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It’s 10:23 am. Lecture starts at 10:30 and Jungkook’s hands are starting to sweat from the two steaming cups of coffee in his grasp, but a text from Jimin while he waited at the coffee kiosk reading “FUKC OVERSLPET WAIT 4 ME ” keeps Jungkook shivering in his spot outside the Music building, watching his breath puff into steamy clouds in front of him as he wiggles in place to keep warm.
He takes a sip from the cup in his left hand and grimaces – disgusting, must be Jimin’s – then takes a sip from the right. Ah, much better. Those four packets of sugar went to good use.
Just as he’s beginning to grow anxious that Jimin won’t make it in time, and his loyalty for his hyung battles with his desire for perfect attendance, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He sighs and contemplates how to reach the phone in his back pocket while juggling two cups of coffee, thinking that maybe Jimin has decided to skip class entirely and leave Jungkook stranded. Instead, he ends up forgetting about the phone entirely and almost dropping the cups when he notices a figure jogging toward him frantically.
It’s a fluffy-haired collegiate, undoubtedly late for class, dark hair billowing as he runs, in skin tight dark denim jeans, an oversized sweater and—
And sweater paws.
Park Jimin has sweater paws.
You know sweater paws. That thing that happens when someone small and cute wears an over-large jacket or sweater, and the hem drags down over their hands until all you can see are their teeny-tiny fingers poking out, and said small person clutches at the sleeve in their hand instead of rolling it up so it would fit properly.
Jungkook has heard about sweater paws in theory, in fluffy romcoms, in Taehyung’s secret fanfiction journal, but he’s never seen them in real life. He kind of thought they were a bit like unicorns – a beautiful fantasy, but who would really wear such an ill-fitting sweater? But Park Jimin has actual sweater paws and holy shit he gets it now. He’s so cute. He’s. So. Cute.
The air leaves his lungs and Jungkook can’t move. All of his internal processing has shut off, except for the connection between his eyes and his brain as his neurons fire at double-time to comprehend the existence of the person before him. He forgets about his phone, and the coffee, and his fucking lecture; what was it again, music theory? Intermediate songwriting? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.
Because Jimin looks like the world’s snuggliest and softest teddy bear. He looks like a baby kitten , with his shower-clean and ruffled brown hair and happy squishy cheeks.
Fuckfuckfuck he’s slowing down now, he’s waving and smiling at Jungkook with those tiny fucking sunshine eyes and Jungkook feels hot, like there’s a fire deep in his bones spreading through his tissue and veins. The affection inside him builds up like a pressure cooker, threatening to crush him from the inside, and his blood vessels are going to rupture and he’s going to fucking die of internal bleeding holy shit.
God, no one should smile like that, who smiles like that? Like the brightest star in the galaxy is inside Jimin’s chest, kept safe and warm right next to his heart, and escapes in great flashes of warmth and light through his teeth when he smiles? Like, what fucking god or cosmic phenomena decided this was a good fucking idea? Why didn’t they take Jungkook’s health into account? Or the health of every innocent bystander and citizen? It’s a fucking safety hazard. It’s why parents and teachers always tell you not to stare too long at the sun:
You go fucking blind.
Oh fuck, he’s only a few feet away now, dragging a hand through his windswept hair that looks like it dried on the run over here, it’s so fluffy and bouncy and god Jungkook can even smell his shampoo – cinnamon and vanilla bean.
As he trots up to Jungkook with that fucking smile made of stars, his gorgeous thighs flex beneath the oversized hem of his sweater and his little thumb twiddles with threads on his sleeve while the other hand scruffs up the back of his head in a gesture Jungkook recognizes as being ever so slightly self-conscious and nervous . Why is he nervous when Jungkook is the one about to have a goddamn heart attack???
“Hey, Jungkookie!” Jimin trills, beaming and panting slightly, voice high and giddy like a child or a tiny woodland pixie . “Thanks for waiting, Tae turned off my alarm this morning without waking me up first. I barely had time to shower and get over here.”
