugh hysterically at little nothings, sit in silence beside each other, see how many different ways they can make each other come. They let the open hurt of the days prior fade into part of the past, knowing well it's a part of them but wanting to built other parts too, stacking everything brick by brick into a livable thing.

After days of laying around in Namjoon's apartment, they decided to have a date night, but Jungkook wanted his own shower and his own clean clothes. All Jungkook's suitemates have gone home on vacation and Namjoon doesn't mind a bit, laying in the clean white linens of Jungkook's bed as his singing trails in from the shower he shares with his suitemates. Namjoon's only been in Jungkook's dorm once before, but it seems very Jungkook. Tidy, not much in the way of decor but all his action figures and games and books are as neatly arranged as they can be in a small, temporary space.

“Hey Joon,” calls Jungkook's quiet voice from doorway.

He rolls over on the single bed, Jungkook's Iron Man action figure still in hand from where he'd been bending him into poses.

Standing in the doorway, barelegged with a nervous little hint of a smile on his face, Jungkook lifts the bottom of his giant fuzzy sweater.

His thick, smooth thighs glow golden in the lamplight. He hesitates, fingers twisted into the hem of the soft fabric. The desire already evident on Namjoon's face seems to give him the courage to pull his sweater up just a few more inches, brushing just above his belly button.

That would've been enough as it is, but what has Namjoon jolting up straight on the edge of the bed is pink lace panties, hugging tight around his narrow hips and half hard cock.

"Baby," he shudders out a sigh, fist gripped tight around Iron Man.

"Put Iron Man down before you pop his head off," Jungkook giggles bashfully, dropping his sweater and walking quietly to the bed.

He hesitates a little but Namjoon doesn't, pulling him close once he's within arms reach. Jungkook stands between Namjoon's thighs, grinning when Namjoon hugs him close, arms wrapped tight around his thighs, face pressed into his soft sweater.

He looks up at Jungkook, chin pressing into his stomach as he slowly smooths his hands up the back of Jungkook's thighs to squeeze his ass through the thin lace.

Slowly, Namjoon pushes the sweater back up, a deep groan of satisfaction in his throat at what he sees. Eyes still meeting Jungkook's, he drags the flat of his tongue across the rough lace and mouths across Jungkook's hardening cock. The lace is so thin, so frustratingly thin, hardly anything at all; he can feel the heat and softness of Jungkook's flesh underneath but just barely. It leaves him wanting more, chasing more, mouthing harder at his swelling cock as he kneads at Jungkook's thick thighs.

"Joon," Jungkook sways in his grip and sighs, fingers threading gently in his hair. "Please," he asks gently, head falling back when Namjoon digs his tongue hard against the lace and dips down to suck where Jungkook's balls are threatening to spill out the side of the tiny panties.

"Turn around," Namjoon asks.

Namjoon slides the sweater up again to admire the way the panties slope up his hips and don't quite contain Jungkook's ass cheeks. "These are pretty, baby," Namjoon murmurs, planting a solid kiss to the small of Jungkook's back.

"Thanks." He shyly holds his sweater up so Namjoon can squeeze and prod at the lace.

"You're so fucking pretty, Kook." He kisses along the hem of Jungkook's panties, reaching around to massage at his dick until Jungkook is fully hard and whimpering.
Namjoon lands one solid smack to Jungkook's ass and stands up, laughing at the bewildered look on Jungkook's face.

"I promised my baby a date," he explains innocently as he puts on his coat and pulls out the keys with a jangle.

Jungkook pouts at him the best he can but Namjoon just laughs and kisses his cheek.

"I waited so long to see you in those, it'd be a shame to take them off so soon," he murmurs into Jungkook's ear, fingers trailing lightly around the edge of his cock.

A little whimper catches in Jungkook's throat and he has to grab Namjoon's arm to steady himself. Lust and determination battle on Namjoon's face, but finally he gently backs Jungkook up to his closet so he can put pants on.

The arcade is a clanging, jingling clash of sounds and lights, but neither of them notice much about it, too wrapped up in each other. It's maddening fun, brushing up close against Jungkook's hips and pretending it's an accident or letting his fingers dip just below the waistband of Jungkook's pants when he puts his arm around him.

It's fun too, watching the focus glitter in Jungkook's eyes as he tries to beat his high score on the Mortal Kombat machine. A kid rushing by to get the best pinball machine barely knocks against Namjoon but he takes the opportunity and falls forward against Jungkook's ass, pressing close and grabbing his hips to steady himself. Distracted, Jungkook misses blocking a high kick from Kitana and whines a little.

Whines a little more when Namjoon grinds against him ever so slightly. He traces his fingers along the line of the panties under his sweatpants, but then he pulls away, ripping off the tickets Jungkook won and leading them to the dark little House of the Dead booth, the enclosed kind with a bench seat for two players.

He slips coins calmly into the slot and pulls Jungkook into his lap. “Good luck, baby,” he murmurs against Jungkook's shoulder blade when the game announces “Start!”

Jungkook tries, competitive nature and all, but Namjoon slips his hand down the front of Jungkook's pants and starts palming at his lace shrouded cock. It's so unsatisfying; Jungkook can almost feel the warmth of his hands but the lace blocks most of the sensation.

He grows hard anyway, squirming in Namjoon's lap and still giving a half-hearted attempt at clearing the building of zombies. Namjoon slides his other hand up Jungkook's sweater, ghosting circles around his nipple, feather light before he gives it a hard pinch.

“Joon please,” he moans and throws his head back when the screen finally shows GAME OVER. Circles his hips in a long, slow grind against Namjoon's dick.

“Wish I could fuck you in here,” he says, low and breathy against Jungkook's skin, grinding his hips up against Jungkook's ass. “Anyone could look in here and see us like this right now.” He teases his fingertips all along the edges of his panties, almost dipping under the band but pulling away to squeeze at his sides instead.

“Joooon,” Jungkook nearly wails, twisting around to grace him with the cutest pout.

“We're supposed to get burgers after this,” Namjoon smiles. “Don't you want dinner?”

His shakes his head hard. “Not hungry.”

“We both know you're always hungry, don't lie,” Namjoon laughs, sucking on Jungkook's neck, hands holding his small waist in place so he could keep circling his ass against his lap.

“Hungry... hungry for your dick,” Jungkook struggles to joke back, making them both fall into breathless giggles.

Jungkook manages to make it through dinner, practically inhaling his cheeseburger. He keeps himself distracted enough, rubbing up against Namjoon's crotch with the side of his foot under the table. Predatorial, Namjoon eyes him back across the table as they eat, steadying his breath to keep from moaning.

They barely even get the apartment door closed, Jungkook slamming Namjoon against the wall, mouths messy and desperate for each other as they struggle each other out of their clothes.

As soon as they get each others' jackets and shirts off, Namjoon shoves Jungkook's pants down and groans at the sight. Jungkook is so hard, stiff cock poking out of the tiny panties. Namjoon leaves him in his panties, falls to his knees and licks and mouths wet all over the exposed slick head and lace like trying to catch drips of ice cream on a summer day.

He tickles his tongue all over the thick head of Jungkook's cock incessantly, knowing how crazy it makes him. Sure enough, Jungkook hisses a “Joon, jesus,” cock jumping up against Namjoon's bottom lip.

Standing back up at the beckoning of Jungkook's hands, they kiss in a frenzy, Jungkook pushing him gently toward Namjoon's bedroom. “God I want you to fuck me so bad, Joon.” He moans at the mere thought, not even being touched at the moment. “It's gonna feel so good, you feel so good, I can't believe you love me, fuck your cock's so big,” he babbles in aching anticipation.

Time slows down though, when he looks up from the bed he fell on to and sees the look the look of wonder on Namjoon's face.

“You're so beautiful, Kook,” Namjoon says in response to the question in his eyes, drinking in every inch of Jungkook. “So, so beautiful. You could have anyone.”

“Don't want anyone else,” he answers, laying back on the bed, an invitation that Namjoon eagerly takes.