“J-Jimin. Hyung.” Jungkook stutters like he’s learning how to speak for the first time, and now that Jimin is closer it’s like sensory overload. He can see everything – the rosy flush and dewy glow of his adorably round cheeks, the flutter of his eyelashes as he smiles, the endless warmth of his deep brown eyes and the pretty pink of his lips, how small and overwhelmed Jimin looks in that sweater as one corner pulls down over his shoulders and reveals the sharp jut of his collarbone oh my god he’s so fucking cut—
And then Jungkook is overwrought with images of Jimin in one of his sweaters, Jimin showing up to class in Jungkook’s favorite blue knit with the sleeves pulled over his fingers, Jimin burying his face in sleeve-covered hands in embarrassment at the gratified, possessive look in Jungkook’s eye when he catches Jimin taking a secretive sniff at his collar because it smells like you, Jungkookie , the huge shoulders of the sweater hanging off Jimin’s narrow frame like a cute animal swaddled in blankets.
He imagines Jimin wearing nothing but Jungkook’s sweater, kissing Jimin in that sweater, fucking Jimin in that sweater—
the bottom hem dragging across Jungkook’s stomach as Jimin works himself slowly up and down his cock, thick powerful thighs flexing in the morning sun, sweater twisted askew as sweat trickles down his collarbones to reveal the crown of bruises Jungkook has bitten into his skin; Jimin clutching his fist around the sleeve of his sweater as he whines and comes, head tossed back as he squeezes around Jungkook’s cock and little droplets of white spray onto the fabric and fuckfuckfuck
“Jungkook?” Jimin is looking at him quizzically, like he’s been repeating his name for a while now, and his head is cocked to the side like a curious puppy. His puffy lips are pushed out in a pout and Jungkook can’t take it. He can’t . “Is one of those for me?” Jimin asks, pointing at the coffee glued to Jungkook’s sweaty palms by way of muscle paralysis. His little fingers peek out from the sleeves to reach for the coffee, bright smile stretching across his face and scrunching his cheeks up. “You’re so considerate, Jungkook-ah.” He takes a tiny sip, and sighs in satisfaction. “Just how I like it.”
Jimin’s face is so cheerful and open, eyes sparkling in the midmorning sun and cheeks flushed from exertion. The air is still and electric, like the sky before a storm.
Then Jungkook snaps.
A slur of “Holy fuck you are so fucking cute ohmygod I can’t do this shit” followed by “why are you like this I need to kiss you can I please kiss you? Ugh you’ve ruined literally everything why do I like you so much you tiny adorable shit ” escapes his mouth in a jumbled and incoherent mess. He’s flushing to the roots of his hair in embarrassment and frustration and adoration, heart racing and butterflies beating against his ribs as his eyes widen in horror of what he’s done.
But fuck, you can’t blame Jungkook for breaking, okay, he’s just one man and Park Jimin is the cutest creature on the planet so you can’t blame Jungkook .
A beat passes, and he realizes he’s said all of this aloud too. He flushes an even deeper red, and ponders the merits of living out the rest of his days as a hermit in the desert.
Jimin looks shell-shocked for about point-five seconds, then his face is scrunching up in delight and his eyes shine like two little captured stars, laughter trilling like bells and Jungkook hates how his body lights up in response to that sound. He wants to wrap Jimin in the circle of his arms and swallow that starlight and taste those bells on his tongue.
“No, oh my god don’t laugh,” Jungkook protests, flapping one hand frantically between their bodies and covering his face with his coffee-laden arm. “Shit, no I’ve been planning this confession for months, okay Park Jimin? Months, and it was so well-thought out— I had all the right phrases I wanted to say, I-I made notecards, and it was going to be romantic as fuck; I was gonna buy you your favorite ice cream flavor at the beach and we were going to watch the sunset, and then I was going to confess when everything was perfect. I tried hyung, I really tried, I prepared for so long. But then you had to ruin it by coming to school looking like—looking like—” Jungkook trails off as words fail him.
It’s not that he doesn’t have enough to say, it’s that he has too much.
“Looking like what?” the quiet words prompt Jungkook to remove the arm from his face and tentatively raise his eyes. Jimin is smiling at him still but softer now, which is worse because it’s the special kind Jungkook likes to think is just for him, the gentle one that feels like a thousand warm kisses all over his body and sunshine on a beautiful clear day, and his bones liquefy into pathetic mounds of jelly at the sight of it.