Namjoon crawls up around him, sucking on his neck as he allows Jungkook to unbuckle his belt and fumble the zipper of his jeans down. He stands up to pull them off and smiles at the shameless moan from Jungkook at the sight of his bare cock, finally.

“Fuck me, please Namjoon, fuck my ass, please I-”

“Baby, I'm gonna,” Namjoon chuckles over his babbling, crawling back up to kiss him and roll his nipples between his fingers a minute, savoring the loud, sinful moan.

Without notice, Namjoon pulls away and flips Jungkook over on the bed, bones twinging in arousal at how Jungkook always goes a little limp when he gets manhandled.

“Your ass looks so, so good in these,” Namjoon exhales, squeezing the lace-covered flesh and slapping it just hard enough to see it jiggle.

Pulling the panties to the side, he rubs his lubed up fingers up and down the crevice of Jungkook's ass before slowly pushing a finger in. Eager, Jungkook impatiently grinds his ass back a little.

“You just gotta relax, baby. Can't wait until this is my cock in your pretty ass. I can't believe you put up with me all night, Kook, can't believe I didn't fuck you the minute we got in the car.” Namjoon litters kisses all over Jungkook's back between the words, savoring his panting breaths and smooth skin on his tongue.

“You're so, so much more than I could've ever imagined, my sweet gorgeous baby.” Just as he thought, the incessant praise melts Jungkook into a pliant, smiling thing, whimpering as Namjoon fingers him wider.

He leaves the panties on, yanking them to the side before sliding Jungkook back onto his cock. At that moment he would swear it's the prettiest sight he's ever seen, Jungkook's smooth ass pink from getting spanked, a near match to the scrunched up pink material straining against the hardness of Jungkook's muscles and Namjoon's cock as he slams into him.

An evening's worth of crazed tension and denied desire to release, he pushes his big hands into the small of Jungkook's back and fucks him into the mattress, relentless, merciless, just the way Jungkook likes it.

Jungkook wails and cries out like it's too much, eyebrows arched and mouth dropped open. But even as his hands scrape at the sheets he arches his back further up against him, presenting his ass for Namjoon to ruin.

“Feel good baby? Finally getting what you wanted?” he pants with exertion, determined to make Jungkook come just like this.

He holds Jungkook down by his waist, pushing all the way inside him and making them both groan. In a deep, heavy rhythm, he rocks the weight of his body into Jungkook, making his cock rub against the lace panties and sheets beneath him.

Airy, blissful moans fall from Jungkook's open mouth, over and over. So pretty, so tight around Namjoon's cock when he comes, relief and pleasure dancing in his sweet voice. A few more slaps of their hips together and Namjoon is coming deep inside, remembering Jungkook mentioning that was his favorite part, feeling his cock twitch and pulse inside him.

“You're so fucking cute,” he grunts at the recollection, not bothering to explain to a curious Jungkook, who's too exhausted to ask.

Sated and thoroughly tired, they tangle into each other, panting a little in the stillness of the room. They kiss, contented, smiley kisses, a little embarrassed now recalling the way they were hours before, in public no less. So wound up and horny and in love, bringing out weird sides of each other they hadn't acknowledged to themselves before.

It's odd, but it gives Jungkook more confidence in the two of them than anything else has. It feels like they're becoming them, people they've never been with anyone else before, blooming parts of each other that no one else had seen, hidden in the intimate dark.

"Joon," he hums against his slow lips. Waits for a "hm?" from Namjoon, just for the little pleasure of eye contact.

"I really like us," Jungkook smiles, planting a kiss to Namjoon's chin.

"Yeah?" Namjoon grins, pulling him impossibly closer. Sweaty and overheated but he winds his leg around Jungkook's thigh anyway. "I like us too."

 +

The last week of January brings a big night for Jungkook. There's a big club in the city, famous for it's open mic night that isn't actually open; hundreds of people audition and only twenty are chosen to perform. Several well known singers were discovered at these mic nights, as Jungkook excitedly told Namjoon for the 6^th time the day he got the call that he was chosen.

Namjoon just smiled and pulled him close, murmuring “I'm proud of you, baby,” before he kissed his hair.

School having started again, and Jungkook practicing overtime for the open mic night, stress and busyness rule their lives again. But this time, they go into it prepared to make time for each other, fully intending to keep communication open.

Whether or not they succeed at that is a bit more wavering, always some little thing they tell themselves is too small or petty to bring up, not wanting to be the one to confront. But the small thing festers and grows, until one of them is sulking hard enough to rile up the other into starting a fight. They try and stumble, and try more, and the good outweighs the bad, and the desire to make things work carries them across gaps between their personalities that would otherwise be hard to traverse.

Everyone is there at the club to support Jungkook, or to dress up and get drunk at least. Each singer only gets to sing two songs, and then three will be chosen to sing one more song and hope to be chosen as the winner of a $5,000 prize.

They're all crowded around a couple tall bar tables in the dimly lit club, perched on stools and halfway tipsy already. No matter how the night turns out, Jungkook looks incredible, dressy but casual, clothes fitted to perfection. The mature, composed look is a contrast to the twitchy way he's chewing on his lips and sitting on his hands like a terrified five year old.

Namjoon gently pulls a hand free and weaves his fingers through his, smiling when Jungkook's big doe eyes fly to his.

“You're gonna do just fine,” he murmurs into Jungkook's silky hair, kissing him right above his ear.

He nods, leaning into him. “I know. I'm always fine once I get on stage, it's just before then that sucks. And I've been here since soundcheck, so,” he huffs a shaky exhale and tries to laugh.

Lucky for Jungkook, he's the fifth performer of the night, so he doesn't have to sit in misery for very long. He comes bounding back to the tables after singing, breathless and beaming a smile.

“You didn't fuck up!” Taehyung congratulates him with a loud high five.

“Yeah!” Jungkook agrees brightly, plunking himself down in Namjoon's lap. Namjoon can feel the tension melt of out of him when he wraps his arms around Jungkook's waist and he loves it, loves the surge of pride that comes with being the one who can be that presence for such a lovely human.

“I'm so proud of you,” he murmurs into Jungkook's back, no way he could hear him over the din of the club, but that's not why he said it this time. He'd tell him later to his face of course, but right now, it's nice to just let the words kindle the affection in his own heart.

Their friends get drunker as the night goes on, Jungkook seeming much more at ease, laughing loud with Jimin next to him. But Namjoon catches the way he chews his lip and eyes all the other singers, one by one. He keeps his hand on the small of Jungkook's back and hopes he can feel it through the layers of sound and distraction and worry.

An hour later, one of the hosts of the event comes on stage, ready to announce the top three who get to come back up for one more song and the chance to win. Jungkook stiffens under his hand, wide eyes even wider on the stage.

His name is the first one called. Their table erupts into happy chaos, everyone jumping up or leaning over to slap or shake Jungkook in congratulations. Stunned, Jungkook lets Namjoon pull him into a tight hug, a hushed "I did it," against Namjoon's cheek.

Fifteen minutes later, Jungkook walks back on stage, looking breathless and beautiful as he adjusts the mic and searches the darkness of the audience. Namjoon can see his eyes sparkling even from here.

He sings beautifully as he always does, the Celine Dion version of "When I Fall in Love” that Namjoon has heard practiced and worried over a thousand times.

Quiet falls over the club, everyone really listening to the crystalline voice singing on stage, every little breath purposeful and full of feeling. Namjoon couldn't be more proud. Everyone cheers and claps, Jungkook bows and smiles the smile that crinkles up his eyes and shows half the teeth in his mouth.

Namjoon couldn't tell you why, or maybe there was no why. But the second Jungkook turns to bow one more time before slipping backstage, the familiar skip in his gut hits. The stupid, unbidden am I okay? when nothing is wrong. It clicks something in his brain that makes it rush to check all systems to see if he indeed is okay, even though he is. It speeds up his heart rate, twists his stomach, closes his throat. Builds a distance between him and everything, just in case, just in case, in case of some undefined danger.