This whole confession has been a hot mess, so he just says the first thing that comes out of his mouth. “Looking like the cutest, fluffiest, warmest fucking cinnamon roll on the planet. Like you just got out of my bed and stole one of my sweaters and wore it to school. You’re such a cute little shit, Jiminie-hyung, what the fuck. ” Jungkook sighs as he completes his rant, and the pressure threatening to crush his internal organs releases and fizzles out. He feels lighter.
Maybe this is why Namjoon-hyung keeps telling him to talk about his feelings instead of bottling them up, like Yoongi-hyung. Keeping his feelings to himself for so many months made Jungkook cranky and paranoid; now his heart feels weightless.
(Maybe, he postures further, this is why Yoongi-hyung is always so grumpy. Maybe if Yoongi-hyung finally confessed to Taehyung-hyung, who would receive his feelings with all the love and enthusiasm of a golden retriever, he’d feel better too. But hey, you didn’t hear this from Jungkook.)
So Jungkook releases a relieved breath, thinking the worst is over. Then he tenses up again and remembers: shit, he just confessed . What will Jimin say? Jungkook probably ruined everything by insulting him like, twenty times just now. But Jungkook has the emotional capacity of a snail and he’s doing the best he can, so surely Jimin knows he doesn’t really mean the rude stuff he says. Right? Oh god, he knows, doesn’t he?
Another giggle breaks him from his thoughts, soft and helpless. Jungkook blinks and observes Jimin – fingers wrapped tightly around the cardboard cup, lip caught between his teeth on a grin, eyes shining brilliantly. He looks – he looks happy . Maybe even overjoyed. He looks like how Jungkook feels whenever Jimin smiles at him – bursting at the seams with adoration and love .
Jungkook’s weak, exhausted little heart beats faster in hope. “Jungkookie,” Jimin croons, eyelashes fluttering. “Jungkook-ah. I’m sorry for ruining your plans, but perfect words aren’t important to me. Practiced words lose their meaning. This – this is the confession I would rather have. It’s how you really feel. So thank you for your honesty, Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook blushes, blinking rapidly and shifting his eyes around in embarrassment. “Um. You’re welcome.” Dimly, he notes the absence of students milling around the area. Lecture must have already begun, then. Fuck it.
There’s that chiming laughter again, only now it’s accompanied by touch – Jimin gently plucks Jungkook’s coffee from his stiff hand, putting it somewhere out of sight, then takes that hand between his two smaller ones. His fingers are warm from the coffee, and the soft fabric of his sweater brushes across Jungkook’s skin. Jungkook thinks he’s visibly melting, and he’d be more embarrassed by his transparency if he wasn’t so caught up in the gorgeously tender look in Jimin’s eyes. “And you know, this is your sweater. I stole it from you like, four years ago.”
Jungkook freezes, and Jimin’s hands slip away. He…what? Jungkook cocks his head and takes a step back to eye the sweater critically. He’s been so overwhelmed with how Jimin looks in the sweater, he hasn’t really noticed what the sweater looks like by itself.
Now that he sees it more closely, it does look vaguely familiar. It’s a faded red, like it used to be vibrant but lost its pigment a long time ago from continuous wear, with delicate thin knitted stripes, and matted red fluff sticking out between each knitted loop of thread. A memory floats up from the depths of his brain, and he furrows his brows. “Isn’t that—didn’t my aunt give me that for Christmas? When we were like, second years in high school?”
Jimin’s little fingers twiddle the fuzzy red fabric nervously, and he raises one hand to flutter around his neck as he coughs out a laugh. “Um, yes.” He doesn’t meet Jungkook’s eyes, preferring to tap his fingers against his neck and stare evasively at the courtyard behind Jungkook.
“The one I only wore once ?” Jungkook clarifies, recovering a little from his own embarrassment in the light of Jimin’s (adorable) indiscretion and (so fucking adorable) pink cheeks.
Jimin’s answering giggles sound borderline hysteric, which is comforting since Jungkook was in the same position not five minutes ago. It evens the playing field. “It, um,” the boy stumbles over his words, but swallows and meets Jungkook’s eyes with visible traces of determination and shyness in his face. “It looked so soft, and it smelled like you. So I snuck it from your hamper into my backpack when we were hanging out in your room one day.”
Jungkook is still a little slow to process things, considering the emotional overload of the morning, but, to clarify, this is the current situation:
Jimin stole his sweater.
His unwashed sweater.