Namjoon, no, he pleads with himself. There's nothing wrong, you're fine, you're fine, not here tonight, please, you're fine.

As always, it works just enough to keep himself from hyperventilating or crying, but it does nothing to make the panic vanish. It's the difference between wrestling the fear and pulling it on like an old coat.

When Jungkook comes back to his chair besides Namjoon, he puts his hand back on the base of Jungkook's spine but he can't feel it, hands and body numb like he'd been shaken too long in an old, rumbly car. Jungkook smiles at him, exhilarated and nervous, says something to him that takes Namjoon several seconds too long to process.

Finally stuttering an answer, it doesn't come out right, echo-y and unattached. A little flash of... something on Jungkook's face, but Hoseok is hollering at him and pulling his attention away.

Maybe he had been naive to think he wouldn't get panic attacks anymore, not with Jungkook there, who knows about them. That fact doesn't help though, when he can't tell Jungkook that it's happening. He can't, not tonight, not here.

He's used to this at least, faking okay enough in their group, echoing a laugh after everyone else, looking near the person talking but not making eye contact. They could always tell something was off if they looked him in the eye.

Luckily, if you could call it that, everyone is too tipsy and the club is too dark, and Jungkook is too excited to fully turn around and look right at him, always twisting toward the stage to see if the MCs are coming back out to announce the winner. He doesn't notice the way Namjoon is a bit too still, not touching him, mouth formed into a smile but gaze detached and loose with fear.

Half of him is aching for Jungkook to notice, to hold him and let him cry the stupidity away. The other half would rather die than inconvenience Jungkook on this night that means so much to him, this moment that could be so hugely memorable in his life.

His mind is on an endless loop. You're not gonna die, Joon, just make it through a few more hours, fighting against his mind setting off the panic system in his body every ten seconds. Am I still okay? Still not bad enough to tell Jungkook? You don't need to tell Jungkook, you won't. You could, if something is really wrong but- and then click, queasy panic would wash through his body as his brain checks all over again, am I really still okay? Still not bad enough to tell Jungkook?

Over and over, a barrage from his mind and body, the loud laughter and music and clattering of the club, the clink of ice in a glass that makes him jolt in his seat. Jungkook brushes against him when he leans across the table to hear Taehyung and Namjoon flinches away, skin oversensitive and hot.

The MCs finally come on stage and Jungkook whips his full, nervous attention to them, reaching back for Namjoon's hand to hold.

“Alright, alright, we won't keep you waiting anymore. Before we announce the grand prize winner of this year's event, a big round of applause to all of our singers tonight, you all did amazing!” The club leaps into loud applause and whistles, Namjoon fights down a wave of nausea, numb hands clapping, eyes fixed empty on the back of Jungkook's head.

Jungkook's hand finds his again, clammy and fidgety. With anxiety, Namjoon loses himself, obliterated into ten thousand points of panic. But for this second in time before the anxiety picks him back apart, every bit of him solidifies into hope that Jungkook wins.

“Okay, are we ready? The winner of this year's event... and the $5,000 grand prize... is... Jeon Jungkook!”

Namjoon grins, watching the nervous smile slide off Jungkook's face, replaced with blank shock. His hand goes limp in his.

Taehyung and Jimin pounce, yanking Jungkook up to shake him with excited whoops before shoving him toward the stage. Jungkook stumbles in slow motion, smiling all around like the room was suddenly filled with fairies.

Namjoon stands up to clap with the rest of the club, trying his damnedest to ignore the irregular racing of his heart and shortness of breath. Jungkook, his beautiful, talented, good-hearted love up there on stage, blinking away tears and grinning as he accepts his trophy and bows to the audience, getting what he deserves.

It's nearly midnight when Jungkook finally emerges from backstage, breathless, eyes glittering. Most of their table have gone off to dance now that the singers have been replaced with the usual throbbing bass of house music. If asked, Namjoon couldn't say what he'd done in the last hour. Opened and closed his phone to distract himself but he couldn't say what he looked at to save his life. He had denied himself the desire to hide out in the bathroom, where it would be quiet and he'd inevitably give in to the desire to cry and full-blown freak out. Besides, what if Jungkook came out to find no one to congratulate him?

“Hey, sorry! Joon, oh my god,” he crashes into him, pulling him into a tight, tight hug. He doesn't protest when Namjoon pulls him back in when he tries to unwind himself from Namjoon, giggling like it was cute, like Namjoon is just that proud of him.

He is, but that's not quite why.

“Sorry it took so long,” he says, finally sitting on his stool, close enough to slot his knees between Namjoon's. “There were label people, Joon, producers." His big eyes are sparkling in awe. "They talked to all the finalists but- a couple of them seemed really cool, they were really interested in what kind of music I wanted to make, and they really liked that I've studied music engineering and theory- I wonder if Yoongi knows them,” he muses, pausing only momentarily in his excited chatter.

“Anyway, they want me to come in and talk with them, they're really looking for new artists with my kind of style to produce with. They said they want someone with my look too, that me using social media could really get me more listens than traditional ways- it's this whole plan they've got worked out, producing short EPs first and all, they say it's the new trend in the industry.”

Namjoon's been nodding and fidgeting with the ring on Jungkook's finger, listening as best he can with his attention split between convincing himself he does not and will not need to go to the emergency room, that it's just a panic attack, he's not ill, his heartbeat is not growing faint, he is not about to throw up-

“Sorry, am I being annoying?” Jungkook's tone of voice is completely different now, clipped and airy, an octave lower than he usually speaks. Namjoon hadn't quite even noticed he'd stopped talking. “I'm just excited, sorry, I'll shut the fuck up.” He laughs, dry and irritated. Namjoon hates the closed up composure in his voice.

“No, Kook not at all-”

“I know it's not that big of a deal, nothing has really happened yet-”

It physically digs at his chest to see Jungkook's shoulders slump, the careful frown where there had just been such elation. His face is tensed in that delicate way it does before they launch into a serious spat, no longer able to hold back his hurt for the sake of peace. “Baby no, are you kidding? This is incredible, you just fucking won! For your singing! Real actual money! If nothing else happens that's incredible! But more is gonna happen, those record label guys know what the fuck is up, it's something to be excited about, seriously. I'm so proud of you.”

“You don't look excited,” he says, almost too quiet to hear over the bass. The damp napkin in his hand is ripped into fluffy shreds.

“I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm just...” he weighs his options, or his bravery, really. Assesses whether or not it'd be more rude to Jungkook to tell him the truth and worry him, or make up some excuse that he probably wouldn't buy anyway.

“I'm just, I'm just- just, having a panic attack,” he says in a rush, a laugh choking in his throat over the sob rushing to beat it. He's never said it outright like that, always edging around it, as if not calling it by name would make it not exist.

“Joon-”

He can't even look up at him. “I'm fine though, seriously. I've been fine with it all night, you can just-”

“All night? Joon.”

Namjoon's brow crinkles and he won't pick his eyes up from the table and he's saying something but Jungkook can't hear it over the music and the crinkle of plastic wrapped around his flower bouquet. Taking Namjoon by the hand, he drags him gently around the dance floor and out the front door, bursting into the relative quiet of the city street, cold night air slapping away the buzzing noise of the club.

He doesn't stop until they round the corner, away from loud bouncy drunks and the zoom of cars down the street. The side street is generously dark and quiet, and Namjoon hates to admit he already feels a bit better.

Jungkook puts his arms out and rolls his eyes when Namjoon tries to insist he's fine, there's no need to do this. “Will you just hug me? I wanna hug you,” he laughs in annoyance.

Namjoon's nostrils flare and he bites his lip. A little shake of his head at their feet. “If I hug you, I'll cry. I won't be able to stop,” he whispers, but just admitting it was enough to make the tears fall, shoulders shaking with the effort to keep it in.

“Joon,” Jungkook sighs, pulling him into his chest in a tight hug. He falls back against the brick wall and leans his head on Namjoon's.

“I'm sorry,” he chokes out. “You shouldn't have to deal with this today, not tonight, I- I fucking hate this shit.”