Jimin stole his unwashed sweater because he wanted to smell Jungkook.
And he has since, presumably, been wearing that same sweater on a regular basis for the last four years of their friendship, including today, and Jungkook never noticed.
“You,” he says. “My—” but that doesn’t sound right either. “So that.” He breathes. “Let me see if I have this right,” he settles on. “You stole my dirty sweater,” and Jimin looks mortified, blushing even deeper, but holds eye contact and nods, “and you…wear it.” Another nod. “A lot?” A slower, embarrassed nod.
A pause for consideration. “Have you washed it?”
Jimin immediately recoils and smacks Jungkook in the arm. “Yah! What do you take me for?” he yelps. “Of course I’ve washed it!” He leaves his hand on Jungkook and pets the spot he punched almost absentmindedly, biting his mouth in thought and staring at Jungkook’s sleeve. “I admit, I didn’t wash it at first . Because it, uh, it smelled like you.” Pink cheeks, fluttering eyelashes, twiddling fingers. Jimin wrinkles his nose and laments, “But then it got too gross, and I had to.”
Jungkook laughs in delight. Jimin is so cute, he wants to bite him all over.
Jimin peeks up at him through his lashes with hopeful eyes, fingers tapping a rhythm on his arm. “It doesn’t smell like you anymore, obviously. But it’s still my favorite sweater.” He steps closer to Jungkook, digging his fingers into his fabric of his sleeve and licking his lips nervously. “Feels like I’m closer to you.” Jungkook doesn’t know where all the oxygen went, and he chokes on a breath. “Does that sound stupid?” Warm brown eyes stare imploringly at him.
Something stirs in Jungkook’s chest. Maybe it’s his heart, maybe it’s the colony of rabid butterflies in his lungs, maybe it’s his breakfast. But he can hear his pulse in his ears as he meets the bright eyes of the boy wearing his sweater, and he feels indescribably brave.
“Next time, I’ll give you a fresh sweater, hyung. One I’ve just sweated all day in,” Jungkook promises. It’s not the romantic declaration of the century, but it’s enough to make Jimin smile like the sun breaking through a gray sky, all giggles and happy squeaks and teeny tiny hands tugging at Jungkook’s sweater to pull him closer.
“Ah, Jeon Jungkookie, my hero,” Jimin coos as he swoons into Jungkook’s chest and angles his face up toward his. “To answer your earlier question, you can kiss me now, Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook is shocked he lasted this long, and wastes no further time in snatching Jimin’s face between his hands and bringing their lips together. The impact is sudden but the kiss is tender, Jimin’s lips like two soft pillows beneath his own that he licks across sweetly like candy, savoring the gentle sigh Jimin breathes into his mouth as his lips fall open and his tongue meets Jungkook’s. It’s the softest, most comfortable feeling in the world, holding Jimin in his arms and drinking the sunshine from his lips, feeling their hearts beat wildly alongside each other and the silky, warm skin beneath his fingers.
He sighs in satisfaction as he pulls briefly back for air, to clear his head from the cotton candy and flower petals spinning around his brain like a tornado, but Jimin reels him back in an instant, greedy lips pressing insistently at Jungkook’s and releasing small, happy whines when Jungkook dutifully kisses him into a stupor.
When they next part, it feels not like the world is different, but maybe Jungkook is. Everything seems brighter, Jungkook thinks, the colors in Jimin’s face more vibrant and fleshed out. The happy pink of his cheeks complements the caramel strands in his hair, eyes two warm liquid pools of chocolate offset by the smile beaming at Jungkook with all the power of the rising sun. “I’m so glad you confessed, Jungkookie,” his beautiful hyung giggles, fingers winding around Jungkook’s waist and securing him in place.
Which reminds him. “I am too, hyung, but you didn’t.” He settles his hands on Jimin’s shoulders sternly. The boy cocks his head in confusion, and Jungkook frowns. “You never said you liked me back, hyung,” he repeats, tone ever-so-slightly accusing. Jimin raises his eyebrows.
“Seriously?” he asks, voice dry. “I came to school wearing your sweater I stole when we were sixteen , Jungkook. I wear this sweater every winter. I’ve been confessing to you for years now, you just haven’t noticed.”