His sobs are muffled in Jungkook's shoulder but Jungkook feels them all. “Namjoon. You can't hide a panic attack because you don't want to bother me.”

“But tonight! Tonight of all nights, I'm so sorry. And there's not even any reason, nothing to fix! Just my stupid brain and- I'll be fine, I know I'll be fine, just-”

“You'll be fine,” Jungkook says firmly. “We'll be fine. You gotta tell me.”

Namjoon presses his forehead against Jungkook's neck. “What else could I have done? If I told you earlier and had you worrying through your last song? Had you rushing off the stage to see if I'm okay and you hadn't stayed to talk to those producers? If you had the whole night clouded over worrying about me instead of celebrating? When there's nothing you can even do, nothing you can fix.” He sniffles, wrinkling his nose at a tear traveling across it.

“You don't feel better right now?” Jungkook asks.

He sniffles again and frowns. “A little better, yeah,” he admits.

“See? I can make you feel better. I know you would tell me if something is seriously wrong but... it doesn't have to get to that level for you to tell me. I can make you feel better, I want to,” he urges, voice soft, a home for his exhausted mind.

Gently, he pulls Namjoon away, wiping at his tear-damp face. “I know what you need,” he declares with a big smile. “You came here on your bike, right?”

Namjoon nods, letting himself be pulled toward the parking lot.

“Keys,” Jungkook demands, hand out, when they get to Namjoon's motorcycle.

“You can't drive a motorcycle,” Namjoon scoffs through his stuffy nose.

With a sigh and a wary look, Jungkook digs his wallet out of his back pocket, thumbing through the cards until he pulls out this: a M1 class motorcycle license.

“What-?” Namjook blinks at it.

Jungkook takes him by the hand again and marches them down the row of cars until they reach a cherry red moped. He motions at it like it's some grand reveal. Namjoon looks at it, looks at him.

Namjoon gives a dead stare in reponse. “I don't get it.”

“It's mine,” Jungkook explains, cheeks red.

“You- you bought a moped? When?”

“August.”

“August? August? What-?”

“I was too embarrassed to tell you, and then I was too embarrassed that I was embarrassed to tell you so I just... didn't tell you.”

Namjoon bursts into laughter, holding onto Jungkook's shoulder for support. “You- you're telling me you had a secret moped? For six months?” Namjoon is practically wheezing. “What the fuck for?”

"Because! You- you were just... so cool, were so cool,” he digs at Namjoon who won't stop laughing. “With your actual motorcycle and your tattoos and you were so hot and smart and, so you. And I was some fucking sophomore nerd on a red moped that Jimin named Elmo!”

Jungkook looks so serious, pouting and fighting down the instinct to laugh with Namjoon.

“Baby, baby oh my god,” Namjoon tries to pull him in for a hug but Jungkook swats him away, giggling in spite of himself.

He finally gives in and lets Namjoon kiss his forehead all over. “Jesus christ, you're cute,” he murmurs against his bangs. “It's a nice moped, you dumbass, I would've been impressed.”

“Don't lie,” Jungkook scowls, catching his lips in a kiss.

“Please, I was in love from day one. You could've shown me your Yugioh card collection and I would've been into it,” he grins and sniffles, kissing Jungkook once more. “God,” he bursts into another peal of laughter. “You're right, you really can make me feel better.”

“This wasn't it! I was gonna drive us out to the hills, the spot we went before? If you wanna.” He looks so shy, as beautiful as Namjoon has ever seen him.

“You don't wanna go back in there? Celebrate?”

He shrugs, foot shuffling against the pavement. “I'd rather just be with you. I like... I like how you feel, when we're out there. More you, more... more like my Joon.”

“I'm always your Joon,” he smiles into Jungkook's hair, kissing above his eyebrow. But he knows what he means. He feels more him out there under the stars and deep silence, like there's more of himself to be for Jungkook. “Let's go, then.”

+

Spring came early, it seems, warm enough for a impromptu picnic the first week of March. Everyone was laughing at Taehyung for such a corny idea as a group picnic until Namjoon notices Yoongi silently pouting at the grass.