Feeling moderately chastised, and like the most oblivious idiot on the planet, Jungkook concedes. “Point taken,” he mumbles, smiling sheepishly at Jimin. His best friend. His…boyfriend?
“Dummy,” Jimin grins fondly, surging up on his tiptoes and surprising Jungkook with an innocent kiss on the cheek. “You’ve always been my favorite, Jungkook-ah. I like you the most.”
Jungkook flushes in pleasure. “Enough to be my boyfriend?” he tries, pushing his lip out and batting his eyes.
Jimin crumbles a little in his arms as he laughs, and Jungkook beams at his giggly hyung. Nothing makes Jungkook feel more important in the whole world than when he successfully makes his hyung laugh.
When Jimin straightens up, he strokes his fingers tenderly across Jungkook’s cheek, gooseflesh bumping up in the wake of his touch. The edge of one fluffy sleeve tickles his jaw. “We’ll see,” Jimin teases, bringing his mouth up to Jungkook’s. “How soon can you get that fresh, eau-du-Jungkookie sweater to me?”
Jungkook almost rips the sweater off his back right then.
Instead he grabs the hand on his face forcefully and yanks Jimin forward into a searing kiss. “Bratty hyung,” he growls into Jimin’s mouth. He winds their joined fingers together and bites at Jimin’s plump lips, swallowing the boy’s delighted giggles and surprised moans. Jimin tastes like bitter coffee and stars.
“Of course I’m yours,” Jimin breathes into his mouth between kisses. “As long as you’ll have me, Jungkook-ah.” Jungkook wraps his arm around Jimin’s soft sweater clad-body and pulls him in as close as he can, because if that’s the case, Jungkook is never letting him go. He’ll never let his fluffy, tiny hyung out of his grasp again. He’ll open up his own chest to squeeze Jimin inside, make a home for him right next to his heart.
-
Ten minutes and countless intoxicatingly sweet, wet kisses later, Jimin yanks out of Jungkook’s grasp with ruffled hair and glassy eyes, looking harried. “Wait! Lecture!”
Jungkook rolls his eyes and fights a smile, snatching Jimin’s hand and locking their fingers together as he tugs them in the opposite direction of the lecture hall. “Forget it, hyung, we’re way too late.”
“Wh-Where are we going then?” Jimin splutters, trying to keep up. He makes a grab for their discarded coffees, which Jungkook now sees are resting on the nearby planter box, but Jungkook’s hold is too strong to break and there’s simply no time for coffee.
He spins around and eyes Jimin meaningfully, lingering on his kiss-red, swollen lips. “Somewhere I can properly admire you in my sweater, Jimin-hyung.” He watches the words process in Jimin’s dark eyes, feels his insides stir when Jimin reflexively flicks his tongue out to wet his lips. “Like my bed.”
“O-oh,” is all Jimin says, wide-eyed and gratifyingly breathless. His eyelashes flutter as his gaze drifts from Jungkook’s eyes to his mouth, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. The sight is so enticing that Jungkook can’t help capturing another kiss, this one hungry and full of desire. He licks deeply into his hyung’s mouth and swallows the blissful sighs he receives in return, allowing himself to bring their bodies into full alignment and squeeze at the gorgeously full ass squeezed into those tight jeans. Jimin’s voice breaks on a moan, high-pitched and needy, and his mouth drops open in shock.
Jungkook rakes his teeth across Jimin’s full bottom lip as he kneads his fingers into that ass, his own hips starting to grind forward in reaction to the way Jimin bows eagerly into his touch, so responsive and supple. “Fuck,” Jungkook growls, releasing Jimin’s lip with an obscene pop and panting harshly into his mouth. He can see Jimin’s sharp collarbones peeking out from the collar of his sweater, heaving with every breath. He wants to bite them, suck a ring of bruises along their edges like a beautiful necklace. Wants to worship every inch of Jimin with kisses and bruises, take him apart piece by piece until he's a gorgeous panting mess screaming Jungkook's name, sweat-slick body rutting exquisitely beneath his own.
A hand reaches up to thread through Jungkook’s hair and drag him down. “Yes,” Jimin breathes, hips and lips pressing into him insistently, raspy voice sending shocks of heat down his spine. He arches into Jungkook, body pliant and lips yielding. “Yes please.”
This morning, Jimin ran from their apartment complex to campus in ten minutes.
They make it home in seven.