“It was Yoongi's idea, wasn't it.”

“I told you it wasn't me!” Taehyung shouts, Jimin and Hoseok screeching and jabbing at Yoongi.

"They're so gross," Jungkook laughs, watching Yoongi pout loudly at Hoseok who's giggling and leaping across the grass just out of arms reach. It always goes like this, Yoongi and Hoseok bickering about something neither of them really care about, just so Yoongi can pout and Hoseok can tease and make Yoongi chase him and give in once Yoongi is riled up enough to manhandle him a little instead of the other way around for once.

Sure enough, Yoongi finally stalks forward fast enough to yank the bag of chips out of Hoseok's hands and slap his ass.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, laying back onto Namjoon's lap with a smile. The sun dances warm over his eyelashes and scrunched up nose.

Namjoon curls forward to peck kisses to his cheeks and eyebrows, smiling at the way Jungkook's face goes serene and tickly every time. Upside down, but he cups his hands around Jungkook's face, dipping his fingers under his chin.

They've gotten good at this the last few months, looking at each other and hearing the I love you without saying it. A calm knits the distance between them now, like the faith of a small boat on the sea. They hold close to each other, a tightly woven, morphing, growing thing, tacked together and built as they float on the waves, weird and lovely, a respite for their hearts, but more so, a home.

This time though, in the sunshine and dappling shadow of new oak leaves, Namjoon says it. “I love you, baby,” murmured across Jungkook's forehead, but it says so much more. It recalls every time Jungkook held him when restlessness threatened to drown him, every time Jungkook didn't understand him or didn't want to and sulked for days before apologizing. It recalls every time Jungkook told him, short and earnest, “I shouldn't have been like that,” and poured himself sincerely into being better. Even though Namjoon loved him from the start without any trying, even though he says he believes him every time Namjoon tells him that.

“I love you too,” he smiles, arching his neck back, asking for another kiss. “Come dance with me,” he grins after he gets his kiss, hopping up from the grass.

“I hate this song,” Namjoon groans, but lets himself be dragged up anyway, knowing the way it'll make Jungkook's eyes sparkle.

Jungkook knows that "I hate this song," is really just a disclaimer for "I'm a bad dancer." As if he doesn't know already, as if that fact doesn't get his heart twinging with endearment every time.

"Big shy baby," Jungkook grins, dragging Namjoon closer to the picnic table and dancing like a lunatic. He knows it'll provoke Namjoon to break through the crust of shyness that his over-thinking mind builds up.

Jungkook knows the grumbly act is just code for "please force me into it so I have a good excuse". For a while, he took Namjoon too carefully, apologizing and fretting that he'd been too pushy. They had fought about it once after New Year's, Jungkook hurt at how Jin could get Namjoon to do anything when Jungkook only gets a shy grumbled no.

“You only ask me once,” Namjoon had answered when Jungkook finally burst, cringing at himself, mad at being cornering into admitting such a thing out loud.

There's always something new, but they've gotten good at reading what's shyness or moodiness and what's real discomfort. Stumbling across the grass and yellow dandelions, Namjoon knows what Jungkook is doing, and he appreciates it anyway.

"Who's shy?!" he yells, dancing circles in the grass around Jungkook like some kind of robot-slinky hybrid.

It's worth it, to dance to Justin Timberlake like an idiot in public daylight just to hear Jungkook's giggles peal through the sunny air. A tuft of his silky hair flies up on the breeze, all their friends configured around the picnic table like a renaissance painting, straining to see the photo on Jimin's phone he's trying to hide, a dog bounds after a frisbee, the sky is so newly blue it's practically white. Jungkook is grinning at him, whole face saying "I love you" without a single word.

Small things, a small moment, but that's what life is, Namjoon supposes. To be fully present and alive in the small things, to feel a smile alight in his bones when he'd accepted loneliness as a universal truth, to come down from dreaming and land softly in the arms of a flawed, earnest boy. All in the small moments that, when collected together, become quite big.